DAY 6: CAMP GREY TO PAINE GRANDE
ASCENT: 398m DESCENT: 275m DISTANCE: 11.5 km TIME: 3h
10 March. After yesterday’s effort, we gave ourselves permission to sleep in—finally crawling out of the tent around 8am. Even that felt optimistic. Feet, calves, quads… everything complained. My feet especially, at least for the first five minutes, until they realised there was no going back to bed.
Like others, we didn’t rush it, setting off around 10:30. Today was a short walk of only 9km.
The path rolled its way along the edge of Grey Lake—never steep, but never entirely kind either. Small climbs, steady descents, the kind that incrementally add up. The views made up for it all.
We took our time. Stopped often. Found a rocky outcrop overlooking the glacier for lunch—today’s menu: tortillas with cream cheese and salami. We sat in the warm sun, watching the vast, fractured ice stretch into the distance and tumble into the lake below.
By mid-afternoon, we arrived at Paine Grande—announced not by views, but by sound. Thumping techno echoed across the campsite. I think we’d arrived at party central. Now we’d really joined the “W”.
It’s an upbeat atmosphere—for hikers who like to party until 10pm, when everything suddenly falls silent. Hiking with a hangover wouldn’t be much fun.
We found a patch of ground—uneven, again, on the flattest part of the hill up in the back corner—and set up camp.
‘O’ SO GOOD
I’d sent word around to the “O” crew to gather for a group photo before everyone dispersed. Expecting five or ten people, we were amazed when nearly everyone showed up. People we’d seen and passed on the trail and in camps over the past week all gathered, and for a wonderful 15 minutes we were united in what we’d all spent months looking forward to.
With so many phones, a passing hiker volunteered to take photos—on what felt like all 30 devices. Unsurprisingly, there isn’t a single shot where everyone is looking at the camera. But it captures the moment perfectly, just as we’ll all remember it.
DINING DISASTER
Treating ourselves, we’d booked two dinners in advance—last night and this one. We sat down at our allotted time to full plates of average hot food. Around us, people stood at the bar drinking, chatting, lingering as though it were Friday night after-work drinks. Clean clothes, styled hair, even makeup. It felt strangely out of place.
There are different ways to experience the trek—from fully self-sufficient, like us, to fully catered, like many here, who only carry a daypack. Some even pay porters to carry everything. It all depends on your level of comfort—and your idea of adventure.
Leaving the hotel-restaurant side, we returned to the hikers’ dining hall, where Petra and Armin were once again enjoying their tea. Today was their last day. In the morning, they’d take the catamaran out of the park and begin their journey home to Munich.
Though, in the early hours of the morning, things took a slight turn—when Tim and Charley were both hit with what seemed like a touch of food poisoning. Not exactly the kind of souvenir you hope to take from Paine Grande. Paine Grande to Camp Francés
DAY 7 – PAINE GRANDE TO CAMP FRANCÉS
ASCENT: 287m DESCENT: 275m DISTANCE: 8.3 km TIME: 2:10
11 March. This morning we said goodbye to Petra and Armin. We were genuinely sad to see them go—we really enjoyed their company. Not goodbye forever though; we’ve made plans to catch up next summer when they visit Canada and maybe join them for a canoe adventure down the Yukon River. At 9am they were gone, we missed them on the trail the rest of the way.
Before leaving Paine Grande I went and had a word to the restaurant manager, as we had narrowed down to the exact culprit causing the mid night disturbance. We had also heard from other hikers of similar symptoms. Of course they wouldn’t accept responsibility and the complaint fell upon deaf ears. Later in the day we heard of many more people afflicted, each having eaten the same thing. Nobody reporting as each felt it was just them from drinking the river water.
Picking up the trail we enjoyed the first km without seeing anyone, not long after we encountered many people going in both directions on a narrow, one person wide trail that was a river. Nothing screams erosion more that thousands of hikers walking along a flowing A short day—just under 9km—and one that felt noticeably easier, both in distance and in pace.
Or at least, it should have.
Tim wasn’t feeling great from the outset, still off from the night before, running on sheer determination he went into auto pilot, as he doesn’t really remember much of that day.
What was also surprisingly absent—especially given the volume of hikers moving in both directions—was any sign of an outhouse. With hundreds of people on this trail each day, it felt like a strange oversight. It’s one thing to be out in the backcountry on the O, quite another when you’re effectively on a hiking highway.
We slowed things down, taking more breaks than usual, letting the day pass without urgency.
CAMP FRANCES
Francés was the one place we couldn’t secure a basic campsite—despite booking nine months ago—so we were forced into one of their pre-set tent options. Standing there, looking around at a campground that was more than half empty, it was hard not to feel a little sceptical. Chatting with other hikers, we heard the same story repeated—limited availability nudging people toward the more expensive options.
That aside, there was one undeniable upside: not having to pitch a tent—or pack one away soaked—after a night of steady rain.
That evening, we shared dinner with some of the remaining “O” crew. A smaller group of familiar faces. It felt a bit like a last supper—swapping stories, reliving the tougher days, and enjoying that shared sense of having come through it together.
One of the more memorable stories belongs to Lucas, a lovely guy from Belgium. His 20-year-old, much-loved hiking boots—perfectly broken in but long retired—didn’t survive the journey. They fell apart on day two. Since then, they’ve been held together with cord and duct tape. Not exactly comfortable, but certainly unforgettable.
Climbing up into our elevated tent, we quickly realised it wasn’t entirely ours—two rather large spiders had clearly beaten us to it and looked quite settled. From the sounds drifting over from the kids’ tent, it seems we weren’t the only ones sharing the accommodation that night.
DAY 8, FRANCES TO CENTRAL
12 March. Awaking to rain this morning, our last day. We resign ourselves to ‘just get it done’. The silver lining, we didn’t have to pack away wet tents this morning. For breakfast we finished off the last of the oats, our food bags are nearly empty. We’ve planned our food perfectly. All that remains is a packet of tortillas with almond butter and jam for today’s lunch.
With our rain gear on and packs covered we left Camp Frances, nestled in the trees and started up the muddy trail. The clouds hung low, the rain was light, but the trail was tight. Barely one person wide, backs brushed against the bushes. Hello…trail crew…need a cut back over here! While underfoot we walked through the flowing water. Cut back the brush and dig a channel for the water to flow. It’s simple, but no. So on we walk, eventually coming out into the open and thankfully away from the rain clouds that are snagged on a peak. Off with our rain gear and we enjoyed the rest of the hike out of the park in sunshine.
Arriving at Camp Central, we made our way down to the carpark, back to where we’d left the truck just days before—though it felt longer. By 3pm, packs and boots were off.
And just like that—it was done.
133 kilometres around the park.
There’s no finish line, no big moment to mark the end. Just a quiet return to where we started, and the awareness that we’d made it all the way around.
More than the landscapes, it’s the people who will stay with us. The shared effort. The easy conversations and familiar faces that reappear each night at camp. Friendships formed somewhere between the climbs and the campsites.
Life on the trail was simple. Walk, eat, rest. Day after day, there was something satisfying in that simplicity.
And for the kids, 133 kilometres on foot—over passes, through wind and rain, carrying their own packs, food and tent—a lesson in resilience, teamwork, and self-reliance. An achievement they took in stride, one we know will stay with them long after the details fade.
We came for the scenery—the glaciers, the mountains, the scale of it all. And it delivered, but it’s the smaller moments in between that linger just as much.
And now, it’s time to head north.
