Beyond Limits: How Patagonia Pushed Me Further Than I Ever Thought Possible

Living in Los Angeles, California, staying physically active is part of the culture. Even though my wife and I are in our early 60s, we regularly go walking, hiking, and biking, and consider ourselves reasonably fit. So when I planned a trip to Patagonia in Argentina and Chile earlier this year, I wasn’t too concerned about the physical demands. Our plan was to spend a few days in Buenos Aires and then head south to the town of El Calafate—the gateway to Patagonia.

Argentina, nearly the size of India, stretches over 3,800 kilometres from north to south, nestled between the Andes Mountains and the Atlantic Ocean. Chile, its neighbour to the west, is equally long but extremely narrow, sandwiched between the Andes and the Pacific. Patagonia lies in the southern parts of both countries and extends to the southernmost tip of the continent—also known as the gateway to Antarctica.

To prepare, we bought new hiking boots from a trusted outdoor gear store and went hiking in the local mountains of Southern California. I started walking longer distances to build up stamina. We knew the trails would be challenging but were relieved there would be no high altitudes to deal with.

The Perito Moreno Glacier

The flight from Buenos Aires to El Calafate took over three hours, much of it passing over barren land until the Andes appeared to the west. From the air, the snow-capped peaks and glacial rivers looked tiny and surreal. There were no mountains visible from the town or even from our hotel on its outskirts.

Our first destination was Los Glaciares National Park, home to the majestic Perito Moreno Glacier—one of the largest and most accessible glaciers in the world. We planned to hike on the glacier itself, which required filling out medical forms and obtaining doctors’ certificates for both of us before we could register.

We boarded a small tour bus with about 20 other tourists from around the world and drove through desert-like landscapes, spotting herds of guanacos (a llama-like animal) grazing on dry grass. After about two hours, we entered the park. Though it was early January—summer in the Southern Hemisphere—it began to drizzle and then snow as we arrived. We explored the park’s “balconies,” a network of walkways offering stunning frontal views of the massive glacier. As we stood in the cold, wet air, huge pieces of ice periodically calved off the glacier with a thunderous crash, drawing gasps from the crowd.

After lunch, we took a boat across the lake toward the glacier. As we approached, the full scale of the ice wall came into view—over 75 metres high and more than 3 kilometres wide. Icy winds and snow whipped across the deck as we stood outside in blizzard-like conditions, taking in the awe-inspiring sight.

We disembarked on the opposite shore in a dense forest and were divided into smaller groups, each led by two guides. Our one-hour hike through the woods took us past waterfalls and rocky lake shores until we reached the glacier’s edge. There, we strapped on crampons and began our hour-long glacier hike.

It was, without question, the most exhilarating experience of my life.

We walked in single file, five people per group, flanked by guides at the front and rear. The icy ground crunched underfoot as we followed a route newly mapped that morning—glaciers shift constantly, so the guides set a fresh path each day. Deep crevasses flanked the narrow trail, and we climbed steep, jagged inclines, breathless but determined. When we finally made it back to solid ground, we toasted our achievement with a glass of whisky served over glacier ice—a fitting celebration.

Trekking To Fitz Roy

The next day, we travelled to El Chaltén, known as the hiking capital of South America. The three-hour bus ride was incredibly scenic, winding past deep blue glacial rivers and lakes. As we approached, the jagged peaks of the Andes came into view—an awe-inspiring sight. After checking into our hotel and grabbing lunch, we stretched our legs with a gentle 10-kilometre hike to a nearby waterfall.

Our main challenge lay ahead: the 20-kilometre hike to Laguna de los Tres at the base of the 3,405-metre (11,171-foot) Mt Fitz Roy.

We started at 4 a.m. in darkness, with the sky just beginning to lighten as we reached the trailhead. The path was well-marked but rocky, and the first hour featured steep switchbacks. As we gained elevation, sweeping views of the valley and river below revealed themselves. After 5 kilometres, we reached a viewpoint where Mt Fitz Roy stood tall and majestic in the morning light. The breathtaking scene gave us the motivation to push forward.

We paused often to rest, snack, and rehydrate. By the time we reached Camp Poincenot at kilometre 9—a popular campsite—the trail had grown increasingly rough and uneven. Our legs were tired, our backs sore, and we were keenly aware that a single misstep could result in serious injury. We sat by the Río Blanco under a tree, contemplating whether to continue the final 1,000 metres—especially the last 400 metres, a near-vertical scramble—or turn back.

Logic told us to stop. But our hearts said otherwise. We pressed on.

The last 400 metres were brutally steep and treacherous. More than once, we found ourselves climbing on all fours, clinging to rocks to avoid sliding back. It took over an hour to conquer that stretch. But when we finally crested the ridge, the sight was pure magic: the shimmering blue lake beneath the towering peak of Fitz Roy. I thought to myself, this must be what heaven looks like.

It had taken us nearly six hours to reach the summit—two more than the average time. Exhausted, we could have collapsed and slept right there, but the descent awaited. The return hike, nearly as gruelling as the ascent, took another four hours. We retrieved our luggage and boarded the return bus, falling asleep instantly and only waking when the driver roused us at the terminal.

Reflections

We had originally planned another strenuous hike in Torres del Paine National Park in Chile a few days later, but that night we made a decision: no more hiking for a while.

Hiking in Patagonia—traversing a glacier and completing a 20-kilometre mountain trek—was a bucket list dream come true. It pushed us far beyond our comfort zones and reminded me that with preparation, grit, and determination, we are capable of more than we think.

But for my next holiday? I think I’ll relax on a beach with a cocktail in hand.