🌄 “Whispers of Sissu: A Solo Sojourn in the Heart of Lahaul"

Some places don’t just stay in your memory — they stay in your soul.

In the summer of 2024, during an offbeat Himachal journey, I found myself in Trilokinath, a sacred village in the heart of Lahaul Valley. On that route, I passed through Sissu — a modest hamlet, almost dreamlike, perched around 10,000 feet above sea level, gazing peacefully over the Chandra River Valley and crowned by the cascading Sissu waterfall.

That brief encounter with Sissu was enough. I had fallen for it — not with the rush of a tourist, but with the quiet longing of someone who knew they'd come back.

I remember thinking, “Man, I need to come back here. Alone.”

Cut to 2025 — I finally did it.

Day 1 – From Chaos to Calm in Sissu

After months of thinking about it, my solo trip to Sissu finally began. Took a Mumbai–Delhi flight the previous day, followed by the classic overnight Volvo to Manali. A long, tiring ride, but that excitement of heading into the mountains always makes up for it.

By early morning, I was somewhere near Kullu, still groggy and cold, when the bus conductor turned out to be a total gem — helped me catch a local bus heading towards Keylong. No frills, packed with people and character. The ride itself was wild in the best way — winding through Manali, passing the adventure heaven Solang, and then that magical stretch through the Atal Tunnel.

As I entered the Lahaul Valley, I could already feel the vibe shift — from crowded to calm, green to brown-and-white, city mind to mountain soul. After about two hours, I got off at Sissu.

🏡 Checking In: Zostel Sissu

Landed at Zostel Sissu, which honestly felt like it was placed there by the universe just for views. Right on the Manali–Keylong highway, it overlooks the Chandra Valley, and you can literally just sit on the porch and stare into peace.

Freshened up, got some warmth back into my bones, and devoured a proper mountain-style aloo paratha breakfast. It was cold outside — a light drizzle, low clouds, that perfect ‘blanket-and-chai’ kind of weather.

💧Waterfall Calling

With no real plan (and that’s the best kind of plan), I decided to walk to the Sissu Waterfall. A half-hour stroll downhill took me to the helipad area and parking lot — from there, it was postcard stuff.

On one side: the snow-capped peaks. In front: the majestic Sissu waterfall thundering down into a heart-shaped gorge. Between us: the icy blue Chandra River, flowing like it owned the valley.

Had another round of chai, because how can you not in that setting?

Then came the fun part — decided to try the zip line across the Chandra River. Short, sweet, and a proper adrenaline kick.

The trail from the other side to the base of the waterfall took about 30–40 minutes. All the way, the views kept changing — the wind colder, the river louder, the waterfall closer. Reached the base and just sat there — cool breeze, glacial spray, silence. Pure mountain magic.

💤 Back to Base

Headed back the same way, legs slightly tired but heart very full. Reached Zostel, had a lazy lunch, and crashed hard for a perfect post-hike siesta.

Woke up around 4:30 pm to the scent of chai and a new face — Vaibhav, a fellow traveller from another corner of the country. We got talking over tea, and instantly clicked.

🏯 Evening Walk to Sissu Monastery

As the drizzle cleared and the sky softened, Vaibhav and I decided on a whim to hike up to the Sissu Monastery — perched quietly on a small hill just behind the Zostel.

The 45-minute uphill climb wasn’t tough, but it made us slow down — exactly what the evening needed. Every few steps, we’d stop and turn around, and the view would just keep getting better. The valley below opened up like a canvas — misty, glowing, still.

The monastery itself was peaceful and timeless. Traditional Tibetan architecture, walls painted in faded reds and yellows, and prayer flags dancing wildly in the wind. Not many people around — just the sound of the breeze and the faint rhythm of chants echoing from inside.

But the real moment? That sunset from the top. Standing there, we could see the entire Chandra Valley laid out before us — from the dark mouth of the Atal Tunnel far to the left, all the way to Tandi, shimmering in golden light on the right. Below, Sissu village looked like a quiet little painting, and around us, the massive Himalayan peaks stood like guardians, catching the last blush of the sun.

It wasn’t just a great view — it felt like the whole valley was pausing to breathe.

Walked back down slowly, our minds unusually quiet, already knowing this moment would stick around long after the trip was done.

 🔚 Wrapping Up Day 1

Got back down to Zostel just in time as it got darker and colder. Over a warm dinner, Vaibhav and I chalked out a plan to ride towards Keylong the next day. But for now, it was time to crawl into bed, bury myself in blankets, and let the tiredness of the day melt into deep mountain sleep.

Sissu had already delivered so much — and this was just Day 1.

