It's a long winding road from the towers to the camp sites of the French and the Italians (the names of those - I never managed to figure out what made these particular nationalities so special and worthy of naming the mountain huts after). The walk is mostly on a wind swept terrain, very few bushes have survived the Magellanean storms and those who have show their colourful will of living. Early summer is gorgeous with all the greens and the reds and the purples coming out.
The wind is horizontal. Sometimes so strong that you are forced to a session of breathing exercises. In mid November there are hardly any people to talk to anyway, so everything is naturally in balance.
The small village of Los Cuernos appears almost out of nowhere. Accessible only by boat, or a half a day trek, it's a bunch of tiny huts between the peaks and Lago Nordenskjold. Reaching the huts from the east feels almost like climbing a vertical cobble stone beach. But the views, the views!
The huts are the perfect afternoon beer spot for giving and getting advice from fellow hikers and for observing hail storm approaching from the valley nearby. It takes about a few hours to turn the south pole sunshine into north pole winter storm.
It's also possible to see the wind on the lake. It not only messes up the surface tension of the water, but also anything that you wear and that is not tightly attached to your body (read: pair of Persol sunglasses are somewhere in the picture above).
After drinks and food and recovery shower (cold water is good for your muscles), Los Cuernos offers bunk beds you've never seen. The top ones' of the triple beds require a similar amount of climbing as do the surrounding peaks outside and it takes quite a bit of mental focus to not do the 'jump off the bed' move in the morning without catastrophic ankle consequences.