Fitz Roy: in the wildest heart of Patagonia

Text and images by Lorenzo Cerri

I left for Patagonia in December 2025 with a clear idea in mind and a thousand unknowns in my backpack. The dream was to climb Fitz Roy or Cerro Torre, letting the conditions decide for us, as they always do in this part of the world. Patagonia cannot be conquered: it must be listened to, waited for, accepted. And that is exactly why I was there.

With me was Luca Sala, from Borca di Cadore. We share the same way of being in the mountains: few words, constant attention, mutual trust. During the first few days, the weather did what it does best here: it disrupted our plans. Then, finally, a window opened: four clear days. Rare. Precious. We immediately understood that it was time to choose, and our choice fell on the Supercanaleta, the historic line that climbs Fitz Roy in a direct and logical way, while giving nothing away.

The approach was long and kept us busy for around nine hours on the first day: a magnificent journey through lenga forests and gentle glaciers, on the less frequented side, hidden from the village of El Chaltén. Once we crossed Paso del Cuadrado, the perception changed sharply: we felt far from everything, immersed in a harsh environment where the margin for error was minimal and the rope team became the only real point of reference. We bivouacked at the base of the route, carefully organizing gear, timing and strategy, aware that from that moment on everything would depend solely on us.

We set off at midnight. By one o’clock on the second day, we were already moving, immersed in a cold, clear night that was ideal for making fast progress. We climbed the first section, around 110 metres, unroped, on well-consolidated snow and ice. The choice was clear: move quickly to get past the most exposed part of the couloir before rising temperatures could make the environment unstable, keeping our exposure to objective hazards to a minimum.

The Supercanaleta is an obvious line, but far from simple: thin ice in places, inconsistent snow alternating with hard sections, and a constant need to assess the conditions. Every step required attention; every swing of the ice axe was a confirmation. Once past the central section of the canaleta, the environment changes: the slope remains steep, but mixed terrain and rock sections come into play, forcing you to slow down.

From that point on, we decided to rope up, tackling the upper section with greater method. Fitz Roy’s rock is solid, but route-finding is never straightforward: the system of dihedrals, cracks and ramps can easily become confusing, especially in such a vast, vertical environment. We alternated leads, always looking for the most logical line, placing protection where needed and maintaining a steady pace, without wasting energy.

During the climb, between one pitch and the next, we exchanged simple words, light jokes and small words of encouragement. In those moments, a rope team becomes something more than two people tied together by a rope: it becomes complete trust, a mutual reliance that makes you feel exactly where you are meant to be. Fatigue was beginning to make itself felt, but our minds stayed clear, focused only on the next step.

On the evening of the second day, by then seriously tired, we decided to stop a short distance from the summit. We found shelter behind a huge rock block, which protected us from the Patagonian wind and allowed us to spend an essential but restorative bivouac. The altitude, the accumulated fatigue and the awareness of being so close to our goal made sleep light, but full of expectation.

In the morning, a surprise was waiting for us: the final section, apparently easy, turned out to be a slab of extremely hard ice. Our crampons, already put to the test by the rock of the previous day, no longer bit into it as well as we would have liked. This transformed the last few metres into a delicate and demanding passage, where precision and calm were essential. A spicy finale, as only great mountains can deliver.

When we reached the summit of Fitz Roy, the happiness was complete but restrained. No shouting, no out-of-place celebration. Just a long, deep look that contained fatigue, respect and gratitude. We had done it.

The descent along the immense Franco-Argentine face was no less demanding: a huge, complex wall that had to be interpreted with care. But the conditions were good, our focus was high, and everything went smoothly. On the fourth day, after a restorative bivouac at Col de la Silla, we returned towards the valley across straightforward glaciers and an almost relaxing trek, like a slow return to reality.

This climb was a concentration of powerful emotions, amplified by the brotherhood of the rope team and by the awareness that we were on an itinerary where there is no possibility of requesting organised rescue. There, you are alone with your partner, your choices and the mountain. And that is exactly what makes everything so real.

Special thanks go to AKU, who supported this adventure. I completed the entire climb wearing Hayatsuki, my favourite high-altitude mountaineering boot: warm, precise and reliable. In environments like this, where every detail matters, knowing you can trust your equipment truly makes the difference.

Lorenzo Cerri

“I want to be in those places where we are still guests, where human presence has not turned an ascent into just another medal to pin on your chest. Moving through these austere environments requires constant attention and deep respect, for the mountain and for those who experience it.”

Hayatsuki GTX

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