Chorillo del Salto and a Race Against the Patagonian Wind

We were stealing a day. Sandwiched between brutal weather alerts for wind and rain, we had a precious half-day window. The target? Chorillo del Salto, a popular waterfall just outside El Chalten. A 9km round trip with barely a hill to climb seemed like the perfect, sensible mission.

"Sensible," however, is a relative term in Patagonia.

To beat the crowds, we launched our assault at 8 am, while the rest of El Chalten was still sipping coffee and crunching cornflakes. The strategy worked; the trail was nearly empty. But we hadn't beaten the cold. The bitter wind sweeping off the Rio de las Vueltas was a force of its own.

Despite being wrapped in three thermal layers, a windproof jacket, gloves, and a facemask, the icy air needled its way straight to the bone. The recent rains had transformed the valley into a vast, shimmering floodplain, and the wind had free rein to punish us.

Then, salvation, the trail ducked into a quiet, wooded bush, a labyrinth of twisted branches and dappled light. The howling ceased, replaced by a peaceful silence. We were cocooned in a beautiful, green sanctuary.

The first sign we were close to the waterfall wasn't visual, it was a deep, growing roar that vibrated in our chests. Distant thunder. As we emerged from the trees, the scene exploded into view: a powerful, gigantic cascade of white water thundering into the pool below. And miraculously, we had it all to ourselves.

The sight was mesmerizing. In my quest for the perfect photo, I embarked on a comical dance of precarious balance on wet boulders, clinging to fragile twigs for dear life. I genuinely tried my level best to take an unplanned polar plunge, but the Patagonian gods decided I should remain dry.

We found a quiet spot to simply sit and absorb the raw power and beauty. Our timing was perfect. Just as we settled in, a steady stream of visitors began to arrive (a reminder of the nearby car park just 500 meters away).

On the return, we chose alternate paths, weaving through the trees to escape the dust and noise of the 4x4s and minibuses now rumbling towards Lago del Desierto.

We had snatched our short hike from the jaws of the forecast. It’s moments like these that make me appreciate a long stay; the pressure to see it all vanishes. For those with only a few days, a closed curtain of clouds can be heartbreaking. For us, it was just Sunday.

Tomorrow, the orange and red alerts for wind and rain are back. But we’re hoping the mountains will clear by Tuesday. A multi-day trek awaits.

Vamos a ver.