Argentina was never the plan. It was a spontaneous leap into Patagonia, and one of the best decisions I have ever made.
I joined PowderQuest’s Argentina All-Mountain trip and managed to tick off a life goal I'd written aged 15 years old, nearly 20 years prior, to 'Ski in the Southern Hemisphere'.
I knew almost nothing about the three resorts I'd be skiing, spoke no Spanish and had never travelled alone. It felt bold and slightly reckless; therefore, completely irresistible.
The journey from Bermuda took nearly 33 hours, largely because of my preference for long layovers: Bermuda to Miami, Miami to Buenos Aires, a taxi across the city to change airports, then a final flight to Bariloche.
Late July and already roughly one third through the ski season, it had not been a particularly good season for snow here. Shortly before I travelled, a major storm 'El Niño' arrived and delivered us the perfect covering for the volcanic ash.
As the plane descended into Bariloche, I looked out over the Andes with emotion. It may have been exhaustion, relief at having made it there alone, or simply the view. I felt pretty far from home but so happy to touch down in this special area.
Snowy peaks rose from deserts, and disappeared into the distance. After hours inside airports and aeroplanes, Patagonia suddenly appeared beneath me, enormous and almost unreal.
Marcos, our PowderQuest guide, met me and the others joining the tour group at Bariloche Airport and we drove towards Villa La Angostura, along Lake Nahuel Huapi.
Almost immediately, the landscape felt different from anywhere I had skied before. Condors and other native birds circled overhead - some with a 3 metre wing span! Snowmen and snowdogs lined the road after the recent storm, while graffiti, roadside shrines and glimpses of local life made the drive as interesting as the scenery.
Patagonia did not feel polished or packaged. It felt wild, lived-in and full of character.
We spent our first two days skiing Cerro Bayo, a small, boutique-style resort above Villa La Angostura.
The mountain winds through native forest, with views opening over Lake Nahuel Huapi. Small blue buildings sit among the snow, while the smell of meat cooking over open fires drifts from the Argentine barbecue restaurants. It is difficult not to start thinking about lunch before clipping into your skis.
A large, chocolate-coloured mountain Newfoundland pup. roams the resort freely. Higher up, his long fur became so covered in snow that we nicknamed him Chewbacca.
It snowed heavily for most of our time there, giving us incredible powder and plenty of opportunities to explore beyond the pistes.
The trees made the skiing feel particularly special. Unfamiliar native plants grew beneath the lifts and between the runs, giving the forest a completely different atmosphere from the European Alps or North American mountains.
Conditions could change quickly from the top of the mountain to the bottom. Snow higher up sometimes turned to wet snow or rain farther down. At one point, I felt compelled to buy a ski poncho in order to survive the variable weather of Patagonia that can only be best summarised as 'all the seaons in a day'. It was not my most fashionable mountain outfit and had 'William' largely branded across the back, but I was warm and dry - and therefore extremely happy. Gaining the nickname 'Wet Willy' only added to the spectacle and fun of the days with the others on the tour.
From Villa La Angostura, we drove north towards San Martín de los Andes along the Camino de los Siete Lagos, or Seven Lakes Road.
The road twists through forests and mountains, passing a chain of glacial lakes. In clear weather, the water appears bright turquoise. Under low cloud, the landscape becomes darker and more atmospheric. We were fortunate to experience both.
The lakes shifted between steel blue, green and turquoise, while the hills rose behind them in muted shades of brown, purple and grey. Mountains appeared between the clouds, then disappeared again.
It was quiet, vast and extraordinarily beautiful. The mist gave Patagonia another kind of magic, with the landscape changing constantly as we moved through it.
San Martín de los Andes sits beside Lake Lácar, with boats lining the waterfront as you enter.
It was larger than Villa La Angostura, but still felt calm and distinctly mountainous. Its streets were filled with boutique clothing stores, chocolate shops and Argentine steakhouses.
The houses were particularly interesting. Many looked like a cross between a 1970s ski chalet and an old Hollywood bungalow, built in unusual shapes from timber and stone, with broad roofs and large windows.
The town felt affluent without being flashy. Mountains rose behind the streets, the lake sat at the end of the road, and the air seemed to carry a faint mixture of chocolate, wood smoke and grilled meat.
The drive from San Martín de los Andes to Chapelco was one of my favourite parts of the trip.
The road felt raw and wonderfully romantic. Horses appeared beside the unpaved road and across the hillsides, while goats and hawks could also be spotted along the way. Small huts and food trucks stood beside the road, and police sometimes checked that vehicles carried suitable snow chains before tackling its sharp bends and numerous scattered potholes.
Chapelco was larger than Cerro Bayo, with open slopes, forested runs and brilliant opportunities to explore off-piste.
The views were breathtaking on both sides of the mountain. In the distance stood Lanín, a snow-covered volcano rising above the surrounding peaks. Its near-perfect shape made it difficult to ignore and difficult to focus on my skiing!
Ski clubs trained between neat lines of race gates on part of the mountain. Elsewhere, we explored quieter terrain and soft snow among the trees.
Although Chapelco felt more expansive than Cerro Bayo, the landscape remained the main attraction. Forests, distant lakes, mountains and the volcano surrounded almost every run.
