The approach to Isla Yunque requires careful navigation through channels that shift between deep blue and sudden shoals of olive-green. Your boat slows as it enters a small bay on the island's northern edge, where the beach emerges as a dark stripe between water and forest. The sand here carries a high percentage of organic material—decomposed kelp, shell fragments, peat washed down from inland bogs—giving it a charcoal hue that seems to absorb light rather than reflect it.
“This beach exists at the intersection of converging channels, where tidal flows deposit driftwood from across the southern archipelago.”
Sea-foam edge on volcanic black sand
Driftwood litters the upper beach in chaotic piles, entire tree trunks stripped of bark and bleached bone-white by salt and sun. Some have clearly traveled from Chile's fjord country, riding currents that loop through the Beagle's maze of channels. Behind the beach, the vegetation transitions quickly from beach grass to dense thickets of calafate and chilco, their thorns discouraging exploration.
The position of Isla Yunque, caught between channels, gives the beach a particular quality of light. Water reflects from multiple directions, creating a diffused brightness even on overcast days. Kelp gulls and skuas patrol the shore, and the tidal range—modest by Patagonian standards—leaves a narrow band of wet sand where your boots sink with each step. You won't stay long. The island offers no reason to, and every reason to keep moving through these cold, interlocking waters.
