Refried Neurons

Good Morning, El Chaltén!

It’s 6:30 on a Wednesday morning, and here’s your weather update: the skies are a brilliant blue, the temperature’s flirting with zero degrees, and the forecast for the rest of the day in town is bloody fantastic. As for the mountains? Well, fuck knows what’s going on up there.

Now, let’s not kid ourselves—I wasn’t this chirpy when we woke up. My brain swears it was 5:30 AM, which is complete bollocks. I checked the photos, and we weren’t up that early, but it still felt ridiculously painful. Tea packed into our shiny new thermal bottle (a cracking purchase from yesterday), breakfast in our bellies, and every hiking layer we owned strapped on, we set off.

By 7 AM, we hit the trail, and it was already buzzing with hikers. Surprisingly, it didn’t bother me—one step past the park gates, and it was jaw-dropping. The skies were pristine, and everything was blanketed with a delicate layer of snow. With the trees already in leaf for spring, the contrast was absolutely mesmerising.

Twenty minutes in, we reached the first mirador (that’s Spanish for viewpoint, folks). From there, you could see the entire valley, with an icy blue river lazily snaking its way through. For the next hour, we trudged through a snowy forest before emerging onto a semi-flat mountain pass. This stretch took about two hours and included a small “campsite.” I’m being generous—it was a spot for camping with nothing but a long-drop toilet. Hardcore sunrise chasers kip here before tackling the final ascent.

That last climb wasn’t long, but holy fuck, was it steep and narrow. The path, a dodgy mix of snow and loose rocks, was just wide enough for one person, and there were people coming down as we climbed. This was the moment I regretted not buying crampons from Decathlon last week. They were only £20! Meanwhile, there I was, moaning to M about my stupidity, when some absolute muppet in Converse strolled past. Converse. In Patagonia. Who does that? He’d have been safer barefoot. Utter moron, endangering himself and everyone around him on such a narrow trail.

Our goal wasn’t the Fitz Roy summit—leave that to the rope-clad climbers with permits. We were heading to the lake at its base. The final 2 km were a snowy wonderland, dotted with hikers enjoying their lunch or sipping mate. Pro tip: if someone’s drinking mate, they’re South American.

The lake was unreal. A deep, almost otherworldly blue, surrounded by snow—it was like something out of a dream. Sadly, Fitz Roy itself was shrouded in clouds. Later, we learned that a 3 or 4 PM visit might’ve offered clearer views. Still, peak or no peak, the scenery was spectacular, with sprawling views across the steppe on the way back down.

After snapping photos and devouring a few empanadas, we began our descent. Enter: chaos. The hordes had arrived—tour groups from Chile, El Calafate, and beyond. These lot start their hike later, thanks to a 6 AM bus from El Calafate, so by the time we hit the steepest, narrowest part, there was an actual queue to climb up. No room to go down either, so we were forced off the trail, scrambling through bushes, rocks, and snow. Not ideal, but safer than squeezing through the mob.

Here’s the thing: Argentina’s national parks are free, which is brilliant. But if you’re planning to hike Fitz Roy, either set off at the crack of dawn or wait until late afternoon to avoid the crowds.

Once we cleared the madness and reached the pass, the trail widened, the sun returned, and it finally warmed up. Layers well appreciated! Oddly, we missed the alternative descent around a stunning lake—a bit of a shame, but hey, next time. Besides, retracing the same route offered a fresh perspective on the views.

The changing scenery was my favourite part of the hike—snow-covered forests, rugged shrubs, bare rock, and endless vistas of rivers winding through the valleys. There’s something special about hiking. The satisfaction of reaching a peak is unmatched, and the journey gives you time to think, chat, and soak in the landscape. I love pausing to inspect wildflowers or bugs—the colours, shapes, and smells are fascinating. Patagonia feels like an alien world, though I’m sure a biologist would argue even the grass is unique.

By the time we wrapped up our 25 km trek, we were absolutely knackered and starving. Straight to our favourite restaurant we went—timing it perfectly to beat the evening rush.

After dinner, we wandered around town, though I can’t for the life of me remember why. What I do remember is looking up to see Fitz Roy, finally cloud-free and glorious above the town. Why now, and not four hours earlier? Typical. Still, it was a stunning sight, even if it left us grumbling about not having a lie-in and starting later.

Ah well—there’s always next time.