How Tompkins Conservation Changed Chilean Patagonia

In southern Chile, where roads turn into tracks and rain seems to fall sideways, rusting fences have gradually given way to national park signs. Puma families now cross valleys once thought destined for intensive farming, dams or property speculation. It began with land bought, sometimes away from public attention, by Douglas and Kristine Tompkins and their teams. Tens of thousands of hectares, then far more, were brought together around an idea that initially seemed almost excessive: giving nature more room. Years later, the Chilean state chose to protect an immense share of this Patagonia in its own right. It was an unusual, almost dizzying decision. And it reshaped the map.

In Chilean Patagonia, private land became a public lever

This story did not begin with a major official announcement. During the 1990s, Douglas Tompkins, co-founder of The North Face and Esprit, purchased properties in Chilean Patagonia with his wife Kristine, a former Patagonia executive. Their ambition appeared straightforward: restore forests, safeguard rivers and create a lasting haven for wildlife.

The Pumalín project in the Los Lagos region stands as one of the clearest symbols of this undertaking. Through successive purchases and ecological restoration, the estate grew to around 290,000 hectares. It later became Pumalín Douglas Tompkins National Park, established in 2018 after extensive land was donated to the Chilean state.

What is striking is the scale of the movement. The Tompkins Conservation foundation transferred nearly 407,000 hectares to Chile, while the government incorporated millions of hectares of public land into this vast group of parks. A private reserve can, therefore, ultimately influence national policy. The entire region has not been sealed off, of course, but its direction has plainly shifted.

When buying land to protect it becomes a strategy that unsettles as much as it inspires

To understand this achievement, it is necessary to look beyond photographs of spectacular landscapes. The teams bought fragmented plots, negotiated with landowners, removed kilometres of fencing and introduced rewilding programmes. The return of the huemul, a threatened Andean deer, or of the puma in certain areas, did not result from one dramatic decision.

The approach also generated considerable opposition. In a country shaped by questions of territorial sovereignty, the sight of an American billionaire buying so much land prompted suspicion: some feared a disguised privatisation of Patagonia. Let us be honest: no one really does this every day, and the mistrust was understandable.

The turning point came when the land was donated rather than retained as private property with financial value. On 29 January 2018, Chile announced the creation or expansion of several national parks, forming a huge protected network along the Route of Parks in Patagonia. Land ownership had become a tool for collective protection.

What this story reveals about our practical relationship with nature

We often assume that protecting wild animals is solely the work of governments, large NGOs or scientists carrying binoculars. The reality is more grounded: protecting a species often starts by protecting the ground beneath its feet. An undammed river, a forest connected to another forest, or a valley through which animals can move matter more than a slogan.

For local people, designating an area as protected also raises very practical issues. Who will still be able to fish, graze livestock, travel along a particular track or build near a lake? Successful protection does not mean removing people from the map; it requires listening to them before rules are imposed from above.

The Chilean model is not flawless, nor can it simply be replicated everywhere. Even so, it shows that private action can open a door, provided that the public interest then takes control.

“Conservation is not about empty landscapes: it must make room for animals, but also for the communities that live alongside them.”

• Protected land must remain connected to neighbouring areas.
• A donation to the state prevents conservation from depending on a single owner.
• Local residents must be involved in decisions from the outset.

A map that also tells the story of our own choices

We all know the moment when we spot an animal beside a road, a fox in a field or a roe deer beyond a hedge, and feel that it has scarcely anywhere left to go. Patagonia may seem very distant, but its story speaks to that familiar concern. Wildlife does not vanish merely because it lacks affection; it disappears when its habitat is fragmented, closed off or sold bit by bit.

The Tompkins initiative has sometimes been portrayed as the dream of a wealthy couple. It is also a story of influence: citizens, charities and scientists showed that another use of land remained possible. The state then turned that momentum into lasting protection, with its laws, park rangers and restrictions.

This partnership remains fragile. Protected status does not remove the pressures of tourism, wildfires, climate change or conflicts over land use. Yet it offers a genuine opportunity to ecosystems that had few chances left. The next time a natural space near you appears “empty”, perhaps it is worth asking: empty for whom, and alive for how many species?

Key point	Detail	Added value for the reader
Land purchases made public	Tompkins Conservation donated hundreds of thousands of hectares to Chile.	Understand how a private initiative can serve the public interest.
An expanded network of parks	In 2018, Chile created or enlarged several national parks in Patagonia.	Assess the impact of a political decision on entire landscapes.
Protection does not end with designation	Residents, local uses, tourism and wildfire prevention remain crucial.	See conservation as daily work, not merely an announcement.