Never made it.
After days of mostly sunny weather, I woke up this morning to a meteorological shitfest. It was the kind of rain and wind you see in movies about doomed sailors or lobster fishermen. The piercing rain was falling sideways. The howling, icy wind was blasting the skin right off your face and daring you to take a single step without tipping over like a wobbly-legged toddler. Instead of Debussy, I was hearing Wagner´s Ride of the Valkyries bellowing from the monstrous clouds. While I was eating my box lunch under drenched trees and persistant showers, I was grinning from ear-to-ear like a complete moron. I was loving every microsecond of this.
For safety reasons, the Argentinian guide wouldn´t allow me to go to Laguna de los Tres. "Dees ees dee wurst day here een dee past tree months," she said apologetically. And to add insult to injury, a heavy wall of grey clouds completely blanketed not only Mount Fitz Roy but also Cerro Torre. I´m going to try again tomorrow, my last day in El Chalten. If the sun is an asshole and doesn´t cooperate, I have absolutely no doubt in my mind that I will come back. And perhaps that´s what was supposed to happen all along.
The locro stew here is really fricking good.