This post may contain affiliate links. If you purchase through these links, I may earn a small commission at no extra cost to you. Thanks for supporting my site! See our privacy policy for more information.
Greetings and welcome to Day 4 of my mini travel diary, where I share the day-to-day details of completing the W Trek in Chilean Patagonia’s Torres del Paine National Park. If you need to catch up on the journey so far, start with the earlier entries listed below
Alternatively, if you are on a Patagonia fact finding mission check out my complete guide here or if you want to know what I would do differently hiking the W trek, then this post is for you. Otherwise, today’s route takes us from Cuernos, my favorite refugio for the views, to the Chileno refugio. It turned into a very challenging day. The hiking was hard and the elevation was no joke although, the real drama came from a navigational pickle that had me genuinely worried I wouldn’t make it out. Here we go.
Breakfast and Blue Skies
Breakfast began with my newfound truth: the “oatmeal” I had been eating all week was actually blueberry granola. Today I finally ate it the intended way, with cold water. Crunchy, delicious, and honestly it slapped. After packing up, three of us hit the trail a little ahead of the other two. I’m not even sure why we split up, only that we were ready and they weren’t quite there yet. We waved and said, “See you at Chileno!”
The morning was immediately beautiful and immediately uphill. The path threads through camp, crosses a gorgeous stream, and climbs toward the ridge above Lake Nordenskjöld. At this time, the sun was shining, the sky was a deep blue and for a while there were zero complaints.
I traded my French braids and Hagrid-level frizz for space buns, and the vibes were high. A light breeze came and went. In between the short climbs, the trail flattened out and we walked along the lake with the kind of views that make you forget your pack weight.
Ready to Explore? Book Here ↓
Where I Went Wrong
Then we reached a three-way junction which had three paths and three different directions. There was a sign with arrows pointing to different destinations, and I was slightly ahead of my two friends. I headed toward what I believed was the river crossing. It made sense on paper. No fancy suspension bridge here, just a scramble down to the water and a rock-hopping crossing. Once on the other side, a steep trail climbed up to the right, so I followed it.
Up and down a few rolling hills, I reached a stunning viewpoint over the lake. It looked like the perfect spot to wait for my friends, so I sat and cracked open my Kindle while I kept an eye on the trail below. Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. I ate a couple of pickles from my snack stash and continued to wait, waving at hikers as they passed. Odd. Where were my friends? Maybe a bathroom stop. Maybe a quick detour.
A couple approached and we chatted. They asked where I was headed.
“Chileno,” I said. They asked if I’d come from Central.
“No, from Cuernos. We’re doing the Towers tomorrow morning.”
A pause. Then they gently broke the news: this path led to Central. The end of the trek.
A drop in my stomach. Suddenly it made sense why my friends hadn’t appeared. I thanked the couple, wished them well, and immediately jogged back down to the river.
The Wrong Turn and the Unmarked Left
Back at the river crossing I retraced my steps, crossed the water again, and returned to the three-way sign. A small group was sitting there eating lunch. For a moment I thought, great, I’ll tuck in behind them and we’ll all head the same way. But they were staying put for a while. I was on my own.
I read the sign again. The correct way still seemed to require crossing the river. But how had I ended up on the wrong trail? It felt like there was only one obvious route out of the crossing, a well-worn path to the right. As I stepped over the water again, I noticed a man ahead of me crossing. On the far bank he turned left. Left? I hadn’t even seen a left. It looked rocky and overgrown, only faintly treaded, not at all like a main trail. No signs either.
An Unofficial Guide
I followed him and asked, “Chileno?” He didn’t speak English. I tried again: “The Towers? Chileno?” A single “sí” was all I needed. I tucked in behind my new friend and we set out. Immediately the path entered a field of tall grass over soft, swampy ground. Narrow planks appeared here and there, just enough to keep your boots out of the marsh. We balance-beamed across, slow and steady.
Beyond the marsh, the route opened into broad fields of waist-high brown grass. The trail meandered through the open, barely a footpath in places, and for long stretches it was just me and my silent companion. Eventually, we had to part ways as he sat on a low dirt mound to rest. I asked once more, half to him and half to myself, confirming we were headed the right direction. Another nod and gratefully, another “sí.”
Climbing in Eerie Silence and LOTR Brain
Another key point to this saga is: I have a terrible sense of direction. It’s a running joke between my husband and I. While i am the travel organizer, I definitely step into a new city and turn around in a circle until I get google maps pointed the right way.
