The El Chalten Circuit

It appears El Chalten has somewhat of a marmite type charm to it. Walking through the town on arrival I thought it was beautiful. The mixture of shanty huts and log cabin bars, imposed upon by the infamous Fitz Roy range is definitely my style. It reminds me hugely of Longybearen, so perhaps I’m a little biased. However, it seems my views aren’t wholly shared by others frequenting the area. Dirty, far too quiet and ‘shithole’ are just some of the descriptions offered by others I speak to. Everyone’s entitled to their opinions I guess.

I spend a lovely morning in the supposed ‘shithole’ picking up some final bits for my two nights out in the mountains. On my return to my hostel, I get speaking with Luciana, a dormie who kindly offers for me to join for a mate (mah-teh), an Argentinian drink that seems to have a similar cult following to breakfast tea back home. Given I am rather missing my Yorkshire Tea, I decide maybe this is a good alternative. We spend the morning chatting away and I learn all about Argentina. The flowers, the best places to go, where the Welsh people are and, of course, the mate. We then decide it’s a good idea to get some lunch at the hostel and to my joy/horror, when the food arrives it is two of the largest portions of food I have seen - perhaps ever? We both have treks to start and are now running late, so we say our goodbyes and set off in opposite directions. Just 5 minutes later, I hit the start of my trail which immediately starts upwards. It’s not long before my Chicken Suprema makes itself known again, and I sincerely regret wolfing it down in its entirety. Not one to be deterred, I plow on. I find such good views quickly keep the mind off such trivial matters as indigestion.

My 3 day loop takes me to the two famous lakes of El Chalten: Lago de los Tres and Laguna Torre. It’s a relatively low mileage to cover in the time so I am looking forward to a gentle and relaxed camping experience. About 1km into the trail, I come to the first opening in the trees and I am reminded that, in Patagonia, relaxing is not always an option as the weather is often intent on killing you. My first real taste of Patagonian wind takes my beloved hat clean off my head and nearly knocks me over. Fortunately, my balance prevails, the hat is recovered and my pride is mostly intact, but lesson learnt. I tighten my hat and head back into the safety of the trees for a few pleasantly uneventful kilometres. Having come from altitude I am thoroughly enjoying the ability to exert myself without feeling like I’m about to pass-out, so decide to move quickly. I fly by many folk and share a ‘hola’ cheerily to them all. As always, some return the greeting, some smile politely and the rest look at me as if to say ‘why is this idiot trying to speak to me whilst I’m walking up a hill.

I stop briefly at Laguna Capri after about 4km of uphill. It’s a very pretty lake but Fitz Roy is completely in the cloud so there’s little else to see. I snap a terrible photo on my phone (that I’ll likely never look at again) and head on my way. From here, the trail is almost flat and I fly through the next 4km to my campsite. Campamento Poincenot is really just an allotted camping area, as wild camping is not permitted in the Los Glaciares National Park. A very basic, hole-in-the-ground toilet is here but it’s otherwise every person for themself. I find a pitch and set up camp. Getting excited, I look through my food bag and pull out my proudest find from El Chalten’s very small supermarket: a box of pre-cut salamis… or so I thought. On opening the box I realise my idiocy rather quickly. The only accompaniment I have for my pasta is in fact … salami flavoured crackers. Well shit, I really need to improve my Spanish.

Heartbreak aside, I finish setting up camp, make a cup of tea to accompany my biscuits and then repack my much lightened bag to head up to the first Lake. It’s about 3km and 400m of ascent up a steep, rocky track and takes me about an hour. The wind is still strong but my hat is headache inducingly cinched to my head, so it’s not going anywhere without me. As I make my way up I notice more and more snow building up, but take little notice until the entire track is covered. I think to myself how nice it would be to have a pair of micro spikes for this before proceeding cautiously upwards. When I get to the top, the cloud covered Fitz Roy may as well not be there, and I realise that the Lake is not the commercially advertised blue, but is frozen over. I’m a little disappointed and then I spot a large black bird plodding around just 10 metres from me. He does me the good service of posing in a number of excellent locations backdropped by the snowy mountains before wondering off. On a few occasions he attempts to take off but is thwarted by the hat-grabbingly strong wind. This little show cheers me up and I head down to the lake. Cautious not to be the one to find out where the snow covered rocks end and the snow covered ice begins, I stick to the big rocks and when I hear cracking I quickly retreat. I know by this point that the photography is not going to be the highlight of the evening but use the time to scout the area for tomorrow morning. After getting my feet sufficiently wet and cold, I decide it’s time to head back down the slippery slope to camp. On my return, I chat with a few fellow campers about their plans for the morning before cooking dinner. Whilst it was not what I planned, the salami flavoured crackers aren’t too bad and my Parmesan splattered pasta is, at the very least, warm.

