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But that evening, covered in snow and wearing the battered winter coat I had packed at the last minute when my older brother informed me that Patagonia was, in fact, freezing this time of year, I realized my plan had gone awry.

Feeling cold and directionless — both in my travels and my life — I dipped into the Dublin Pub, looking for inspiration. There, over pints of Guinness, I met two people who would change my life.

First, I met Áine, a hilarious Irishwoman who regaled me with stories of her expeditions across the world. Then there was Brad, a stoic American wildfire-fighter, who recounted experiences of jumping out of helicopters into thick smoke to fell trees with a chainsaw, and bowhunting elk for his yearly meat. The pair could hardly have been more different, but they were both seasoned travellers who treated adventure as a way of life.

I, on the other hand, was a born-and-raised Londoner who thought of the great outdoors as a mythical place. But hearing about Brad’s recent trek through neighbouring Chilean Patagonia, I was enthralled. 

He had hiked for a week through cold and snow, over mountains and above glaciers, across lakes and through thick forest. He encouraged me to do the same — on the “O” circuit in Torres del Paine National Park. 

This trek is considered one of the park’s most demanding and spans approximately 120 kilometres. I would have to carry all my own food and equipment, and hope for the best. 

Recklessly, I booked it. Brad said I could do it, and I believed him. Áine, a stranger until two hours before this, said she would join me. Brad lent me his tent and sent us on our way.

What followed was a seven-day trip that changed my perspective on the world. It was hard, but the rewards were spectacular. One day, while hiking over a mountain pass, we were caught in a blizzard, the snow up to our knees.

But at the top of that mountain, the wind whipping against our faces, we saw Grey Glacier, the national park’s largest and most impressive glacier, stretched out to the horizon below us — huge, jagged, inhospitable. After we descended a steep and muddy path, clinging onto ropes for dear life, the sky cleared and we saw the glacier’s undulating mass in all its blue and white glory.

The following day, a hiker sustained an exposed leg fracture on the same route, resulting in a two-day stay at a nearby encampment with only mild painkillers available, before being airlifted to Santiago. Luckily, we survived in one (rather achy) piece.

There was little relief from discomfort even at night, due to Brad’s tent being a “bivvy” — essentially a body bag designed for extreme conditions on mountain ledges. I felt like a caterpillar inside a chrysalis with a dwindling oxygen supply. 

But I will never be able to replicate the feeling of unzipping it in the middle of the night and seeing Orion shining brightly directly above me, or emerging like a butterfly at dawn to a bright red sky.

Through endless conversations with Áine over the seven days, and with the voice of Brad in my head, I was inspired to treat life less seriously, to be bolder and more spontaneous, and to view the post-university world as an opportunity rather than an intimidating void.

After the trek, I threw away my winter coat, which had leaked one too many feathers despite the tape valiantly attempting to plug the holes, and I moved on to warmer climes. But the experience in Chilean Patagonia, and the people I met, stayed with me.