May 28 , 2025 -
Hello Seobag!
Arrival
at Base Camp | River Beas, Kullu | Weather: Light drizzle, cloudy
After the heavenly
beauty of Sissu, Deepak Tal, and the magical Chandra Tal still echoing in my
memory, I found myself at another threshold—Seobag, a quiet village near Kullu
where the Beas whispered its ancient stories to apple orchards and silent green
hills. The transition from those high-altitude lakes to this verdant embrace
felt like moving between different worlds, each teaching its own language of
silence.
The
afternoon arrival revealed the YHAI magic already in motion—tents lined up
neatly under cloudy skies, that unmistakable energetic and earthy vibe buzzing
through camp. As we settled into our temporary homes, light drizzle
began—nothing heavy, just enough to make the air feel fresh and charged with
possibility. My backpack felt slightly heavier thanks to those extra snacks
collected along the way, small comforts that would soon prove their worth.
The evening
walk to the River Beas became my first mountain meditation. Sitting by its
flowing waters, listening to its constant chatter, I felt the long drive's
tension dissolving. This river had carried glacier melt and monsoon rains,
witnessed countless seasons and seekers. Its voice taught the first lesson:
movement and persistence create their own kind of music.
Back at
camp, dinner arrived hot and homely—the kind of food that tasted like
community, like care. The cultural program that followed broke down the careful
walls we build around ourselves in cities. Music, dance, shy jokes, and
spontaneous laughter felt profound here—perhaps because we knew that soon we'd
depend on each other in ways we hadn't yet imagined.
Curling up
in sleeping bags with warm Bournvita felt like the perfect punctuation to this
beginning. Outside, the mountains waited in darkness. Inside, anticipation
built like a gentle fire.
There is a
wisdom in YHAI's ritual of gathering before the journey. We arrived as
strangers carrying individual dreams, but would depart as something more—a
community bound by shared intention to rise.
May 29 , 2025 -
Warm-Up Mode: Acclimatization Day
Base Camp
| Morning exercises, acclimatization walk | Weather: Clear, warming
The 5 AM
whistle piercing the pre-dawn darkness felt violent until I realized it was
really an invitation—to watch night surrender to light, to feel my body
remember what it was built for before busy desks & laptops claimed it. Hot
tea at 5:30 became sacred ritual, steam rising like morning prayers while we
shook off sleep in the still-dark morning.
6 AM morning
exercises at Sunrise weren't just physical preparation; they were return to
something primal. Jogging, stretching, breathing drills—doing squats as the Sun
crested the hills wasn't as easy as it sounded, but it awakened muscles that
had been sleeping through months of urban comfort.
Breakfast at
7:30 fuelled more than bodies—it built excitement. Then came one of the most
moving moments: cheering for the RK-3 group departing for their trek. The
YHAI-style send-off—claps, slogans, cheers echoing through the valley—gave me
goosebumps. This was what human community looked like when stripped of
competition, when everyone genuinely wanted everyone else to reach their
summit.
Our
acclimatization walk began at 8:30 with bags packed almost fully—close to
actual trek weight. This preview of burden became lesson in necessity. The
trail led uphill through beautiful forest paths covered in shade and chirping
of birds.For an hour, we climbed steadily but gently, the mountain revealing
its teaching style: gradual, patient, relentless.
The stunning
view of Kullu valley from our rest spot offered more than scenery—it provided
perspective. Looking down at the world I had left behind, problems that felt
mountainous yesterday now appeared appropriately sized. We stood there soaking
it all in, understanding that height changes more than geography.
Another hour
continued before descend back to camp, arriving perfectly timed for lunch. The
afternoon's repacking ritual fascinated me—sorting for cloakroom, ensuring bags
weren't too heavy. Every unnecessary few hundred grams mattered up there, yet
we clung to so much unnecessary weight in daily life. What would happen if I
applied this same ruthless curation to consciousness itself?
The 3 PM
briefing session brought trail reality into focus—dos and don'ts shared by the
camp leader that could mean the difference between summit and rescue. After
tea, the bag weighing ceremony arrived with YHAI's characteristic "no
mercy for heavy loads." Some folks had to drop extra items, learning the
mountain's first hard lesson about attachment.
Another
campfire, more stories, then back into tents where sleep came quickly.
Tomorrow, the real trail would begin.
