On the first night of the Dientes de Navarino trek in Chilean Patagonia, I lay in my tent with my sleeping bag pulled tightly closed around my face, shivering as the wind mercilessly whips through our campsite, making the sides of the tent flap hard, like a gull in a storm.
My legs ache, trying to recover from an intense day of sidling across a very steep mountainside covered in loose scree, snow and mud. A somewhat novice trekker, I had spent most of the afternoon slowly picking my way along the trail, with our guides keeping a watchful eye over my steps.
The mild panic that kept me clinging to that hillside lingers through the windy night at Laguna Salto, as we have been warned the next day was forecast to be even windier. Am I in too far over my head? Can I really do five days of this?
Spoiler alert: it turns out that I could, but the experience taught me a few things. Here’s what I learned when I hiked through one of the most remote landscapes on the planet.
Hiking at the End of the World
Our first steps onto the trail take us through a damp forest full of tiny treasures that seem to come straight out of the pages of a fantasy novel – bright pink berries, chartreuse mosses and spherical tree-eating mushrooms the color of sherbet line the way until the forest suddenly changes. These new anemic trees give way to a martian expanse of broken rock that slips around beneath our boots. It’s here we get our first real glimpse of the jagged Dientes, a row of stone peaks as sharp as hound’s teeth pricking the cloudy sky. This trek takes us directly through the mountain range itself instead of hugging its base – here goes nothing.
Hiking at the end of the world presents a unique set of challenges. You are vulnerable and very far from anything familiar, carrying all the essentials that will keep you alive on your back. The weather here can change without warning, with the violent Patagonian wind serving as a constant reminder that we are small beings in an ancient, raw landscape that does not suffer fools. The trail itself cuts through unforgiving rock slopes, serious inclines and viscous muck, sometimes disappearing completely under a mischievous layer of snow. If you have something to prove to yourself, this is the place to do it.
Lesson One: The Art of the Thru-Trek
The beautiful thing about doing a thru-trek is the ability to reach destinations that truly feel remote from everyday life – you are definitively in the wilderness. As a city-dwelling individual whose livelihood revolves around the internet, I usually find myself checking emails, social media feeds, and sending text messages. However, that is not the case on the Navarino trail; it’s just me.
Its difficulty makes conversation with fellow trekkers tough, so I find myself in moments of solitude, discovering the rhythm in a realm that is completely visual, auditory and tactile. Each pass opens to unveil a landscape unlike the one before: mood ring lagoons, coral-like yaretilla moss, and beaver-scarred forests each narrate their unique tales of survival in the polar tundra.
Small sensations define the time on the trail: the tic-tac of my hiking poles against the stone, the warm smell of the peat squelching beneath my boots, the ceramic tumble of loose rocks, and the soft sting of ice hitting my face.
In contrast to the relentless distractions of everyday life, which usually leave me anxious and overwhelmed, this experience is grounding. Rather, it’s about connecting to something else that feels authentic and precious. This trek is meditative, and this focused attention becomes an art form practiced throughout the week. This is why people return and share their stories long after their journey ends.
Lesson Two: The Importance of Forgiving Yourself
I curse under my breath as we walk around the bend hugging Laguna Escondida (Hidden Lake), a lake that – thanks to a few well-placed hillsides – is generally elusive from Navarino’s panoramic views until you find it along the trail. The only way to navigate around the stunningly blue but very cold water is to pick your way through a series of jagged, medium-sized boulders, which are wet from a brief ice storm.
At this point (day three), I have discovered that there are rocks that I like and rocks that I don’t like; gravel is the easiest, and while rock shards may slip around, it’s still manageable to walk. Unfortunately, these rocks can be tricky. They appear solid and unmoving, but they can unexpectedly shift underfoot, and their broad surfaces deflect my hiking poles, sending them skittering into the spaces between them, where they catch and snag.
