Alpine Lakes to Trekking Trails – Roli Kholi, Here We Come!

 

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.

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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.