Today wasn't
about distance—it was about preparation for transformation. The mountains don't
care if you're ready, but they respond differently to those who've done the
inner work of letting go.
May 30 , 2025 -
Kooki Nala: Into the Forests, Beneath the Snowy Peaks
Sethan to
Kooki Nala Camp | Distance: 2.5 hours trekking | Elevation: 9,600 ft | Weather:
Morning rain, afternoon Sunny
The real
adventure finally kicked off, and the mountains imposed their first lesson in
surrender before we even began. Rain started right around departure time,
refusing our schedule, teaching patience we thought we'd outgrown. For almost
an hour or so, we waited—sipping more tea, adjusting backpacks, checking rain
covers. The mountains' first teaching: your timeline means nothing here.
Finally,
around 9:30 AM, drizzle softened enough for departure. Loading into jeeps, we
headed toward Sethan village via the familiar Kullu–Naggar–Manali road, then
turned upward near Prini. What followed felt like a spiral inward—36 hairpin
bends climbing through thick forest and misty wilderness, each turn shedding
another layer of the person who began this journey.
The drive
itself became prelude to adventure. The Himalayas, freshly powdered with snow,
appeared like thoughts made manifest—impossible yet undeniable,
postcard-perfect yet utterly real. After almost 2 hours of winding ascent,
Sethan village appeared.
Rain had
cleared, Sun peeked shyly through clouds, and the real trek began. We tightened
shoelaces, adjusted backpacks, captured a group photo—the last image of who we
were before the trail changed us—then began walking Eastward into forest.
The trail
started with gradual ascent through towering pine trees. Crisp mountain air,
occasional clearings revealing jaw-dropping Himalayan views—this was where
hiking became pilgrimage. Every water break transformed into photo opportunity,
every turn offered new surprise. The kind of scenery that demanded stopping not
just to catch breath, but to catch wonder.
After two
and a half hours of steady climbing, Kooki Nala camp appeared at 9,600 feet
like an answer to a question I didn't know I was asking. Nestled next to a
small hill, surrounded by pine trees, with big flat rocks scattered like
nature's own seating arrangement—it felt intentionally designed for
contemplation.
We dropped
bags and flopped down for rest that felt earned. Hot lunch waited—steaming
dal-chawal, crunchy papad, fresh salad. Simple food tasted like communion after
hours of walking, every grain a small celebration of the body's capacity to
carry us toward what calls us.
Post-lunch
brought important wisdom: staying active at altitude beat lounging for
acclimatization. We explored nearby trail bends, clicked more photos, let the
mountain's rhythm reset our internal clocks. The air grew chilly, but spirits
stayed warm.
4:30 PM tea
and snacks, Sunset views, laughter around camp—evening rituals that felt both
new and ancient. Dinner at 7 PM followed by hot Bournvita at 8 pm —these small
comforts became profound when earned through effort.
Crawling
into sleeping bags, we listened to distant stream sounds and forest whispers.
Day 1 of actual trekking: complete.
Today I
learned the difference between work outs and trekking. Work outs are exercises;
trekking is pilgrimage. Every step away from familiar was a step toward
discovering who I am when stripped of everything except what I can carry.
May 31 , 2025 -
Trek to Lamadough Camp (10,200 ft)
Forests,
Meadows & a Sprinkle of Snow – A Day to Remember Distance: Full day trek |
Elevation: 10,200 ft | Weather: Clear morning, light afternoon snow
Deep,
restful sleep in cool mountain air at Kooki Nala ended around 6 AM with hot tea
already waiting—mountain magic that never got old. Sipping chai in Himalayan
morning silence felt sacred, cold air biting gently while tea soothed
everything into wakefulness.
7 AM
breakfast arrived like a feast: hot puris, spicy chhole, comforting bowl of
dalia kheer. Perfect fuel for bodies about to be tested. Lunch packs of Soya
chunks Biryani were distributed, and we were ready by 8:30 AM. Shoelaces
tightened, backpacks hoisted, we hit the trail heading Northward into deeper
forest.
The trail
began with gentle climb through dense, lush pine forest. Tall trees created
silence never experienced , misty air transformed every breath into prayer,
soft forest floor made each step deliberate. Birds offered occasional
blessings, sunbeams pierced thick canopy like benedictions. Walking through
this green temple felt like moving through earth's memory.
Two hours of
mixed uphill climbs and flat stretches—enough to break sweat, then recover.