Worst of all, these rocks highlight my inexperience with such terrain. My fellow hikers are far ahead as I struggle on, sweating and gritting my teeth. One poorly placed hiking pole leads to a misstep, another mistake, and then another. I apologize profusely to the porters behind me. Why can’t I do this? I’m just slowing everyone down. The boulders eventually give way to flat, squishy land, and later that day we take in incredible views from Paso Ventarrón that bring happy tears to my eyes.
As I stand on the pass, turning in circles trying to take in the vastness of it all, I realize: it’s okay. It’s okay that I did what I needed to do to reach this point – it’s time to let go of expectations, both of my situation and myself. Nobody judged my path but me, and the path was worth it.
Lesson Three: The Comedy of Being Uncomfortable
Every adventure advertisement and article out there (including some of mine) seems to promote the image of the perfectly put-together, serious outdoorsy individual. The reality is that outdoor living has its own undignified humor. Whether you’re inadvertently smacking your face into wet, smelly socks you’ve hung up in your tent, realizing that cold snot is running down your face after a chat, or making peace with the fact that you will have to poop outside, it’s all a little funny.
With this comedy, however, comes a touch of grace. You can’t take yourself too seriously when you’ve accidentally slid butt-first down a snowdrift or woken up with your hair sticking straight out from your face because you had to sleep with your hat on to stay warm. Humor triumphs over frustration every time.
Lesson Four: The Value of Camaraderie
Between the mountain scaling and rock traversing, the evenings at the campsite become cherished moments. It’s here around the fire circle that you tap into familiar feelings of comfort.
Within the haze of the campfire smoke is the crew enlisted to help our group navigate across Navarino. This team of porters and guides keeps our trek safe, ensuring we all stay on the adventure’s path without mishaps. When they aren’t navigating the Navarino mountains, Joshua is a mechanic and passionate skier; Cris, an amiable sommelier; and Pascal is an enthusiastic YouTuber and avid outdoorsman. Matías is an ice climber and a brand new dad, and Gonzalo is a skilled photographer.
We bond over steaming plates of chorizo and rice in the evenings and welcome cups of ‘mountain coffee’ in the mornings (“It’s not good, but it’s good enough for the mountains!” jokes Cris). Nobody separates; understanding grows as we chat around the fire, even when ice pellets begin to fall. This intimate gathering with acquaintances becomes a compelling social experiment – you learn about everyone quickly within a short amount of time, enhancing the shared experience. Engage with everyone on your trip for the chance of walking away with some new friendships.
Lesson Five: What’s in a Summit?
“We’re going WHERE?” I holler, the 70mph wind tearing at my coat and pushing me backward. We teeter on top of Virginia Pass, the final major pass of the trek and the circuit’s highest point, overlooking a valley perfectly shaped like a giant scoop out of an ice cream tub. Matías points to a barely visible path snaking down the mountainside at a gradient that makes my eyes pop. Struggling to maintain our footing against the wind, we head down the slope single-file, gripping onto fine gravel to avoid sliding the whole way down.
As I tighten my grip on my hiking poles, I catch sight of Pascal bounding down the hillside at breakneck speed like some sort of deer, navigating the terrain with a surefootedness that comes from frequently hiking these daring paths in Chile. His delight is infectious, and my grip relaxes just a little.
Later that evening at camp, we learn that Matías had rescued some hypothermic tourists stranded at the top of the pass in a sudden snowstorm just a week earlier, bringing the reality of our adventure to stark clarity. It’s a strange and sobering realization that someone recently faced the very real prospect of dying along the same path we walked merely hours before. But that truth applies to every road we travel and every sidewalk we walk, doesn’t it? People grapple with life-and-death struggles daily. In fact, summits exist everywhere.
The Takeaway
The Dientes de Navarino trek is an exercise in both strength and humility. It makes you acutely aware of your humanity while showcasing the natural magnificence of a place so rarely seen. Here, you learn not just about yourself, but also about others and the sheer power of our planet. Do I recommend this experience? Absolutely. Just be prepared for a personal reckoning that resonates long after you return home.
