Discover a Different Side to Patagonia on This Multi-day Hike in Chile
Plunge into the cinematic scale of Patagonia on a guided multi-day hike in Chile.
The wind in Patagonia makes itself known through invisible shoves. One minute, it props me up; the next, it threatens to blow me down. At one point, I feel close to levitating. Yet I couldn’t possibly fly right now, not with a 14-kilogram pack strapped to my back.
I’m halfway through day one on a four-day, 74-kilometre backpacking expedition in southern Chile. At 823 metres, I’ve reached the highest – and windiest – point: Cerro Mocho. I watch from this bald-faced mount as a condor with a three-metre wingspan rides the breeze towards a valley to the north-west where I’ll pitch my tent in a few hours.
I’ve come to this blustery outpost near Puerto Natales, about a three-hour flight south of Santiago, to participate in the first Fjällräven Classic Chile. It’s the latest iteration of an event that started in Swedish Lapland 20 years ago and now takes place in seven countries on four continents. Though my place on the trek has been facilitated through a connection with ProChile, the Trade Commission of Chile in Australia, tickets are otherwise a hot commodity among the global adventure community. Roughly 300 people flew in to participate and half are hiking alongside me as part of the first group to set off.
Among the pack is Martin Axelhed, CEO of Fjällräven, the Swedish outdoor brand with the arctic fox logo that organises the hike. They provide the scaffolding for a safe and supported multi-day trek – building the route, crafting the infrastructure and providing the food – and we hikers carry our gear, pitch tents, cook meals and become self-sufficient in nature. All while leaving no trace.
“The ultimate goal is to transform as many people as possible, who may have felt a little scared to do this, into people who have the confidence to go off on their own,” says Axelhed. He’s quick to note that the trail, which has 3500 metres of vertical gain, is no walk in the park. “It’s actually quite tough but that’s the point. It should get you out of your comfort zone.”
After landing in Puerto Natales, preparations begin in an old sheep shed where we collect our supplies (including dehydrated taco bowls and Thai curries), check camping gear, attend workshops and receive trekking passports that must be stamped at checkpoints daily, including the campsite on night one. I sleep well that evening in a wind-protected forest of wizened lenga beech trees, each ornamented with tinsels of moss. My wake-up call – a cruel six hours later – is a Magellanic woodpecker slamming its beak against a log.
My 150 trekking companions and I stream out of camp in small groups, dispersing naturally as we forge onward at varying speeds. Before us is a valley of bush and grass set against low taupe hills dusted with snow. The sky is brooding and unpredictable. I spot one Patagonian gaucho galloping on a steed but the land is otherwise barren, unpopulated and befitting the end of the world. Soon we emerge onto a hilltop with sweeping views over two disparate lakes: one the grey-blue of a humpback whale; the other, a tropical Whitsundays hue. A small waterway snakes between them, while the toothy peaks of the Cordillera del Paine mountain range poke through low clouds to the north.
Throughout the hike, Fjällräven support staff offer tips, such as how to shift our packs to redistribute the weight. Global event manager Carl Hård af Segerstad tramps around the campground on night two, adjusting tents so they can resist the wind. The idea is that, by making this journey, we all leave more confident, skillful and capable of teaching others.
Day three announces its arrival with radiant sunlight. I pack the tent, roll the sleeping mat, boil the water for coffee. Trekkers soon file out of camp. Initially, I was wary of hiking like this, in a collective. But this feels a bit like a roving festival and the more people I meet, the more I want to share the experience. There are 38 nationalities represented and I chat with hikers from South Africa, Brazil and the United Kingdom.
I meet Sungju Hyun, from South Korea, who completed four Fjällräven Classics in 2024 with her sexagenarian parents, Taehoon Hyun and Hyuekyung Min. “We’re making friends very easily because we see the same people over and over again,” says Sungju. The South Korean event introduced the family to multi-day backpacking three years ago. “Now we mix backpacking and regular tourism on all of our trips,” she says, adding that they enjoy the format of the trek series. “One of the best parts for us is there’s a new path that we couldn’t explore without the Fjällräven Classic.”
To not overburden public land, the Chile event takes place on Estancia Cerro Guido, a private 100,000-hectare property run by a foundation studying the coexistence of livestock and wildlife. As a result, we don’t share the trail with anyone. In fact, the path is only accessible to us. The route is time-stamped at regular checkpoints, like a marathon, yet no-one seems to be racing. And why would you? I choose to heed the local maxim: he who rushes in Patagonia loses time. Abandoning my backpack for two hours, I frolic in the sun on a grey lake beach, cold-plunging in water from distant glaciers. Dozens of other hikers peel away dusty clothes to do the same. “Welcome to spring break,” says a Fjällräven trail guard stamping passports.
Mercurial Patagonia returns to its windier, cloudier state on the last morning, which begins with a hefty ascent through a forest filled with crimson chaura berries (oddly apple-like) and globular digüeñe mushrooms, which taste of raindrops. Axelhed – who’s always a few steps ahead of the pack – had described this leg as a “generous” climb, though that’s not the adjective I’d use (punishing is more like it). Buoyed by adrenaline and the allure of forthcoming comforts, I race onward.
The final descent is cinematic, a panorama of monster peaks that seems ripped from an epic fantasy film. The mighty Grey Glacier carves a bluish-white scar through it all, drooping down from the Southern Patagonian Ice Field. An American trekker stands at the lookout in shock, repeating, “Is this real? I mean, is this even real? This can’t be real.”
Off in the distance, the mountains of Torres del Paine National Park, Chile’s most beguiling back country, rise like castles carved in granite. Austral ales, Colchagua red wine and local lamb cooked over open flames greet us when we finally reach the finish line. There’s live music that will, when the sky becomes a fiery orange, segue into a dance party – exhaustion and dehydration be damned. Tomorrow it’ll all be over and we’ll sleep and dream in beds within four walls. We’ll have the space and capacity to unpack the adventure, as well as the skills to do it all over again on our own. But tonight, we celebrate.
