Hiking in Patagonia: Laguna de Los Tres - foolish and unforgettable.

“What am I even doing here?” I stare at the sheer wall of rock, the sun beating down on my face, just like the icy wind. Somewhere beyond this absurd barrier of scree lies the view of Fitz Roy—Argentina’s Matterhorn. One of the most striking, rugged, and beautiful mountains in Patagonia and the world. I don’t want to climb the summit; I just want to get to the viewpoint at the glacial lake Laguna de Los Tres. But that’s a 15-mile hike, with the last 0.5 miles wrapping up roughly 1300 feet of elevation gain. Insane. I have a fever, I’m cold, I’m sweating, my nose is running, and my eyes are burning. “That was really stupid,” I say before I keep going. Uphill.

When we wake up early in the morning in the village of El Chalten, the weather over the Fitz Roy is absolutely perfect. On just this one day—out of all the days we’re in the area. The Fitz Roy is known for his preference to hide in the clouds. The temperature is pleasant, and since we’ve just completed the multi-day W Trek in Chile, I feel ready for Patagonia’s toughest day hike—the Laguna de Los Tres. Everything seems perfect—until I notice a hint of aching limbs and a scratchy throat. A few days ago, on a long-distance bus, we had passengers coughing and sniffling in the row diagonally behind us. Great. Thanks for nothing. I try to ignore the symptoms, but I know they’re real. I’m getting sick. Of all days, today. I’m freaking out. Then I pack a few ibuprofen, tell myself that fresh air will help, and we set off. A story of recklessness, strength, despair, silence, and beauty.

It’s cold. The sun is still hidden behind a thin layer of clouds as we hike high above the vast glacial valley behind El Chalten. The valley is empty and wide. Surrounded by mountains, crisscrossed by lines, most of which are much wider than the milky-blue water currently flowing through the riverbeds. As if a gigantic elf tossed his hair back from the mountain peaks. Flowing, swaying, alive. This valley feels like the end of the world or the gateway to Alaska. Here, the road between northern to southern Argentinia is interrupted, there are only ferries. Here, the massive Southern Patagonian Ice Field blocks the way, covering 5,000 mi² and averaging 800 to 1,000 feet in thickness. Mount Fitz Roy and the trail to Laguna de Los Tres lie on its edge, and you can feel it in the air. A hint of ice and solitude. 

We pass some wildflowers. It’s summer in the Southern Hemisphere. Then we walk through a gnarled forest with whimsical tree trunks. They look like a fairy-tale forest, and it seems as though something magical is glistening between them. It’s crazy how much green stuff grows here, so close to a place covered by nothing but massive ice. Something I’ve noticed several times in Patagonia. Soon we’ve covered two miles, then four. I know that for quite a while, this trail feels like a nice day hike over a few rocks and roots, mostly flat. But I also know about the final challenge—and that I’ll have to tackle it alone, because my husband broke his elbow on our trekking tour on the W Trek in Chile a week and a half ago. He can hike with me in the valley, but the rock face at the end would be too dangerous. The rock face that’s supposed to lead to a crazy-blue glacial lake right in front of Fitz Roy.

I’d love to say I’m shivering with excitement, but deep down I know that’s not the reason for my chill and fatigue. When we catch our first glimpse of the breathtakingly vast panorama of Fitz Roy, I feel freezing cold despite the sun slowly peeking out. I put on my winter jacket.

“Do you think it’s cold?” my husband asks, surprised.

“Yeah, it must be from the glacier,” I lie to both of us. Damn flu… just bugger off! We trudge on. The 11,174-feet-high Fitz Roy and its neighboring peaks lie in the ever-closer distance like a granite front. The view is partially blocked by something that looks like a brown wall and feels half as high as the entire mountain. Well, that can’t possibly be the legendary ascent—that would be way too extreme! No one could climb that; you’d just fall right back off the cliff like a dead fly off a wall. I scan the terrain for another possible route up. Maybe through the clearing further to the left? Definitely!

