Tears, fears and thrills on South America’s toughest walk
Travelling solo to the tip of South America – about 1288 kilometres – is a big deal, but tackling one of the continent’s toughest treks elevates adventure to a whole new level.
Patagonia’s expedition-level Huemul Circuit is staggeringly tough and endlessly rewarding. The four-day hike pits you against the elements, with raging rivers to cross, glaciers to traverse and rocky slopes to climb – often in gale-force winds.
However, the fact there’s nowhere to hide from nature here does something to you. Being at one with the open horizons, ever-changing light and your own pounding heart and thoughts in this great white wilderness has life-changing power.
As I stomp along, gaze lifted to the great, dark, ice-capped fangs of Cordón del Bosque rising above the broad arm of Río de las Vueltas, I almost have to pinch myself.
I have travelled solo from London to El Chaltén, Argentina. And 36 hours later – after three more flights, a bus ride, an obligatory steak dinner, a too-brief night’s kip in a hostel and a bucket of coffee – I am chucking on boots, beanie and heavy backpack, bidding civilisation farewell to hit the trail.
Diving deep into the glaciated heart of Argentina’s Parque Nacional Los Glaciares, the Huemul Circuit is often billed as one of South America’s toughest treks, sorting the casual walkers from the hardcore hikers.
It was the prospect of four days of trekking and camping in remote wilderness, scarcely seeing another soul, that piqued my interest in the first place. I had long craved the perspective-altering emptiness and endlessly epic views that Patagonia delivers.
Kerry Walker in southern Patagonia. Photo: Lonely Planet
Having initially toyed with the idea of hiking alone, I was warned firmly against it when planning my trip – in this uncharted, wickedly unpredictable terrain, you need a guide. People are few and far between, and facilities are zero. If you get lost or hurt out here among the rock and ice, you’ll never be found.
There are just four of us in our little group – two guides, me, and a burly, taciturn American guy, always several paces ahead and lost in his thoughts. Suddenly, we all stop dead in our tracks.
“Shh, look,” says our guide, Pablo, drawing breath and trailing a finger towards the piercing-blue Patagonian sky where a condor swoops silently overhead, casting shadows. With its vast three-metre wingspan, this is the largest raptor on Earth and more glider plane than bird. I listen for the whoosh that never comes, as it wheels above us.
Buoyed by this unexpected sight, we push on, brimming with first-day enthusiasm and riveted by the views of the gnarly, snow-wisped granite spires and turrets of the Fitz Roy range, which rise like natural fortifications above the gold-green steppe that slips from Argentina into Chile.
Hogging the limelight is the highest of the lot: 3405-metre Mount Fitz Roy, a ferocious mountain that climbers risk life and limb to surmount. Its Indigenous Tehuelche name, Chaltén, means “smoking mountain” or “peak of fire”, as for centuries it was both feared and revered, believed to be a volcano because of the clouds wreathing its summit.
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Ask any serious South American hiking buff to rattle off the continent’s most demanding treks, and the Huemul Circuit invariably makes the grade.
More celebrated Patagonian hikes like Torres del Paine’s ‘W’ get all the fuss, but the Huemul is different – more remote, harder, less accessible and more dangerous. The weather can throw brutal curveballs, the climbs can be relentless and the rivers scarily fast. But, I am told, the trek is worth it for all the mind-bending beauty that unfolds: The calving glaciers and jagged mountains, the opportunity to walk alongside one of the world’s longest ice fields.
The start of the hike is almost deceptively easy. It’s a crisp March day and the sun beams down, the terrain is kind and the walking surprisingly gentle. The first breath of autumn has touched the lenga, or southern beech forests, with trees turning crimson and gold.
As we march along in companionable silence, guide Pablo points out local plants and wildlife – a Magellanic woodpecker, the mottled feathers of a Chilean flicker darting out of a mistletoe-swaddled tree.
There’s more here than we see, but the park’s pumas and namesake huemuls (an endangered breed of South Andean deer) are notoriously elusive. Bright-orange balls erupt on some of the tree trunks like an outbreak of acne. This is pan de Indio (Indian bread or Darwin’s fungus), a parasitic mushroom that is edible, if not especially flavoursome.
‘Try the calafate,” grins Pablo as he passes me a sweet-sour berry from a prickly bush. “They are packed with vitamin C and legend has it that if you eat these berries, you’ll return to Patagonia.”
At that moment, I want nothing more, so I pop the blueberry-ish fruit like there’s no tomorrow.
As the trail emerges from the woods and steadily climbs, views open up of the glacial topaz waters of Lago Viedma.
The rugged face of Mount Huemul, with its hanging glacier and the isolated 2221-metre peak of Cerro Solo, demands attention as we descend into the wild Laguna Toro valley. There is just time for tea and empanadas before dusk begins to fall, and I climb into my sleeping bag.
The wind picks up and tears around our makeshift camp, howling menacingly and threatening to untether our tents. Having spent a lot of time hiking in the Alps, I’ve camped in some pretty remote spots before, but never so far from civilisation and in such wild conditions. Zipping the tent flap, I say a silent prayer. Little do I know it’s just the beginning.
I tumble bleary-eyed out of my battered tent at 6 am, grateful, after that crazy night alone, to find myself back in the warmth of our little group. Pablo already has the campfire going and, after coffee and a bowl of porridge in semi-darkness, we’re on our way.
