El Chaltén – Day 2: The Mythical Mount Fitz Roy
EL CHALTÉN
Day 2: The Mythical Mount Fitz Roy
March 21, 2023
Unsure what the weather was gonna be like the following day, I thought I’d play it by ear. With the weather being uncharacteristically pristine and sunny, it was the perfect time to head towards Mount Fitz Roy and hike to Laguna de los Tres.
Being one of the most famous hikes in Argentina, this had been on my to-do list from the very moment I decided to come to this country. And with Fitz Roy being one of the most iconic mountains here (Aconcagua in Mendoza still takes the crown as the highest mountain in the Americas), that was incentive enough. Not to mention, I’d be climbing the mountain whose silhouette is used for the Patagonia brand logo!
As it turned out, Fitz Roy isn’t something you can just stroll up and summit – the first successful climb was relatively recent, in 1952, and only experienced climbers attempt it each year. Most people settle for the hike to its base instead, where a splendid lagoon waits at the end. With Florencia, an Argentinian girl in my hostel, telling me it took her about six hours to reach the top compared to Guillermo’s three (a Colombian who did this trek and another in one day – insane), I was curious what time I’d make for the 24 kilometres ahead of me.
An Athlete is Born
I started pretty early – the air crisp and the leaves still wet with dew, a beautiful day through and through. The bushy trailhead, a few metres from my hostel in the heart of town, starts with a steady uphill along the side of the mountain for the first three kilometres or so, with views of the town below on one side and the green-brown valley on the other, a meandering turquoise river splitting into multiple branches.
Considering all the mountains I’d climbed on this trip, I was still baffled by how unaccustomed to uphills my body was, as I panted and heaved all the way up. Every kilometre there was a wooden board showing the distance remaining, which not only motivated me but also made me realise I was making great time – despite how slow I usually think I am going uphill. In fact, I noticed I was hiking about twice as fast as I had at the beginning of my trip, covering a kilometre in ten to fifteen minutes depending on the elevation gain, averaging around four kilometres per hour.
As I kept doing the maths, I realised maybe it wasn’t my body that wasn’t cooperating – in fact, it was doing way better than I’d given it credit for. Quite the opposite, it was my mind that hadn’t caught up. I was still the whiny, “kill me now” type of hiker. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I still did it and I still pushed myself forward, but it came with a lot of internal grumbling. I guess it all hit me when I caught up with a group of hikers and one of them yelled to the rest, “Out of the way, here comes a runner!” once they saw me coming. Not gonna lie, I did feel accomplished.
The second I heard that and when I clocked how much I’d improved, my drive flared up and I felt next to unstoppable. So much so that I started complaining about other things instead – like the log steps that made it hard to match my pace to their spacing, rendering them inconvenient and a complete nuisance. Or the people who stood in the way. It’s funny how before I’d use certain expletives for those overtaking me, and now, in an insane frenzy of competition that took over my entire being, I used the same ones for those who seemed to slow me down. What had happened to me?
Hiking up the Fitz Roy
On I went, sprinting ahead through narrow paths in the thicket, trying to distance myself to enjoy the peace and solitude – and to appease my newfound sense of competition.
After the first three kilometres, the rest of the hike was pretty flat. Faced with a fork, I chose the route without the lake viewpoint, leaving that for the way back so I’d have something to look forward to on the descent. Pretty soon, I found myself moving through an open valley at the foot of Fitz Roy, dominated by lenga trees that were already starting to shift towards scarlet red, creating a gorgeous contrast with the still-green leaves, the dry brown grass, the snow-capped grey mountains, and the dodger-blue sky. Often I’d do double-takes, thinking a rainbow covered the mountainside, only to realise it was the lenga. With Fitz Roy and the glacier cradled between its peaks towering above everything else, the views were simply breathtaking.
The solid, dry ground quickly turned into wetlands and peat bogs – ones I’d grown far too comfortable with during my treks in Ushuaia – and I found myself trudging through mud instead of sticking to the wooden boardwalks, just to get better shots of the scenery.