Our preferred mountain snacks were alfajores: biscuits filled with dulce de leche and covered in chocolate. They may not be conventional ski fuel, but they were extremely effective at stopping the leg burn from calling time on the day.
We had planned to return to Bariloche along the Seven Lakes Road, but an unexpected road closure sent us on a longer route via National Route 237. It turned out to be one of the trip’s unexpected gifts.
This was a completely different Patagonia. Twisting roads, dense forest and close-set lakes gave way to long, open stretches where the land seemed to roll on and on.
Guanacos watched from the hillsides, while donkeys, cattle, sheep and wild horses were scattered across the plains. Caracaras, hawks and quail appeared beside the road or circled overhead.
Route 237 follows the Limay River towards Bariloche, crossing bridges and passing vast blue reservoirs created as part of the region’s hydroelectric system.
Nearer Bariloche, the open steppe narrowed into the Enchanted Valley. Huge volcanic rock formations rose beside the river in strange, dramatic shapes, sculpted by erosion and given names including the Finger of God, the Sentinel, Mother and Daughter, the Fist and the Lionesses.
Rust-orange trees gave parts of the valley an almost autumnal glow against cold blue water and grey-brown hills. We also passed traces of the region’s dam-building history, including the remains of Villa Alicurá, a temporary settlement built for workers and their families during construction of the Alicurá dam.
By the time we reached Bariloche, it felt as though we had travelled through another side of Patagonia: wider, wilder and more exposed, a different kind of beauty.
After Villa La Angostura and San Martín de los Andes, Bariloche felt much larger and busier. It is a city rather than a ski village, stretching along the shore of Lake Nahuel Huapi.
Its architecture has strong Alpine and Central European influences, mixed with a distinctly Argentine character. Timber and stone buildings sit alongside colourful shops, murals and busy streets.
Along the lakeside walk, we passed wooden sculptures carved by chainsaw. Artwork brightened the bus stops, while dark water stretched towards snow-covered mountains on the opposite shore.
Bariloche felt energetic and slightly rough around the edges, but the wilderness was still everywhere. The lake, forests and mountains were never far from view.
Above the city stood Cerro Catedral, the largest and final ski area of our trip.
Cerro Catedral felt different again. Larger, more dramatic and unmistakably more established than the other resorts we had skied, its slopes spread across a huge mountainside above Bariloche, with views over Lakes Nahuel Huapi and Gutiérrez and deep into the Andes. The name comes from the jagged granite spires along its ridgeline, whose towers and pinnacles were thought to resemble a Gothic cathedral.
Skiing here has surprisingly deep roots. In the 1930s, Austrian skier Hans Nöbl was commissioned to find a suitable site near Bariloche for an international-standard winter resort and chose Cerro Catedral. The first drag lifts followed in 1940, with refuges, hotels and further lifts gradually spreading across the mountain. Over the decades, different companies developed and operated separate parts of Catedral, so it effectively grew as several interconnected ski sectors rather than one neatly planned resort. That history can still be felt when skiing it today: the mountain is broad and sprawling, with lifts disappearing in different directions and entirely different pockets of terrain opening up as you move across it.
Higher up, the skiing becomes increasingly Alpine in character. The trees fall away and the mountain opens into bowls, ridges and exposed slopes beneath Catedral's extraordinary rock towers. Lower down, pistes dive back into lenga forest, giving the resort an unusual combination of high, open mountain skiing and wooded runs. With around 600 hectares of skiable terrain and roughly 120 kilometres of slopes, it is regarded by Bariloche's official tourism body as the largest ski area in the Southern Hemisphere.
Although the journey from Bermuda to Bariloche feels rather long, there is hardly any time difference and, by timing the flights well, the two layovers allow for a day tour of Buenos Aires and, after an overnight flight to Miami, a day in South Beach too. It therefore makes for the perfect Bermuda summer getaway for ski fanatics!
One of the men on the PowderQuest ski tour had travelled all the way from Indonesia, which rather put my own journey into perspective! Even more surreal was bumping into three friends from Bermuda, all skiing or snowboarding in Bariloche. Perhaps Patagonia is Bermuda’s best ski-kept summer secret!
Returning to Bermuda in the height of summer felt strangely disorientating. After over a week of snow, ski boots and sporadic Christmas decorations in the mountains, I had almost forgotten what month it was. Within hours, I had swapped powder for heat, but part of me was still somewhere in the Andes. Patagonia had been an unexpected decision, but it became one of those rare places that moves you.
If you’re considering a ski adventure but want to avoid planning, have nobody available to accompany you or simply want the best itinerary going, PowderQuest is an operator we can wholeheartedly recommend.
With roots going back to 1998 and almost three decades of experience running ski and adventure trips in South America, PowderQuest has built a real reputation for specialist, small-group adventures. Their groups are deliberately kept small, which makes for a much more personal experience.
For us, one of the biggest advantages was simply how easy they made everything. From the initial planning through to accommodation, transport, guiding and the itinerary itself, everything was organised seamlessly.
Our guide was fantastic, the itinerary was brilliant, and the whole experience was memorable from beginning to end. Thank you PowderQuest!