  🗓️ Day 2 – Chasing Rivers, Riding into Mountains

Woke up around 7 am, the air crisp and cold, just how the mountains greet you in the morning. A steaming cup of chai was the only motivation needed to crawl out of bed. Bath? Nah — that was a problem for future me. Today was about the road.

Got ready by 8 and left Sissu on bike with Vaibhav. The sky was clear, the sun gently warming up the valley, and the roads… empty, winding, and beautiful.

🏍️ Ride of No Timelines

We cruised along the Manali–Leh highway, with the Chandra river keeping us company on the left, and the snow-capped peaks standing tall like silent guardians. The road curled through mountains, and every turn had a fresh frame waiting.

There were no plans, no rush. That’s the best part about these rides — you stop when you want, breathe when you need, and just go with the flow.

We halted for breakfast before reaching Tandi, and then again at the confluence of the Chandra and Bhaga rivers — a magical spot where two mighty mountain rivers shake hands. It was quiet, surreal, and absolutely postcard-worthy.

🌁 Tandi to Jispa – The Valley Unfolds

 At the Tandi bridge, the road splits — one side veers left to Trilokinath and the unknown, the other swings right towards Keylong, Jispa, and the legendary Leh.

We took the right turn.

Soon enough, we rolled into Keylong — the biggest town around here, but still sleepy in that Himalayan way. Perfect spot for a hot chai break. Sipped slowly, soaking in the cool air, surrounded by old-school charm and prayer flags fluttering on rooftops.

From there, the Bhaga river kept us company on the right. It rushed along — wild, noisy, alive — with steep cliffs and snow-dusted peaks towering around us. That stretch? It felt like driving through a postcard.

And then came Jispa.

Tiny. Dreamy. Right by the river. Clear skies above, wide open spaces, and a kind of silence that hums with peace. Tents dotted the riverside, perfect for camping. But we didn’t linger too long — something about the road kept calling us forward.

 🛣️ Darcha & the Himalayan Crossroads

Soon enough, we were at Darcha — a quiet little spot, but with a bridge so long it felt like we were crossing into another timeline altogether. Not just over a river, but into something deeper. Himachal’s longest bridge, they say. Felt like it.

Darcha’s where the mountains make you choose.

Left leads you into the wild, remote Zanskar valley.
Right? That’s where we were headed — up towards Deepak Tal, Baralacha La, and beyond to Sarchu.

We took the right without thinking twice.

The road started to climb gently, winding like a lazy river through brown hills and open skies. The chatter died down. Something about the place makes you quieter. The air was thinner now — colder too, but fresh, crisp, like it had just been born.

It wasn’t just a drive anymore. It felt like we were floating — slow, calm, just letting the mountains guide us.

💎 Deepak Tal – Stillness at 12,400 ft

Deepak Tal , a small, high-altitude lake nestled at 12,400 ft, it’s easy to miss on the map but impossible to forget once you’re there. The water was crystal clear, turquoise, and so still it felt unreal — like the sky had poured itself into a bowl between mountains.

The lake mirrored the surrounding snow-capped peaks, creating this mind-blowing, surreal effect. Few people around, just the soft wind and that stillness only such places know.

We sat there, soaking it in. No rush. No checklist. Just present.

⏳ Turning Back

Due to time constraints, we decided to head back to Sissu. The return ride was quieter — not just because we were tired, but because that kind of scenery leaves you speechless.

Back at Zostel, it was time to say goodbye to Vaibhav, who was heading back the same evening. Just 24 hours, and it felt like we’d known each other for weeks — that’s how the mountains bond you. 

🌌 Surprise Plan

As the sun dipped behind the peaks and the valley wrapped itself in quiet,
I was settling into the stillness — warm dinner, tired limbs, no plans.

And then came a whisper, casual but golden —
“ I’m heading to Chandra Tal early morning… want to come?”

My heart didn’t even pause.
How could it?

Because just then it hit me —
the Chandra River, my silent companion for the last two days,
flowing beside me through winding roads and wide-open valleys,
rushing past villages, waterfalls, and morning teas —
she begins her journey at that very lake.

Chandra Tal — the Moon Lake some where at 14,000 ft in Spiti Valley .
Remote, sacred, unreal.

And now I was being called there.

Like following a thread back to its source.
Like a story returning to its prologue.

Dinner tasted richer with that quiet thrill.
Sleep came gently,
as I curled beneath heavy blankets,
carried by the thought of moonlight dancing on high-altitude waters,
and a river waiting to show me where it all begins.