After reaching the campsite – where many people spend the night to get a head start and catch the legendary sunrise at the lagoon – I soon hit the nine-kilometre marker, signalling the start of the real hard part: around 400 metres of elevation gain in roughly the final kilometre or so, which takes most people about an hour. In not wanting to lose momentum, and wanting to live up to my new outlook, I decided I’d power through.
It took me ten minutes to admit defeat and sit down to catch my breath. A few more steps and I’d be breathless again, my heart pumping right in my throat. Once again, uphills were my enemy and I hated them with a passion unlike any other. I detested, loathed, and despised them. Seriously, it was all I could do not to blow raspberries at them. That was the extent of my hatred.
Flirting My Way to the Top
As I was taking my 4,653rd break, Jonas and Lukas – a couple from Lithuania – joined me under the false pretence of needing to catch their breath too.
Turns out they’d seen me on Tinder and had been looking for an excuse to speak to me throughout the hike, but unfortunately for them I’d been too fast and they simply couldn’t keep up – until the damned slope, that is. With Jonas being incredibly competitive, he practically dragged Lukas with him as they ran behind me and up the mountainside. In situations like these, I always find myself wondering how on earth I went from being an unattractive dork who thought he’d never be liked by anyone, to someone who randomly picks up a couple while looking like a hot ass mess on a trek. If only adolescent Marius could see me now, huh?
Despite wanting to trek solo, trekking with a hot couple was a compromise I was willing to make. They were great conversationalists too, and we discussed anything and everything from politics to economics on the way up. Plus, trying to impress them, I suddenly found myself needing way fewer breaks. That said, for all my bragging, the last kilometre still took us around 45 minutes.
But as always, what matters is reaching the top. And at the top? One of the most outstanding views I’d ever seen in my entire life. A teal-coloured lagoon nestled between rusty grey, snow-capped mountains, with the three jagged peaks of Fitz Roy, Poincenot, and Saint-Exupéry – the “tres” the lagoon is named for – rising above it. A somewhat familiar view by now – surreal lagoons surrounded by mountains. Familiar, yes, but never old. I swear I’ll never get tired of scenery like this. Every time, unfailingly, with something like this right in front of my eyes, the privilege is palpable and the gratitude feels almost unbearable. And, as always, I find myself looking up at the sky thanking the universe for creating such things.
We ogled at the vista for a good while, then circled the lagoon and took a peek at the glacier that feeds it and the river running underneath the mountain, a deep, surreal shade of blue that left me bereft of words.
After finding a nice spot sheltered from the wind and snacking on an apple – and not smoking a cigarette on account of an American berating me for lighting one in such a “hazardous” spot (next to a lagoon, with a light drizzle of rain) – we started on our way down, still discussing anything that came up. On our way down, I could hardly believe how, on one side of the ridge, there stood an icy, barren summit and a pristine lagoon, and on the other, a dry, red lenga forest covering the mountainside. How on earth do these things come to be?
The Way Back
As we descended – an easier feat for sure – we agreed to take the other branch at the fork. This led us to Lago Capri, where a secluded beach surrounded by lenga trees opened onto yet another impressive lake, its crystal-clear water perfectly reflecting the hills and mountains around it.
Round two for apples and cigarettes was more successful without the annoying American pest. From there, it was an easy way back down to town.
We agreed to meet up for dinner – my one and only condition being that I had to keep up my steak streak. With the two of them being so-called foodies, we ended up at a fancy restaurant with a fixed five-course menu. Highlights included guanaco empanadas (the cuter the animal, the tastier the flesh), morcilla (blood sausage, which is quite decent with bread), chunchullo (cow intestines, which go well with lemon juice), and, of course, beef tenderloin. My god, I almost forgot about the provolone with sun-dried tomato paste – simply divine.
Having another long hike ahead of me the following day, I then excused myself for an early night. Or maybe I didn’t. Who knows what might have transpired that night? What happens in El Chaltén, after all, stays in El Chaltén.