Quick water breaks became mindfulness practice, caught breath transformed into
caught wonder. The higher we climbed, the clearer skies became. Gradually,
Dhauladhar peaks started peeking out, snow caps glinting like promises kept.
Around
mid-day, we reached flat ridge where shepherds' camp appeared—rugged tents,
pots boiling over fire, distant bleating of sheep. This became perfect lunch
spot teaching another way of being human: following seasons, reading sky,
carrying only what serves life. We settled on rocks and grass patches,
unwrapped Soya chunks Biryani that tasted spicy yet nutritious—and up here,
like five-star cuisine.
After short
rest, we packed up and turned Westward for the day's final challenge: steep
zigzag climb up the next hill. Post-lunch legs moved slower, Sun grew stronger,
but promise of campsite ahead maintained momentum. Breath by breath, step by
step—45 minutes later, we hit the top.
That's when
magic happened.
Spread below
us: Lamadough Camp—stunning meadow nestled in hills' lap, sparkling stream
dancing through it, colourful tents lined up like dots on grass. That moment
when you saw camp after long walk felt indescribable—relief, joy, pride
converging into gratitude.
We dropped
bags, sat on grass, received welcome drinks. Then, as if mountains were
greeting us personally, snow began—tiny, fluttering flakes, soft and silent.
Only few minutes, but enough to make everyone smile and click photos like
excited children. The mountains' personal welcome, reminder that beauty
appeared on its own schedule.
Afternoon
exploration revealed Lamadough's gifts: Dhauladhar range standing tall as grand
backdrop, trail to Hamta Pass visible to the right, Manali town now just
distant dot in our rearview. Evening tea and biscuits tasted divine in open
air.
Further
wandering brought encounter with more shepherds—this time herding around 400
goats and sheep, accompanied by loyal mountain dogs. Chatting with them
revealed different mastery: spending four to five months up here, moving with
flocks, watching sky change. Tough life, but deeply connected to natural
rhythms. They had solved the riddle of being human without forgetting how to be
animal.
Returning to
camp at 5:30 PM as evening light turned golden, hot vegetable soup arrived
perfectly timed. Sitting facing sunset, soaking every last bit of warmth,
dinner followed at 7 PM—simple, hot, filling, concluded with beloved custard.
Some took small walks around tents under gradually darkening sky.
By
nightfall, sliding into sleeping bags with muscles tired, cheeks cold, but
hearts full.
Today the
mountains showed me the difference between visiting and belonging. The snow was
their way of saying: you're not just passing through anymore. You're part of
this now, for as long as you stay present to what it asks.
June 1 , 2025 -
Roli Kholi Camp (12,000 ft)
Chasing
Clouds, Pursuing Dreams, and Catching Snowfall
Distance:
6+ hours | Elevation: 12,000 ft | Weather: Clear morning, afternoon snowstorm
to clear evening
Another
mountain morning, another 5:30 AM wake-up call. Cold air nudges us awake, but
it's the promise of new heights that truly stirs bones. Some days announce
themselves as mythical from first breath—today carries that electric charge of
approaching something significant.
7 AM greets
us with hot, comforting aloo parathas, followed by packed lunch of roti and
sabzi. By 8 AM, boots laced and backpacks strapped, we hit trail with clear
skies showing not a single cloud, air just beginning to warm.
Heading Northward,
we gradually climb the hill rising above Lamadough camp. Step by step,
Dhauladhar range reveals itself behind us, snow-laced peaks glowing in morning Sun
like painted canvas. The climb above treeline transforms journey into pure
conversation between body and mountain—no forest distractions, no bird
accompaniments, just breath, heartbeat, and growing dialogue between effort and
elevation.
As path
winds Northwest, trail grows steeper, climb more demanding. Greenery fades as
we rise above treeline where trees surrender to silence and sky. Around us:
only shrubs, scattered rocks, growing stillness of high altitude. Air thins,
every breath becomes heavier, pauses frequent—for breath, water, photos,
videos, letting silence settle in.
Three hours
of gradual climb with no campsite sign. By 12:30 PM, we find flat ground for
much-needed lunch break. Packed rotis taste heavenly after long ascent, short
rest recharges tired legs. Little do we know, real drama is about to unfold.
