1 day ago
3
January 7, 2026 — 5:00am
As my hiking companion Michelle and I reach the notorious mid-stretch of Patagonia’s most popular day hike before it’s time to turn back on ourselves, a breathless man dripping in sweat makes eye contact with us from his rock perch, surrounded by dozens of other hikers cramming energy-giving sugar down their throats.
He notices me nudge Michelle and nod with polite alarm in his direction.
“Won’t tell you what it’s like,” he says, wheezing. “You’ll turn back.”
As we learn, many do.
We know the kilometre before you reach the midway point and turn back on The Laguna de los Tres hike in El Chalten, Argentina, is tough compared to the other 24 kilometres; Michelle is always fastidious in her research. But, once we endure it, we agree the toughness feels underplayed. And, once you surmount it, you’re only halfway through.
The hike, until that point, is glorious and only slightly challenging. Partly, though, that is due to the silly mistakes I make and surprises I discover – even as a relatively seasoned hiker.
The biggest surprise is this halfway curveball. It shocks us with its sheer steepness, requiring intense scrambling and climbing; we’re definitely no longer ″hiking”.
Just as the iconic mountain range of Mount Fitz Roy peeps into view, hidden around the next corner is another steep and narrow scramble. An Austrian woman says it best as she also mistakenly assumes she has already reached the hike’s summit: she screams”Scheisse!” so loudly, it echoes across the beautiful valley below like a yodel.
This is the hike you do at the heart of hikers’ paradise, Patagonia – El Chalten. It’s a quaint, small and surprisingly gastronomically pleasing village nestled at the foot of the snow-capped mountains, which you reach after an equally iconic road trip down Route 40 (road trip playlist is essential) – a long, unusually straight road flanked by mountains.
This hike is so popular because it can be done in a day – about eight to nine hours, according to most guides – the views are world-class, unique and satisfyingly dramatic without you even needing crampons and ropes, and it’s (supposedly) very doable – described as a “medium″ level hike.
I, however, would describe it as “bordering on hard”.
For a start, it takes us almost 12 hours – not eight. And we are going at a steady pace without stopping too often.
There are three of us on this trip; we build up to this, the longest day hike, with previous shorter ones rated “easy” when they feel more like “medium”. Our third companion, who skips this trek with its 5am wake-up call, almost calls the authorities on hour 11, which is just when we get enough reception to reassure him.
The first two hiking hours are in darkness; I had considered my smartphone light might be sufficient for the initial pitch-black ascent. Michelle had made her lemon-sucking face at this, and, thankfully, insisted I buy a torch. My iPhone light would’ve been woefully inadequate.
I had also done a speed shop for food the day before and my impulse buys are similarly gravely lacking because I think it’s “just a day hike”. Think bruised bananas and an entire block of dulce de batata, a jelly-like sweet potato dessert, which I eat during the gruelling midway point. Michelle will never let me forget it.
The recommended times to go are November to April; I should’ve chosen January or February, rather than April, given my cold aversion. We have four seasons in a day and I’m dressed for just two; I realise I need to invest in better (more expensive) outdoor clothing gear as I lean into my hiking era – something I would’ve scoffed at in my 20s.
The morning is extremely cold. I, stupidly, have worn fingerless gloves and I honestly think all 10 of my fingertips will drop off. It is the coldest my hands have ever been, and I’ve held a cold beer on a Melbourne winter’s night.
Michelle, who has clearly researched and prepared for all weather possibilities, observes that I bash with my hiking stick every frozen puddle en route with undiminished bewilderment, and surely the 20th ice-bash should be less surprising.
It is, naturally, all worth it for the intensity of the tingles that travel up your spine at the same time and pace that the sun rises to illuminate Mount Fitz Roy. Pure dopamine discharge.
There is one other crucial element that makes it worth it. At a guided hike last year, our group has an ungodly 4am wake-up call; everyone is groaning and half asleep. Michelle says something outrageous in our shared tent that makes me howl with laughter almost as loudly as the Austrian woman’s yodel-like echoed expletive.
“We heard you early this morning,” an American woman on our tour says. “I told my daughter – listen to them. Get yourself a friend that makes you laugh from your gut at 4am – and you’ve won life’s lottery.”
Sometimes, even in stunning Patagonia, hiking’s as much about the company as it is the nature.
The writer travelled at his own expense.
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