The Hidden Lake: To Share or Not to Share?

The secret was offered over a casual meeting with our friends Patricia and Nicolas at the Kau Si Aike Hosteria in El Chaltén. They spoke of a lake unknown to guidebooks, a place where locals escape when the tourist trails overflow. Patricia’s eyes lit up describing it: water of a piercing blue, fringed by beaches of sand the colour of the Sahara. We were, of course, immediately captivated. A plan was formed.

But first, a conflict. Do I tell you its name? Trace its location on a map? In an age where every hidden gem is one Instagram tag away from being lost, this feels like a solemn choice. This small TravelLog may have a modest reach, but the principle remains. Would sharing its coordinates be a betrayal of the local community, who clearly cherish this sanctuary? I’ve decided to walk a middle path: to share the experience, the feeling of discovery, but to leave its precise identity veiled. Some mysteries are meant to be earned, not simply downloaded.

Our journey began with a taxi ride, dropping us in a windswept expanse between town and the Río Eléctrico bridge. As the car vanished in a plume of dust, we stood alone on the open plain, the wind whipping around us. No signs, no markers, only a faint whisper of trails in the grass. With a trusted map, we found our key: a narrow cut through the tree line that opened onto a proper path, leading upward into the waiting forest.

And what a forest it was. This was no orderly woodland, but a dramatic, chaotic sculpture garden of nature. Sunlight poured into sudden glades, illuminating a tangled wreckage of beauty, trees twisted by wind, branches snapped and piled like pick-up sticks, all softened by a thick carpet of moss and dappled light. The narrow trail, clear underfoot, wound through this silent landscape until, without fanfare, it delivered us to the lake’s edge.

Under the vast Patagonian sky, the water was indeed a profound, luminous blue. And there, just as promised, were the Sahara-hued beaches, though the spring rains had raised the lake, turning them into golden peninsulas we’d need to wade to reach. I could picture them in the autumn sun (March or April here), dotted with families from El Chaltén sharing mate and laughter, far from the crowded trails.

We followed the shore to the northern end, finding a quiet perch to sit. The only movement was a family of White-tufted Grebes, diving and bobbing on the glassy surface, their tiny wakes the only ripples on the stillness. The serenity was absolute. In that moment, I understood perfectly why this place is guarded so closely.

The return trip was a different kind of adventure. The same wind that challenged us on the plain now hurled us gently back toward town.

We half-walked, half-flew along the path, not meeting another soul until we rejoined the known world at the popular Chorrillo del Salto waterfall. The contrast was stark, and it sealed the gift of our afternoon: a few precious hours in a hidden world, borrowed quietly, and left, we hoped, exactly as we found it.