The dark, forbidding sky threatens rain, and we barely leave camp before facing the day’s first challenge: Traversing the Rio Túnel.
Changing shoes and unbuckling backpack straps, we cross the river one by one. The water is shockingly cold and near waist-deep. As the current starts to drag me along, I almost lose my footing on the slippery rocks.
I’m bent double by the pounding wind and rain. Fear rips through me as I dig my hiking poles into the riverbed, my life flashing before my eyes. Then the guide steps in to lend me a rope, and I reach the other side, heart racing and relief washing over me as a rainbow arcs directly above, lighting the way forward.
The life-saving moment is a real icebreaker, and as we face the physical challenges of the trail, there are shared laughs as we enter newer, closer terrain.
We have won the battle but not the war, and the elements hammer us as we embark on the next leg of the hike, which involves crossing the lower Glacier Túnel. While the traverse isn’t technical, a lack of crampons means I can only slip, slide, curse, attempt to cling to the moraine and dodge the crevasses. The rain and gale-force winds show no mercy as the dark, savage peaks of Cerro Grande hover ahead, every inch Tolkien’s Mordor in these gloomy conditions.
The cold is beginning to bite, and I can feel my frustration levels rise as I pit myself against the elements. I’d been told it was wild out here, but this is off the charts.
It’s as if the gods have thrown down an obstacle course for us, as we are then faced by a breathtakingly steep, rocky-horror of a 900-metre climb. Gusts of wind almost topple me over, and the rain gives us a proper bashing as we summon the energy to reach the aptly named Paso del Viento (Windy Pass) at 1550 metres and – phew – a welcome break in the weather.
My reward at the top is the first entrancing glimpse of the Southern Patagonian Ice Field, the third-largest sweep of ice on the planet (outside of Greenland and Antarctica); the snow-frosted granite peaks rising like shark fins above it include Cerro Mariano Moreno, Patagonia’s third-highest at 3462 metres.
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The sensational views keep me going as we drop into a lush highland valley, tracing a brook down to the bare-bones emergency shelter of Paso del Viento, where a change of clothes, mugs of soup and hot tea instantly revive us.
With wet clothes strung out to dry, we chat as we slither wearily into our sleeping bags. Outside, the weather closes in and the wind moans. The cabin creaks. Nature pipes up again to remind us that it is much bigger than we are.
Snow powders the peaks the next morning as we leave the shelter to skirt Mount Huemul, taking a rocky trail up and around glacial cirques.
Like a super-highway, the ice ripples as far as the eye can see – and the imagination drifts further still. Try as I might to capture the ice field’s magnificence on camera, every photo fails.
The wind stages a comeback as the path climbs sharply to 1005-metre-high Paso Huemul, then eases as we drop over the pass to a ledge. Here I’m left speechless by the views of the Viedma, one of Argentina’s largest glaciers, and four times the size of nearby Perito Moreno, which spills down to turquoise Lago Viedma like crushed meringue.
Sidestepping roots, we zig-zag down through beech forest to the topaz-coloured lake, picking up speed and pausing for a picnic in a forest glade. We camp out on its shores at Bahía Cabo de Hornos, as sunset renders the glacier into silhouette and the sky is a riot of pastel pinks.
My one-person tent doesn’t make for comfortable sleep, but there is a beauty, simplicity and natural rhythm to waking up at dawn each morning, splashing my face with freezing water, packing my life in a bag and moving on.
On the final day, as we trudge steadily out through the steppe, skirting Lago Viedma and crossing the now-calm Rio Túnel again, I almost feel regret at leaving this behind.
The trail has brought us closer together – we began the hike four days ago as strangers, but we’re ending it as friends.
I slip back from the others as they begin to talk about hot showers, pizza and beer back in El Chaltén. For a few more precious moments, I want to be alone with all this – the wilderness, the rock, the ice, the silence.
How to hike the Huemul
If you’re keen to recreate my Patagonia trip and hike the Huemul Circuit, planning is everything.
Getting there
The first big step is reaching the trailhead. The nearest airport to El
Chaltén is El Calafate. Aerolíneas Argentinas operates daily flights from major hubs, including Buenos Aires (flight time is three hours 20 minutes).
From El Calafate, it is a three-hour bus ride. There are at least twice-daily services; operators include Chaltén Travel and Caltur.
Distance
Starting in El Chaltén and ending at Lago Viedma, the Huemul Circuit is 66.5 kilometres, which doesn’t seem far on paper – but don’t be fooled. Given the harsh terrain and weather conditions, distance doesn’t equate to difficulty.
When to go
Prime time for hiking in Patagonia is from November through April (late spring to autumn), when there’s plenty of colour in wildflowers and foliage. But come prepared for high winds and fickle weather year-round, with waterproof and windproof layers and, ideally, hiking poles.
Guided tours
This is challenging terrain, so you’ll need a guide. Swoop Patagonia offers a four-day guided hike on the Huemul Circuit, including transfers, most meals and some accommodation and equipment.
You’ll need to bring your own tent, sleeping bag, mat and rucksack. Leave behind anything that isn’t absolutely essential, else you will be lugging unnecessary weight.
This story by Kerry Walker is an extract from Women Travel Solo by Lonely Planet. $35.99 RRP. Contact shop.lonelyplanet.com
