A Windy morning on Cerro Antenna

The Patagonian weather is finally breaking. After days of settled conditions, the script has flipped: while patches of sun still linger, the peaks are now swaddled in cloud, and the wind has arrived with a vengeance. These are the strongest gusts we’ve felt in the 13 days since we arrived. A proper Patagonian welcome.

And that’s saying something. Patagonia is notorious for its ferocious winds, but to experience them is something else entirely. I’ve stood on my share of windy mountain tops, but this is like nothing else on the planet.

There’s a reason these winds feel so profound. They are travelers on an epic scale, having raced across the entire expanse of the Southern Pacific Ocean. They dumped their moisture over the Patagonian Ice Cap and now, unburdened and dry, they scream eastward, gathering speed across the Argentine pampas until they finally spend themselves over the Atlantic. They don't just blow; they have a history, a journey. There's a raw, unadulterated power to them that feels ancient. To stand in their path is not just a challenge; it's a privilege.

But enough waxing lyrical - back to the hike!

We opted for a short, half-day walk up a local hill aptly named "Cerro Antenna," for the radio antenna perched on its summit. The round trip is a manageable 8 kilometers with nearly 500 meters of ascent. The best part? It quickly branches off from the popular tourist path to Mirador de los Condores, offering an immediate escape.

This was our ticket away from the newfound crowds. While busloads of holidaymakers trudged uphill hoping for a condor sighting, we found solitude. We soon reached a small col and paused, looking northwest towards the mountains.

The view was a study in atmospherics. Cerro Torre and its companions were utterly clagged in all day, but the Fitzroy range played a thrilling game of peek-a-boo. Sharp granite spires would pierce the mist for a fleeting moment before vanishing again. For a budding landscape photographer, this is pure magic. Blue-sky days are postcard-perfect, but changeable weather like this brews mystery and drama.

From the col, the trail transformed into what I’d call "Old Patagonia", a narrow, infrequently used path that feels like a relic from a time before the daily coachloads. Here, you remember what it's like to be truly away from the norm. And the wildlife notices, too.

We continued south, tracking the condors circling overhead and speculating where they might roost. Just around a corner from the summit, we found a lone Guanaco, perched serenely on a rock and chewing thoughtfully on whatever it is Guanacos chew. Completely unbothered by our presence, we left him to his peace.

It was a serene moment, but it sparked a less serene thought: where there are Guanacos, there are probably Pumas. Our pace through the ensuing wooded section became noticeably brisker, punctuated by more than a few anxious glances over our shoulders.

We eventually rounded the hill, merged with the busier path from Mirador de las Aguilas, and turned our sights toward El Chalten.

The walk back to town is always a bit of a drag, and today the wind ensured it was a battle. Now, I know I started this by rhapsodizing about the wind's majestic spirit. Call me fickle! But when I’ve got my "Get Home" head on, the last thing I want is a relentless headwind trying to steal every step, threatening to send me cartwheeling back down the hill. The very essence I’d admired from a safe vantage point had now become my personal antagonist, making me earn every meter back to warmth and a warm meal.

P.S Images from Kiersten of Condors, Guanacos and Long-tailed Meadowlarks to follow