And out there, that tendency felt amplified. There were no trail markers for long stretches, no crowds, no chatter. The air was undeniably still and stagnant, the grass unmoving, no birdsong and shockingly, zero wind. The silence felt eerie and heavy. Add in the stress of my earlier mistake and the solitude took on a cinematic quality. It felt like the opening scene of a thriller where the soundtrack warns you to turn back. I was absolutely bewildered how I was completely alone on this trail.
I kept going. What else could I do? The elevation began to rise. I was listening to The Fellowship of the Ring audiobook and feeling more hobbit than human obviously convinced that Black Riders might emerge from behind any boulder (it was seriously chilling). Occasionally, I pulled my headphones out, convincing myself I heard horses. You can hire pack horses to carry gear up to Chileno, given that, it wasn’t an outlandish idea. But each time there was nothing.
I wish I took more photos to document the eeriness I felt hiking alone to Chileno. But with the nerves of being lost and my walk/sprint to find other humans, I only have these to show.
A Solo Climb
With the adrenaline and panic humming under the surface, my pace picked up. The climb steepened. The flats ended. My huffing and puffing did not. I planned contingencies in my head. Surely, this had to be Chileno’s approach. Backtrack in the afternoon heat? Wait for other hikers and hope they knew the way?
Finally, the fields gave way to rock and switchbacks while the trail narrowed and the world dropped off to my right into a deep canyon. For the first time in hours, hikers appeared. I could breathe again. If I slipped or twisted an ankle at last now there were people close enough to help. The views sharpened as the grade increased. The wind picked up through a mountain pass that absolutely earned the title “windy.” Then a suspension bridge appeared, swaying gently over a gorge and beyond it came the unmistakable hum of camp.
A sign read “Chileno.” I have never loved a sign more.
Reunited at Chileno
As I walked into camp, the refugio sat right by the trail. A little farther on, my friends were at a picnic table. “Oh, thank God,” one said. Then, “What happened?” I shrugged off my pack, refilled my water and launched into the story. On top of being lost, I had finished the final miles with an empty water bottle, which did not help the anxiety. Between gulps of water and handfuls of snacks, I regaled them with my journey about the confusing junction. It felt like my own hobbit journey through the Dead Marshes, just with trekking poles and space buns.
The picnic table became home base for the afternoon. Chileno is one of the most unique refugios on the W Trek. The kitchen operates out of a small cabin with a few showers in the back. There is uncovered outdoor seating with picnic tables for campers who cook their own meals. Bathrooms live in a separate building. Camping platforms stretch up the hillside behind the refugio. It is a simple setup with a lot of character.
Luckily, my tent was already pitched because the rest of the group arrived before me but getting to it was a mini adventure. The path to the platforms is steep, loose, and angled, not exactly Croc friendly. I picked my way up the slope, tried not to skid, and reminded myself that plenty of people do this in the dark the next morning on the sunrise push to the Towers.
Camp Life on a Hillside
We unpacked and prepped for the pre-dawn hike. Dinner was a quick, satisfying affair at the outdoor tables. Showers were a blessing. The water felt extra good after the stress and the miles. Chileno’s vibe is lively without being overwhelming. Hikers cycle through nonstop, everyone buzzing about sunrise plans or glowing from photos they already took up top.
Sleeping at Chileno isn’t luxurious but the hillside setting feels special. Pines and scrub line the slope. When the wind drops, you can hear the river and when it blows, it roars through the pass. After a last round of snacks and a final check of layers for the morning, we zipped the tent and tried to quiet the nerves. The alarm would be brutal, but the Towers at sunrise were the finale we came for.
What I’d Tell Future Me About Day 4
- Read every junction carefully. Some intersections have signs that feel obvious until they don’t. When in doubt, wait for your group or confirm with another hiker before committing.
- Expect unmarked choices. After river crossings, look for less-traveled options that may be correct even if they are not the most worn. That subtle left was the key.
- Don’t skimp on the water. I ran dry a couple of miles before camp which was not ideal on a climb. Fill up when you can, especially before long, exposed sections.
- Keep a map available. Paper, drawn, printed. Whatever you can find to keep you going the correct direction.
The Bottom Line
To sum it up, day 4 from Cuernos to Chileno had everything. Blue skies, a beautiful ridge walk above Lake Nordenskjöld, a confusing three-way junction, a stealthy left after a river crossing, eerie silence across the prairie, a windy mountain pass and the best sign in the world waiting at camp. It was hard and humbling, and it ended in relief and laughter at a picnic table with my people.
Tomorrow was our final day on the W Trek. It is the sunrise push to the Towers, the longest haul, and the day we get beds again. Bliss. Keep reading for Day 5, where I share exactly how the sunrise hike went and how it felt to return to cell service and civilization. And tell me, have you ever gotten lost on a hike?
Pin this post for your next trip! ↓
