This question fortunately doesn't ask "Is a teacher worth it." That's a cost/benefit assessment that many people make and which is inherently subjective (and—worth how much?). Instead, you ask whether some things might be learned better without a teacher. Even that "sounds" subjective, so let's focus on what's observable: We can't deny that there are some musical traditions that put more emphasis on private teachers, and others that use other models of transmission.
Indian classical tradition strongly emphasizes the role of the private teacher. I get the impression that this is changing somewhat, but that especially in the past it was a "guru" model, something like the Karate Kid, in which the student devoted themself full-time to study, and learned from even the most menial assignments. Indian classical masters trace a lineage of inheritance from teacher to teacher, maybe even advertising it in concert posters or programs: Z studied with X who studied with Y.
This sense of lineage is perhaps less ingrained in Western classical tradition, but it can definitely be found. I myself have talked about how cool it is that my teacher studied with Jascha Heifetz, who studied with Fritz Kreisler, and how I have this connection to the playing style of a century ago. We do a bit of "pedigree tracing," and always mention teachers in biographies: Carl Czerny is important because he studied with Beethoven (while, um, Haydn is important because Beethoven studied with him ;) ).
The importance of the private teacher is transmitted as one of the cultural values of Western classical music, to the point that we might express outright moral disapproval of anyone who tries to "self-learn." And the entire system is set up in such a way that self-learning really would be exponentially harder, if possible at all, because there is a "proper way" of doing things. We censure even bad teachers who don't train a student to use the "correct" posture, hand position, embouchure, stance, etc. (Side note: there may be some subjective or arbitrary elements here, "this is the way to do it because this is how we've always done it," but there's also a lot of "this is the way to do it because it works best, and because later you'll be asked to pull off advanced techniques that you just can't do with that hand position or embouchure." It would be like someone "self-teaching" themself figure skating without a coach: somewhere between learning to stay on their feet and the Olympics, they'll reach a point of frustration because they can't land a triple salchow, and maybe never will because of the foundational skills they learned wrong and can't unlearn.)
But it's also true that we see musical traditions that don't put the private teacher on this kind of pedestal. Rock, for one thing, is all about sticking it to the man, and not needing [no] education; the anarchic spirit of punk rawk doesn't submit well to "wax on, wax off," and if the result is raw and "imperfect," then many subgenres would say so much the better. Nevertheless, even Jack Black shows us that a "School of Rock" can be worthwhile, and the many neighborhood music schools helping kids plug in the Fender they got for Christmas from Target—some such schools actually named after the movie—suggest that even in such an iconoclastic genre, structured instruction is more efficient than figuring it out for yourself.
Meanwhile, many "folk" music-cultures have traditionally emphasized oral transmission, "self-teaching," and less pedagogical structures. Many kinds of "folk music" are learned communally—a song or chant may be learned gradually, while growing up, from "everybody else" in the community, rather than in one-on-one intentional study. Many notable folk musicians are known for having "taught themselves," like the "outsider artists" of the visual-art world. Playing techniques among folk musicians can be widely disparate (American fiddlers, for instance, might hold the violin under their chin or against their chest, and use any number of bow holds). No one gives them grief for doing it "the wrong way." But even here, one finds hints of legacy and of "named transmission"; old-time fiddler Ernie Carpenter is noted as "descended from four generations of fiddle players," and even when summing up his life in a paragraph, sources find it important to note his inheritance and influence from his grandfather "Squirrely Bill" or the fiddlers of neighboring counties. Similar language attributions can be found for flamboyantly folksy banjo player Uncle Dave Macon, or for 17th century Irish harpist Turlough O'Carolan, or Paraguayan folk harpist Nicolás Caballero.
But many of these cases argue your point. These "teachers" are credited for their influence, but that relationship perhaps didn't look like 45 minutes every Wednesday, for $50 per lesson, due at the start of the month. These teachers might not have been outraged if the student simultaneously learned things from other masters. And most importantly, many of the musicians I just mentioned are celebrated for an individual playing style, or for innovations and inventions they brought to their instrument. And here we get to the real answer:
Is there a time that a teacher could actually be a hindrance? Maybe if your goal is to play in a way that's unlike anyone else.
There are musicians that play instruments in unorthodox ways, or even who invent entirely new instruments. I think of the band Wintergatan, best known for their "marble machine":
... but who also spend their time creating from-scratch player-piano music boxes and touch-sensitive fretless theremin-olin thingies:
Ain't nobody giving lessons in those. (Well, aside from all the helpful videos they've posted about them, and the worldwide community that's starting replicating and riffing on them.) Meanwhile, FutureMan invented a sort of bass-drum-machine-keytar thing. Then there's the whole field of "found sound." John Cage arranges a bunch of transistor radios on stage; some band (I forget who) crams a mic down the nozzle of a vacuum cleaner. Any number of bands leveraged any number of found objects, like the iconic stomps of "We Will Rock You," powered by a pile of scrap lumber. And then there's "extended techniques": Nobody gave Henry Cowell lessons on how to create The Banshee:
(... though I did have the privilege once of seeing George Crumb give tips on prepared piano for "Voice of the Whale"). Any number of musicians have turned instruments upside down or inside out, hit them, blown on them, or bowed them, where are not normally hit, blown, or bowed. And sometimes they get brand-new, unique sounds, even perfectly unique personal styles. These discoveries can't be taught—or rather, they can (I'd be happy to tell anybody the best way to attach cufflinks to a violin bridge for a fuzzbox-ish rattle), but then they might be missing a point. If the point is the discovery rather than replication, then you have to be your own teacher.