From Torres del Paine, Chile
One cold evening I went out to brush my teeth, standing on the lakeshore. I remember the sound of the water lapping. And I remember looking up to see the most extraordinary blanket of stars in the unusually clear night sky.

The Milky Way was a clear brush stroke sweeping across the sky above. It is the only time in my life that I have actually ducked my head looking at stars - I thought I was going to be squashed.

From Torres del Paine, Chile

The first rays of direct sunlight hit the top of the towers, turning them the most exquisite rich orange-pink colour. It was not that the sky became bright, rather the mountains were being set alight.

Bit by bit the light flowed down the sheer rock face until all of the towers glowed, then the snow field at the foot of the cliffs, then the surrounding peaks. It just kept on coming, each precious, privileged minute adding to the one before.

From Carretera Austral, Chile
It’s no longer fair or accurate to refer to Torres del Paine as a wilderness. But the weather can be wild and create that impression.

One afternoon there was severe winds. I'd been out hiking that morning so was happy to sit and just watch, and listen to, the wind furiously blowing the clouds around. The view of the peaks changed almost by the minute, as the cloud cover and light changed. I loved it. Who knew weather could be so entertaining.

From El Chaltén, Argentina
It's a long drive from Punta Arenas in Chile, over the border and along long tracts of unsurfaced remoteness in the wilds of Patagonia.

But the final hour was utterly delightful - smooth, straight, empty roads, sometimes pointing right at our target. Mount Fitz Roy is the tallest, most obvious peak, Cerro Torre the more slender tower to the left of the road. And you can’t tell from the photo, but it’s blowing an absolute gale out there.

From El Chaltén, Argentina

20 years ago, Chaltén was a one-street village. No hotel, just hostals for climbers. The road to Calafate was unpaved. To buy bread, I had to walk down the street and shout ‘pan’. It rained, properly rained, so I spent the time holed up in the only café, playing cards and making friends.

Chaltén is bigger now, with 5-star hotels, a bus station and a shiny visitor centre. But it retains its character. And the café is still there!

From El Chaltén, Argentina
Rushing rivers, tall waterfalls, thick woodland, alpine meadows and chiseled granite mountains, half covered in snow and glaciers. This was the Patagonia I'd come for. In the end, the seven-mile hike to Laguna Torre took us nearly five hours, one longer than expected - mainly due to my inability to stop taking photos.

Even on the way back I caught myself aiming the camera towards the same bit of Patagonia that I'd captured on the way out.

From El Calafate, Argentina
They rarely put these in the brochure or eulogise about them in guide books, but boy do they had an extra layer of drama and beauty to the already epic Patagonian landscape.

Whipped into weird and wonderful shapes by the famously fierce Patagonian wind, they hang majestically, often ominously in the sky, embodying the enormity and rawness of this special region.

From El Calafate, Argentina
Watching the glacier is like experiencing a thunderstorm. But instead of a great bolt of lightning, followed by furious thunder, the rumble comes first. The difficult thing is swivelling the camera to capture the great chunks of calving ice before it all disappears into the lake.

In the end I had to do something I seldom do; take my finger off the shutter and just watch. That’s about the best compliment I can pay the glacier.