 Day 3 – Into the Raw Himalayas: The Chandra Tal Ride I'll Never Forget

You know those days that start with a simple “let’s go” and end up becoming something you’ll remember forever?
Yeah, this was one of them.

🚙 The Offer I Couldn't Refuse

Met Harshvardhan the previous evening at Zostel — young, full of energy, and clearly someone who lived for adventure. We clicked instantly.
He had a beast of a vehicle — a Toyota Hilux 2800cc 4x4 — and a plan to visit Chandra Tal the next morning.

I didn’t even need to think.
A solid vehicle, good company, and one of the most mystical high-altitude lakes in the Himalayas? Count me in.

🌄 Early Start, Foggy Uncertainty

We met around 6:30 am, loaded our stuff, and hit the road. By 7:30 am, we were at the Koksar police checkpost — the last gate before entering the wild terrain ahead. A few vehicles were already parked.
No one knew if permissions would be given today — the route was tricky and unpredictable.

So we waited. Tea. Breakfast. Chai again. Snacks for the road.
Got a chance to talk to a few fellow travellers. Lots of excitement, and a fair bit of nervous laughter too. Also made a quick phone call home, knowing that once we left this spot, there’d be no network till late night.

At 9 am, the green signal came through. The gate opened. It was on.

🛣️ The Road That Wasn’t a Road

Let me tell you right now — the term “road” is being generous.
We left the tarmac behind within minutes. What followed was pure off-roading madness.

 ⛔ Halt, Again

About an hour in, we were stopped again. Roadwork ahead — probably BRO clearing a blockage. More waiting, more admiring the surreal views. The mountains were massive, still wearing their late-spring snow patches. Eventually, we resumed around 11 am.

The “track” ahead was narrow, rocky, and constantly shifting — a single lane carved out of a fragile mountain slope, with loose stones, landslide zones, and the Chandra River tumbling beside us far below.

Every few hundred meters, the terrain changed — from dry gravel, to deep mud, to glacier melt gushing across, to slushy tyre marks, to pebbled paths barely holding together.

On one side: vertical cliffs with snow hanging above like a frozen curtain.
On the other: the roaring Chandra, wild and untamed.

At one point, we had to drive through a flowing stream, water splashing against the vehicle, glacier bits floating by. One wrong move, and we’d either slide into the river or get stuck in the mud.
The Hilux didn’t flinch. Neither did Harshvardhan.

 

Valleys of Silence

As we moved deeper into the heart of Lahaul, it started to feel like we had left the world behind.

The narrow trail dipped gently and the mountains suddenly opened up into a vast, wind-swept valley — raw, haunting, and strangely peaceful. It was like stepping into another planet. The landscape was barren but beautiful, with loose rock fields, snow patches melting into silver streams, and the occasional glint of sun off distant glaciers.

There was no proper road here — just a faint path etched into the valley floor, made of pebbles, hard-packed mud, and the memory of tyre tracks. The kind of track that made the suspension groan and the tyres think twice.

The Chandra River, who had been hugging us on the left for most of the morning, now drifted to our right, flowing gently through the wide valley.
She looked calm, but you could sense her wild power beneath the surface — the kind that carved these valleys, shifted stones, and forced you to respect the mountains.

The only sounds were the crunch of gravel under tyres, the occasional splash as we crossed glacier-fed streams, and the wind whistling between jagged peaks. It was beautifully desolate.

We passed:

🏚️ Chhota Dara

A tiny, forgotten hamlet in the middle of nowhere. Just a handful of stone-and-mud houses, some prayer flags fluttering, and silence so thick you could hear your own heartbeat.
No shops, no signs, no noise — just the sound of the wind echoing between abandoned walls. You wonder how people live here through snowstorms and isolation. But that’s the Himalayas — unforgiving, yet humbling.

🍛 Batal – Tribute to a legend

Next came Batal, a windswept outpost known monument in memory of legendary Swatantrya Veer V.D. Savarkar.

A tea break at Chacha-Chachi Dhaba run by a local couple famous among bikers and overlanders, the dhaba is a lifeline in this emptiness. It’s not just a place to eat — it’s a place where people warm up, swap stories, and feel human again after miles of stark terrain.

The air here was thinner. The clouds were lower. And yet, there was a strange warmth as we passed the dhaba — like the mountains themselves knew the comfort it offered. 

🌉 The Iron Bridge

Just beyond Batal, we reached a small iron bridge, the kind that creaks under your tyres and makes your heart skip a beat. Only one vehicle at a time, and beneath it, glacial water crashing through boulders.

Crossing it felt like passing into another chapter of the journey.
On the other side, the Chandra River switched back to our left, and we continued forward, the landscape growing even more rugged, even more remote.

