Can somebody please remind mother nature that it is summer?

Ah, the Fitz Roy range. Mention the name to any serious climber and they´ll start waxing lyrical about the towering spires of Cerro Torre and Fitz Roy. They have frustrated and confounded many climbers the world over as, though only hovering around 3000m in height, they are two of the hardest mountains in the world to summit, with sheer rock faces of thousands of meters to navigate and relentless winds that sweep through Patagonia all summer long.

Mention the Fitz Roy Range to Mike or I and we´ll wax lyrical about sodden boots, freezing fingers, floating tents and obscured views. The weather was not kind to us.

We had originally planned a four day hike into the mountains with la carpa José, but when we awoke on day one to dark skies, and lashing rain we reverted to plan B - reading Treaure Island in bed, going for a stroll in the afternoon and topping off the day with a slice of the best lemon meringue pie in the world, discovered at a local bakery. On day two however, with the weather unchanged, feeling a bit stir crazy we decided we´d do a 3-day hike anyway, so we set off with a rented stove, a huge pack of supplies and our wet weather gear. We hiked to the camp site, pitched the tent and continued for another few hours up to Lagos de Los Tres, a scenic glacial lake with panoramic views of Cerro Torre. Or, as we were to discover, an icy pool with gale force winds skating across its surface and a view of... well it was difficult to see really with razor blades of icy rain lashing into your eyes.

We returned to the tent, piled up our sodden clothes and boots, cooked dinner and tried to sleep with the thunder and rain howling outside. We did get to sleep eventually and I awoke with the sensation of floating on a luxurious water bed, my bones no longer creaking on the cold hard ground. There was a reason for this sensation - I was floating. A small dam near the tent had burst and we had 20cms of water under the tent. Our boots, left outside to dry, were bobbing like little fishing boats in the flood. Did I forget mention it was Valentine´s day?

Beaten, and with clothes still freezing and wet from the night before, we admitted defeat and skulked back down to a warm bed and more lemon pie. We had three more days, and three more hikes but when we boarded the bus back to El Calafate with the other hikers it was with the disappointment of not having seen either of the peaks. There was a silver lining. As we sped through the Patagonian scrub the bus driver pulled over and shouted to us all to get out. The sun had broken through and we scrambled up a low hill to take our only pictures of the majestic peaks glimpsed through the clouds.