Eventually, we reach the Rio Blanco River—and the brown cliff face I saw from a distance. It really is the climb. They’ve got to be out of their minds!

My husband and I agree on a meeting spot. We’ve hiked six miles together.

“Are you sure you want to go up there?” he asks skeptically.

No, I’m not. I shouldn’t be going up there right now. I’d be better off lying on the couch at home instead of trudging six miles to a rock face. But now I’m here. We flew over 24 hours to get from Germany to Santiago de Chile. Then another three hours by plane to Southern Patagonia. After that, seven hours by bus and three by car to Fitz Roy. Partly for this hike to Laguna de Los Tres. I’m going there now. Maybe I’m not in top shape, but what if this is my only chance in life to do this hike? What if I never come back here again? Last year we considered traveling to Jordan and decided against it. Now there’s war in West Asia. What if, in a few years, my health is much worse than just a cold?

Shortly after, I’m struggling my way up the mountain. It’s hard. Harder than I would have expected.

One step at a time. Pause. Breathe. Pause. The next steps. I feel like I’m wearing a spacesuit. Everything is heavy and leaden, exhausting, hot and cold. “What am I even doing here?” I say out loud. Then I keep going. The wall is endless. This is the longest half-mile ever. And the steepest. I think of the glacial lake waiting for me at the top. It hangs hidden behind the edge of the rock face like a mirage. 

When I finally reach the top, I’m dying, have a slight chill, and my head feels like a boulder. Then I realize I’m not even at the top yet—there’s another small ridge ahead of me. I pop an ibuprofen, pull my windbreaker over my sweaty T-shirt, and glance at my watch. I’ve been climbing for almost an hour and a half already. An hour and a half for half a mile—crazy! Then I keep going. This far. I’ve made it this far. 

The last section is pure gravel. I have no idea how I’m going to get back down. Probably on my butt. Just then, someone next to me slips. Nothing happened.

And then—then I reach the summit, the ridge of the wall. Behind it lies a milky, intensely bright-blue glacial lake against the monumental backdrop of Fitz Roy. I have to sit down. Wow. 

For some unknown reason, I keep dragging myself down to the lake shore, where I just lie in the sun for half an hour, enjoying this fantastic place and moment. Then, in addition, I climb up a pile of rubble, from which I’m surprised to see a second, dark-blue glacial lake (with a waterfall). I want to cry. Because a landscape like this can’t possibly exist in reality, because it must be some kind of AI, because nothing is that perfect—and because I’m just so overwhelmed. My head is pounding and my body temperature is fluctuating wildly between freezing and scorching.

But I’m here. Now. And even if it was a stupid idea, it’s still absolutely incredible.

I’ll be honest: the walk back was no walk in the park. I was totally wiped out. With more ibuprofen and plenty of breaks, we made it back to El Chalten after nearly twelve hours on the trail. The next day, I was completely out of commission—with a fever, a runny nose, a cough, and nausea (but I was back on my feet the day after that). 

This is not a call for false heroism. This is something you shouldn’t try to copy. I’m not proud of it, and I hesitated for a while about sharing this story at all. But this hike to Laguna de Los Tres was magical in its own unique way,—a place I climbed, experienced, and will remember forever, barely making it but with no regrets.

If you like, you can follow my stories and outdoor adventures daily on Instagram: @squirrel.sarah.

Find more adventures from Patagonia and hiking stories here:

• On the W Trek in Patagonia: Break an Arm! A Story about Willpower
• Penguins in Patagonia: Where the Fluff lives
• Hiking the Laugavegur in Iceland - a multi-day Adventure with Backpack and Tent
• 3000 Steps, Jungle Heat and Stars above the Himalayas: Our Nepal Trekking Tour
• On the Edge of Fjords and Glaciers – Roadtrip southern Norway