Resuming
walk, weather turns dramatically. Clouds gather suddenly, wind picks up speed,
rain jackets emerge. Within minutes, first snowflakes begin—gentle initially,
then stronger, swirling in cold Western wind. Not just snowfall—snowstorm in
motion, and we're walking right through it.
We push
forward, one slow, steady step at a time. Frequent halts, deep breaths, water
sips as world blurs into white and grey. By 2 PM, reaching another flat
section, new challenges appear: snow patches along trail hiding slippery stones
and muddy stretches beneath. Hard snow proves slick, melting patches deceptive.
We tread with caution, but snowfall makes everything feel like winter fairytale
pages.
Climbing
small hill, view opens up dramatically. Massive glacier to the East feeding
glacial lake that glistens despite clouds. Ahead, mighty Pir Panjal range
stands tall, proud, commanding. And tucked in meadow below—our Roli Kholi camp,
waiting.
Only the
meadow is no longer green. Now carpeted in white, blanketed by fresh snow
nearly 3 to 4 inches deep.
We reach
camp with snowflakes swirling around us, boots crunching through soft powder.
Cold bites, wind fierce—we dive into tents not to explore, but for shelter.
What follows becomes unique mountain survival ritual: instead of usual
post-lunch strolls, staying inside, warming ourselves, adjusting layers, taking
turns brushing snow off tents as it threatens to cave them in.
Wind howls,
tent flaps flap, we sip tea brought inside—rare YHAI indulgence. Outside,
nature rages. Inside, we share stories of previous snow treks, flapping tents,
near escapes. Laughter warms what wool cannot.
Then, at 5
PM, as suddenly as it arrived, storm vanishes.
Stepping out
into clear blue skies and blinding sunshine, entire landscape has
transformed—360-degree panorama of snow-covered mountain ranges now glows under
golden light.
To the South:
Dhauladhar peaks. To the West: Hanuman Tibba and majestic Seven Sisters.
Looking Northwest: trails leading to Hamta Pass and Bhrigu Lake. Toward Northeast:
legendary giants Indrasan and Deo Tibba standing tall, carved from clouds.
Everyone
emerges now, strolling in ankle-deep snow, soaking sunshine and fulfilment . We
had chased Roli Kholi, and today we caught it—not just with feet, but with
hearts.
6 PM hot
soup never tasted better. 7 PM dinner follows: simple, warm, nourishing—dal,
chawal, roti, sabzi, papad, and delicious kheer making up for calories burned
and cold endured.
As Sun dips
behind western ridges, snow-covered peaks glow gold, then pink, then fade into
shadow. Temperature plummets. We layer up, zip into sleeping bags, brace for
sub-zero night in white wilderness.
Sleep comes
quickly—hard-earned, well-deserved—cradled by mountains, cloaked in snow,
guarded by stars.
Today I
learned that destinations aren't places you arrive at—they're states of being
you earn through willingness to be present with whatever the journey demands.
Roli Kholi didn't just appear at 12,000 feet; it emerged from every step of
trust, every breath of thin air, every moment of choosing to continue when
continuing felt impossible. The snowstorm wasn't obstacle—it was initiation
into belonging at this altitude, in this wildness, in this version of myself
I'm still discovering.
June 2 , 2025 -
Roli Kholi Camp Exploration & Descend to Sarotu
Camp
exploration and descend | Roli Kholi to Sarotu meadow | Weather: Clear, warm
morning
The morning
unwraps itself slowly at 12,000 feet—clear skies, soft warmth, and the quiet
hum of snow melting somewhere nearby. Tea at 6:30 AM tastes like the mountains
themselves, each sip carrying the essence of altitude and achievement. This is
what summit mornings feel like: unhurried, earned, sacred.
By 8 AM,
breakfast sets the tone for a day of gentle exploration rather than conquest. A
short walk to the glacial lake becomes pilgrimage to the source—this water will
journey through valleys, rivers, eventually reaching seas, but for now it rests
here, mirror-still and ancient. The climb up the little hillock offers direct
dialogue with the proud Dhauladhar range, peaks standing like old friends
greeting us at eye level.
The loop
around camp in ankle-deep snow feels like signing our names in the mountain's
guest book. Each footprint in untouched white marks our brief presence in this
timeless place. We are visitors here, but for this moment, we belong.
By 12 noon,
hot lunch calls us back to practical realities. At 1:30 PM, packs snug and
hearts ready, we turn North toward the Pir Panjal range for the journey down.
