The Daily Telegraph - Saturday - Travel
Ski among the pristine peaks of Patagonia
Lucy Aspden-Kean goes heli-skiing for the first time and has a pioneering run named after her
There is a game that few skiers get to play in their lifetime. It is called “ski a run, name a run”. And there I was, hitting the jackpot on my first roll of the dice. Staring back at the ribbon I had carved into an untracked white canvas surrounded by sawtooth Andean peaks, I wondered how a mediocre skier like me had found herself in one of the planet’s most treasured wildernesses – and now had a first descent to her name.
Skiing in the remotest corners of Patagonia is perceived as the preserve of ski movie stars – and for the most part, it is. The region, which encompasses more than 400,000 square miles of Chile and Argentina, is among the most inaccessible places on the planet. It extends from the southern tip of the Andes, bound by lakes, fjords, rainforests and glaciers and flanked by the Pacific and Atlantic oceans. To experience its untouched terrain fully requires a thirst for adventure and a healthy bank balance.
The region’s name derives from the word patagón, possibly first used by Spanish explorers to describe the indigenous tribes they believed were giants. Skiing has long been possible in its commercial resorts close to major cities (Portillo, 90 miles from Santiago; Cerro Catedral, 12 miles from Bariloche). Now, the furthest outreaches of this colossal playground, home to some of the planet’s last untracked mountains, is accessible to skiers with no expert experience.
From its off-grid outpost Eleven Rio Palena Lodge, operator Eleven Experience is breaking new ground with its once-in-a-lifetime heli-skiing adventures. Founded by American couple Chad and Blake Pike, it has 13 properties worldwide, with the duo’s concept of “taking it to 11” defining the experience. Spread across three floors, the secluded seven-bedroom lodge sits on the bank of the Palena river. Arriving in a southern hemisphere spring – the heli-ski season operates from September to October – I found the surrounding 35 acres of private land green and bursting with wildlife.
Inside, the lodge was a luxurious mix of modern amenities and cosy aesthetics: polished wood floors, stone fireplaces and bookshelves bursting with ski literature, bird-spotting guidebooks and copies of National Geographic. As this is a five-star adventure lodge, there was also an equipment room stocked with all the toys needed for a week of exploration, plus a wood-fired hot tub, an outdoor asado area for barbecues and a giant terrace from which to gaze at the Milky Way. And, parked up on the lawn, two gleaming helicopters.
“Try not to let the helicopter take your energy, try to relax and don’t try to control the things you can’t,” was the first advice that lead guide Mike Barney gave me and my fellow novice heli-skiers at the safety briefing. We were shown videos on how to approach the machine (slowly, from the front half), how to huddle as it descends (crouch down, eyes up) and how to board (steadily when signalled). Next came what to expect from the skiing – and my anxiety about not having the technical skills to keep up filled me with dread.
“People think of heli-skiing as extreme but there is something for everybody,” Barney said. “We’re not jumping out of helicopters. It can be extreme, but we slow down the pace.”
The next morning I was up with the birds to watch our pilots prepare their machines. After breakfast, it was straight to the equipment room to fit our harnesses (essential when skiing over glacial terrain) and avalanche safety gear, as the guides loaded our skis and lunch supplies. We walked through a demonstration of the helicopter etiquette we had learned, and then tested our equipment thoroughly. Nerves settling, it was time for take-off.
The lodge’s lawn dropped away as we ascended out of the serene valley. What lay ahead was the most breathtaking landscape I had ever seen – more vast and dense with peaks than the Alps, closer to the drama of the Himalayas. As our pilots took a daredevil line through the rock towers of Las Tres Monjas (the three nuns), my heart skipped a beat. The slopes below us ranged from steep couloirs to rolling glaciers and winding blankets of white. From their base at the lodge, the Eleven team have a total of 2.3 million acres of terrain to survey – and the sheer scale means there is quite literally a slope to suit every ability.
“We’re exploring here, that’s what really inspires me,” said Barney. “Flying over new ridges into new areas and finding ski terrain, we’re mapping it all.” And that’s when the game begins.
For someone who has lived their life on the groomed, crowded pistes of the Alps, the experience of skiing on virgin snow, on unexplored mountains, is otherworldly. Barney set out ahead and I followed eagerly. A soft layer of spring powder allowed my skis to flow, at my own rhythm, down the mountainside.
The slope was wide and the gradient no steeper than an Alpine red run. I gained confidence with every turn, trying to take it all in as I descended, hearing the whoops of enjoyment from the group behind me. I laughed out loud in disbelief and the sound echoed off the surrounding mountains. I was doing it – heli-skiing – and it wasn’t hard or scary: it was unadulterated euphoria.
I fist-pumped the air as I calmly carved to a stop next to Barney and the waiting helicopter, after a 600m descent. Looking back, I could clearly see the line I had tracked.
“It’s yours,” said my guide. “We haven’t skied that one before – so now you’re the first.” My body buzzed with feel-good endorphins.
True to the Eleven ethos, the following days delivered more of the same sensory overload. After conquering six drops on our first day, we upped the pace to bag eight on our last – exploring areas mapped by our guides including runs named Schnitzel, Hung Jury and Excalibur. Barney estimated that we had discovered six new descents for his team to record and rate for future guests. Only in the untouched Himalayas, or in remote regions of Georgia, might skiers find comparative exploration at their fingertips.
Each run had its own characteristics, from steep and thigh-burning to rolling and tranquil – and each day included lunch in the field, sitting on ledges dug into the snowpack using our shovels, feasting on pre-packed meals and 360-degree views. One afternoon we collected a block of loose glacial ice from our picnic spot, and used it that evening in the pisco sours with which we toasted the success of our exploration.
Nor was it only on the slopes that Patagonia delivered adrenaline kicks. When the weather paused ski-play, the helicopters flew us to Eleven’s river camp for a day’s rafting on the Futaleufú River (translated as “big water”, the river begins in Los Alerces National Park in Argentina and descends through Patagonia). Other excursions included après in the hot springs of La Junta, paddleboarding on the Palena and trailblazing through dense coigue forests to the foot of the thundering El Tronador waterfall.
By the end of my week among the giants of Patagonia, my world had exploded with first-time experiences. But there was one final challenge – what to name my run? “Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds,” I informed Barney. “A small British stamp on this giant playground, and an ode to the all-time high of a ski holiday.”
After the groomed pistes of the Alps, skiing on virgin snow, on unexplored mountains, is otherworldly