Every turn in this stretch felt like a painting — not the pretty postcard kind, but the bold, untamed, epic kind, with nature showing off her raw power.

There were no villages beyond this point. No people. No buildings. Just the Hilux, the river, and two tiny humans moving through the belly of the Himalayas.

This was the kind of silence that doesn’t scare you — it fills you. The kind you carry back with you long after the journey ends.

🚗 Final Stretch – To the Moon Lake

By now, we were deep into the wilderness — no trees, no humans, just towering mountains and a river that had become our quiet companion. And then came a fork in the trail — an unmarked, dusty divergence in the middle of nowhere.

The right turn pointed towards Kunzum Pass, and beyond that, Kaza in Spiti — another dream for another time. But today, our path lay to the left, towards the mystical Chandra Tal — the legendary Moon Lake.

And that’s when things got really wild. The “road” became little more than a suggestion — a narrow, rocky trail winding upward, etched into loose scree and shifting stones, with massive boulders and melting snow patches on either side. The gradient turned steep, and every turn came with a drop so sharp it made you hold your breath.
There were places where only one wheel could grip solid ground, and the rest just bounced over rubble. We slowed down to a crawl.
The Hilux growled its way up every hairpin. The engine worked hard, but never complained.
Harshvardhan kept his focus razor-sharp — both hands on the wheel, eyes scanning for sudden dips or soft patches where a tyre might sink.

Below us, the Chandra River shimmered like a silver ribbon, disappearing into the folds of the valley. Above, jagged cliffs and hanging glaciers reminded us that this was their kingdom, not ours. At times, it felt like we were driving through a dream and a landslide at the same time.

Finally, around 2:45 pm, after nearly 5 hours of relentless driving for just 85 kilometers, we reached the Chandra Tal parking lot.

There was no grand signboard, no crowd, no fanfare — just a wide open patch of gravel, a cold wind, and a soft hush in the air. But for us, it felt like reaching the moon.

Every single kilometer on that journey had been hard-earned — through unpaved madness, melting glaciers, gushing streams, and ever-changing terrain. But that made the destination all the more precious.

We stepped out, stretched our aching legs, and looked ahead — a short 20-minute walk still separated us from the lake. But the excitement? It was already overflowing.

 🌙 Chandra Tal – Where Silence Lives

Just a short 20-minute walk from the parking lot,
and then — there it was.
Chandra Tal. The Moon Lake, cradled high at 14,100 ft, silent, sacred, and surreal.

It appeared like a secret the mountains had been keeping, suddenly revealed between bends of wind and stone.

The lake lay still — turquoise and glassy, a perfect mirror to the drifting clouds and the solemn, snow-capped peaks that stood watch around it.The kind of stillness that makes even time pause for a moment.

We didn’t speak much. We didn’t need to. No checklist. No agenda. Just slow steps along the edge, the crunch of gravel underfoot ,a few photographs, and a lot of wonder.

It was the kind of place where even a whisper feels loud. Where your breath slows without you asking. Where you feel something ancient… watching gently, accepting your presence.

And somewhere deep inside, a quiet realisation settled in — this is where the Chandra River is born.

The same river that had stayed beside us since Sissu, tumbling through valleys, sliding under glaciers, whispering through gorges. Now I stood at her origin — her first breath, her still beginning. We had followed her upstream, not just through geography, but through something far more spiritual.

It didn’t feel like reaching a destination. It felt like arriving at the source of something within.

🌀 The Return – Wild, Wet & Worth It

The return wasn’t easy.

The sun had melted more snow, and all the small glacial streams had turned into gushing mini-rivers. We crossed ankle-deep water, saw a car stuck in mud, and had to wait out a rainfall.

As the day ended, the valley was bathed in golden light, and then came a moonless, pitch-black silence. No lights, no vehicles, just a lone road curling through the mountains, headlights cutting the darkness.

By the time we reached Koksar around 9 pm, we were shivering, hungry, and absolutely alive.

A plate of steaming hot dal-chawal never tasted better. We finally reached Zostel, wrapped up the day with tired smiles, and collapsed into bed — dusty, sore, but so full. 

🙏 Grateful Hearts

A big shoutout to Harshvardhan — for the company, the conversations, and for making this dream happen.

And a huge salute to the BRO (Border Roads Organisation) — those silent heroes who maintain these insane routes in such harsh conditions. If we reached Chandra Tal, it’s because of them. 

⛺ What’s Next?

No rest yet — tomorrow I head back to Seobagh, near Kullu, to join the Roli Kholi trek with YHAI.

More trails, more tales — stay tuned. The mountains aren’t done with me yet.