The trail's sharp 60-degree descend immediately tests knees and balance, the
mountain's reminder that what goes up must come down—but with equal attention
and respect.
The Westward
turn brings zigzagging slopes, some leaning into 70 degrees, each step asking
for patience, presence, trust in foot placement. This is where trekking becomes
meditation in motion, where the mind must stay exactly where the feet are.
Shepherds and their herds move like living dots on the left hillside—ancient
rhythm against the newness of our journey, reminder of other ways to move
through this landscape.
Three and a
half hours later, Sarotu meadow welcomes us with open arms. The descend has
been its own journey, legs remembering different muscles than the ascent
demanded. A welcome drink, friendly chat with the camp leader, quick rest to
let circulation return to normal.
Then comes
the magic—steaming batata vada with fried green chillies at 4:30 PM. A taste of
Mumbai in the lap of Himachal feels like the universe winking at us, reminding
us that comfort can appear in the most unexpected places. The familiar spice of
home serves as bridge between who we were when we started and who we're
becoming.
Evening tea
and laughter feel different now—we are no longer climbing toward something; we
are carrying something within us. Gentle wandering around Sarotu reveals softer
landscapes, different textures than the high-altitude starkness we've grown
accustomed to.
Night brings
sprinkle of stars, and by 7 PM, after dinner, we slide into sleeping bags with
the day's descends still swaying in our legs. The body remembers every angle,
every step, every choice to trust the trail downward.
Today taught
me that descend requires different courage than ascent. Going up, you chase the
summit; coming down, you carry it with you. The mountain's gift isn't just the
view from the top—it's the confidence that lives in your legs, the trust that
grows in your steps, the knowledge that you can navigate both the climbing and
the letting go.
June 3 , 2025 -
Sarotu to Jobri Nala Road Head: Journey's End
Final descend
and farewell | Sarotu to road head | Weather: Morning clear, afternoon rain
Early
morning tea at 6:30 AM carried a different weight today—not the anticipation of
heights to be gained, but the bittersweet knowledge of completion. The feeling
of happiness for finishing the trek mixed with reluctance to leave this
vertical world that had become home. Breakfast at 7:30 AM felt like a
celebration meal, shared with people who were no longer strangers but trail
family.
Around 8:30
AM, we left Sarotu with gratitude heavy in our hearts for the YHAI team who had
guided us safely through snow and storm, taught us mountain wisdom, and brought
us home to ourselves. Moving westward, we began the final steep descend of
almost 60 degrees—our last conversation with the mountain's demanding
geography.
The careful
zigzag walk down required full presence, each placement deliberate. Hamta Pass
routes looked tantalizingly close now, trails beckoning toward other
adventures, other summits. A huge waterfall thundered in front of us, the
mountain's own celebration of our passage, water cascading like liquid
applause.
After two
hours of descend, we reached Jobri Nala just as rain started—the mountain's
parting gift of drama. Steaming hot tea arrived like blessing, warmth spreading
through tired bodies as we waited for vehicles. At 11:30 AM, the jeeps came to
collect us, and suddenly we were passengers again instead of pilgrims.
The ride
back to Seobag camp felt surreal—watching familiar landscape blur past windows
instead of experiencing it step by step. Hot lunch at Seobag tasted different
now; we were no longer trekkers preparing for challenge, but adventurers
processing achievement.
Time for
departure arrived too quickly. More photos captured faces changed by altitude
and effort, goodbyes exchanged with fellow participants and leaders who had
shared our vertical journey. Promises to meet again felt sacred—bonds forged at
12,000 feet don't easily break. With heavy heart, I boarded the bus for Manali
around 4 PM, carrying six days of transformation in my backpack.
The plan
ahead felt almost exotic in its simplicity: hot water bath after six days,
perfect dinner, and hitting the bed at Zostel, Manali. Travel to Delhi and
flight back to Mumbai—all thoughts for tomorrow. Tonight was for processing,
for letting the mountain's lessons settle into my bones.
Every
journey toward heights eventually leads back to level ground, but you don't
return as the same person who left. The mountain gave me what I came seeking
without knowing I was seeking it: proof that I could carry more than I thought,
climb higher than I imagined, and find home in the space between exhaustion and
exhilaration. Roli Kholi wasn't just a destination—it was a doorway into
discovering what I'm capable of when the only way forward is up.