Despite there being very few campers, the excitement is clearly felt around the camp as 5am hits. I had planned to wake up a little later but the delighted shrieks are clearly hard to keep in once one realises the sky is clear and it could be a belter. Rolling out of my sleeping bag, I put on a few warm clothes and unzip my inner fly. I’m in the process of putting my shoes on when I realise there is a small mouse sitting in my vestibule, staring back at me unhappy I’ve disturbed his snooze. My startled exclamation of ‘little bastard’ is clearly the final straw and he disappears off to start his own day. Fortunately, that appears to be the end of my mammalian visitors and I chuck a few bits in my bag, close my tent and head back up the trail I so thoroughly enjoyed last night. I realise quickly that my thoughts towards my fellow campers were perhaps untoward, and in fact the ‘day hikers’ are starting to reach the campsite with conversations in full force.

In what feels like no time at all, I begin to reach the snow I encountered last night, although as expected it has frozen overnight. Wishing even more so for some micro spikes, I carefully navigate the worst of the sections (without ending up on my arse) and suddenly Fitz Roy is towering above. There’s not a single cloud anywhere in the sky… apart from around the lovely pointed peak we’ve all come so far to see. Once again disappointed, I head down to the spots I’d scouted out last night and find a rock to perch on. It’s still about an hour until sunrise, so I put on every layer I have and sit shivering on my rock patiently. The hour goes by as slowly as you’d imagine, but excitingly the cloud is clearing! More cloud has appeared towards the east but it’s broken and catches the colours beautifully. The usual entourage ensues: pastel pinks, then deep reds into oranges and finally the yellow hue signalling daytime. I’m behind a mound that obscures my view of the sun, but I know at any moment it will paint the 3000m high hunk of rock in front of me. When it does, I rush to my spot and go about capturing it the best I can.

A camper I’d met the previous night commented after that he assumed I was mad, as I was not taking photos of the otherworldly frozen lake, but a small rock pool 20m back. I try to explain to him that it had some lovely reflections and ice crystals, but I assume the damage is already done. Fortunately, he still offers me some tuna and bread (he has brought enough up the hill to feed a small army) and I happily accept. We chat a little longer and my avian friend from last night heads over, hedging his bets for some tuna. Again, he works for his meal and I snap a few more images for his socials (… twitter?) and is fed a piece of bread for his efforts. I usually hate the idea of feeding wild animals, but this bird is so clearly past the point of fear that it seems a losing battle. I then decide I’m ready for my own breakfast and make my way down the hill.

After arriving and enjoying some (now very flat) pastries, I start packing up camp. I’m just in the process of taking down my tent when Orla and Alex (another pair of friendly campers) walk by and, as seems to be the way, we get chatting. They ask me if I’ve been to the ‘other lake’, to which I then ask “which other lake?” They explain there’s another one round the other side of Fitz Roy with a large blue glacier, but it requires some minor bouldering to get up to. Even better, I can leave all my gear here and pick it up on the way back. Excited at all the above prospects, I unpack my bag again and head off to this mysterious lake. The trail follows a river and quickly becomes less trodden than the others. There’s a fair bit of river jumping and rock hopping, and I’m proud to say my feet stay mostly dry. I follow the river for about half an hour before seeing the boulders that I was told about. It’s a hefty looking boulder field, and I excitedly climb and hop my way through what feels very vaguely like a route. The boulders make way to a river, and the river makes way to the lake. Of course, it’s stunning. It’s a different angle of Fitz Roy, and only the top of the peak is showing but the blue glacier is breathtaking. I sit for a while admiring it and enjoying a pack of chocolate covered peanuts - the perfect pairing. Aware that I still need to get back to camp, repack my bag and crack on with my actual walk for the day I only stay 10 minutes and head back down the big boulders and up the river to camp. I inhale two stale tuna rolls for lunch and leave Poincenot for what I now assume/hope is the final time.

The trail to my next campsite is straightforward, but as stunning as I’ve come to expect from the Andes. It’s early spring and life has not yet fully returned to the twisted trees that litter the lowlands. I’ve seen photos of the area in Autumn and it’s definitely something worth returning for. I pass a few lakes and take a final photo of Fitz Roy as it disappears behind a hill. It’s getting a little late in the afternoon so from here it’s: head down, music in and plow on 7km to camp.

Campamento Agostini is similar to last night, a plastic ‘hole-in-the-ground toilet’ for shitting in and a few relatively flat pitches for sleeping on. That, and it’s at the foot of a huge glacial lake and breathtaking mountains. It’s perfect. My camp is set up in no time, and I enjoy an entire pack of oreos with a cup of tea. Still peckish, I decide now is the perfect time for tonight’s Parmesan splattered pasta. I manage to get distracted (very unlike me) and burn a chunk of pasta to the bottom of my jetboil. Thinking this is a problem for later, I head up to my third and final lake of the day: Laguna Torre. It’s a very short walk and I take only my camera with me. Unfortunately, Cerro Torre is mostly hidden by the cloud but a hint of its three fingers occasionally shows and I snap what I can before they disappear again. The light is beautiful, and I check my camera very happy with the result. Once the sun dips and the clouds look set on staying, it’s time to go. I say hello again to Orla and Alex who have also headed over to Agostini and then reluctantly go to sort my Jetboil. It takes a good 20 minutes to remove the burnt pasta (which by this point has turned into concrete) using hot water, a selection of pointed sticks and a good amount of choice words. With nothing left on the itinerary, I head to my warm sleeping bag and enjoy a few chapters of Bill Bryson’s ‘A Walk in the Woods‘ (which I highly recommend), before turning in. As so far as birthdays go, I think today’s might take some beating.

Awakening to the pitter patter of rain on an outer fly is always a mixed emotion. On one hand, it’s a wonderfully serene form of alarm clock that sets off all sorts of ancestral signals in the brain - a simple calmness that’s difficult to find in today’s loud world. On the other, it’s a real twat packing away a wet tent. The sky is grey and the rain is light, but consistent. After a brief visit to the aforementioned hole-in-the-ground, I notice a piercing light through the trees that have protected my camp from the wind all night. Wondering to the edge of the small forest, I look towards the lake and a crystal clear rainbow has formed right across it. I take a few seconds to decide whether I want to run up a hill with tired legs or go back to my tent and cuddle up with a cup of tea, and then start heading quickly up the hill. On arrival, I’m delighted to see that the rainbow has all but disappeared and only a quarter moon still remains with half the vibrancy as before. Oh well, it cleared the cobwebs in my ankles and now my cup of tea will be all the better. At the very least some nice light on the hills behind me makes for an ok shot.

Returning to my tent, the rain is starting to come down hard. I decide the tea will have to wait, and I get packed up straight away. It’s only now I realise my tent is pitched on what would likely make excellent cement aggregate. With all the rain it has stuck to everything and refuses to let go. I shake the fly until my arms hurt and stuff it in its sack with a sigh. With no reason to hang around, I disappear off down the trail back to El Chalten assuming that the highlights are largely over. What I do not expect is the 10 or so rainbows that grace my presence over the course of the next two hours walking. The high winds, broken cloud and rain keep the weather ever changing and it’s quite pleasant to walk through. A small uphill section takes me to a viewpoint of the valley I have just marched through, and the rainbows are still glowing away. Finally, it’s time for my cup of tea. I set about getting the Jetboil out and extract a teabag from my much depleted food bag. It’s a mission to keep the flame alight in the wind but (only two hours late) I have my cup of tea… as the rain starts again. Stubborn as us Brits tend to be: I put up my hood, find a log to perch upon and enjoy my cuppa with the damp rainbow filled view.

It’s only 3km home and it’s not long before signal returns to my phone and I am ‘reconnected’. It starts pinging away with birthday messages from friends and family. Having been away for a while, and with far longer left yet to go, it’s mixed emotions of enjoying the connection whilst also a reminder of how much I am missing those back home.

I video-call my parents (plus a brother) with my ever-growing signal and show them the views. I ask them not to sing happy birthday and we have a quick but laughter filled chat. Before I know it I’m sat back at my hostel, showered and tucking into yet another enormous plateful (this time it’s Beef Suprema) with a wonderfully cold pint of Blonde to wash it down.