Ghangad Calling: When Winter Whispers Begin

PC - Tanmay, Trek Kshitiz

 

Sunday, 9^th November 2025

Its 8 pm and I am back home. Finally. Legs protesting every step, shoulders still feeling the weight of the backpack, and all I wanted was to collapse. But there it was – the diary, sitting on my desk, practically demanding attention. Some days refuse to be filed away quietly. Some experiences insist on being captured before they blur into memory. Today's trek to Ghangad was one of those days.

Call of the winter

The monsoons have taken their curtain call, leaving behind a lush green landscape ,clean and gleaming. October usually arrives with its trademark heat, making you wonder if summer ever really left. But this year? Different. October had few rain showers. The November mornings carried that crisp bite, evenings draped themselves in coolness – unmistakable hints that winter was sending its advance party. The perfect window to shake off the post-monsoon lethargy and reclaim the mountains. And for that first winter trek, Ghangad seemed to be calling.

The Dawn Brigade

Sunday. The day most people worship at the altar of their beds, enjoying that sacred sleep-in. But at 6 am, our bus was already rolling out of the city, cutting through air so cool and fresh it felt like a blessing. The roads were gloriously empty – a rare gift in our perpetually buzzing world. By 9:15 am, we'd arrived at Ekole village, the threshold to our adventure.

The route had been scenic in that understated way – past Lonavala with its weekend crowds, the imposing INS Shivaji campus standing proud, Bhushi dam holding back its waters, and Korigad fort looming in the distance like an older sibling. Ghangad nestles near Tamhini ghat in Pune district, part of a landscape that has witnessed centuries unfold.

Past Lonavala, the road transformed into something altogether different. Sharp U-bends appeared one after another, each curve tighter than the last, the kind that makes you grateful for skilled drivers and good brakes. The bus leaned into each turn like a dancer, revealing new vistas with every swing. And on both sides, the forest pressed in close – thick, dense, almost impenetrable walls of green. Trees arched overhead in places, creating natural tunnels where sunlight struggled to penetrate. It felt less like driving through the landscape and more like being embraced by it, the forest claiming the road as its own, generously allowing us passage through its realm.

Ghangad isn’t just a fort. It was a sentinel, a guardian of the ancient trade routes that once pulsed with life, connecting the coastal Konkan to Pune's plateau. Through landscape blessed with Sudhagad and Sarasgad, winding through the Mulshi valley – merchants, soldiers, travellers, all passed under Ghangad's watchful gaze. History isn't just something you read here; it's something you walk through.

 The Heart of Hospitality

Lahu , our local host met us with that kind of genuine smile that immediately makes you feel less like a stranger and more like family returning home. His house was the definition of simple – earthen floors cool beneath our feet, walls that had stood for generations, no pretence of modern luxury. Yet it overflowed with something money can't buy: warmth, care, love that fills spaces better than any furniture ever could.

The aroma hit us before we even entered – fresh poha, fragrant and steaming, paired with chai so hot and perfect it could wake up your soul. We sat, we ate, we laughed. Food tastes different when it's made with such genuine hospitality, doesn't it?

Breakfast done, it was time for the ritual. Shoelaces pulled tight, backpacks adjusted and readjusted until they sat just right, water bottles checked. Eighteen of us formed a loose circle – quick introductions, sharing names and cities, that nervous excitement that comes before every trek. Then, as one, we turned toward the wilderness.

Where the Wild Things Are

The path led us Eastward initially, and there it was – Ghangad, rising on our right flank toward the South. The shape strikes you immediately: angular, blocky, almost geometric in a landscape of flowing curves. "Ghan" – cube in Marathi. Whoever named this fort had an eye for the obvious poetry in stone.

The trail began innocently enough, stretching straight across open ground where the Sun, yet gentle with morning breeze, had full reign. Then came the right turn, and everything changed. The forest opened its arms and pulled us in – a world transformed. Dense canopy overhead wove a living roof, filtering sunlight into shifting patterns. The air grew thicker, richer, carrying the scent of earth, moss, and countless leaves composing themselves back into soil.

The Silence

And then it happened – that profound transformation that every forest offers if you're willing to receive it. Our chattering voices gradually softened, then faded entirely. In their place came a different kind of music.

We could hear ourselves breathe – deep, steady, alive. The wind moved through the canopy like a patient teacher, whispering secrets through thousands of leaves. Cicadas sang their endless, hypnotic drone from hidden stages in the green theatre surrounding us. And beneath it all, our footsteps composed their own percussion: the crunch of leaves giving way, the solid tap of boot on stone, the soft compression of earth accepting our weight.

In that profound quietude, with the forest speaking its ancient language, we walked as grateful students, learning to listen.

Occasionally, the canopy parted just enough for sunlight to pour through in golden shafts, illuminating the trail like nature's own spotlight. Those moments felt almost sacred – light and shadow dancing together, reminding you why you trek in the first place.

The Climb Begins

The trail's character shifted gradually, almost imperceptibly at first, then with growing insistence. Upward. Always upward. About thirty minutes into our forest meditation, we reached a small temple dedicated to Goddess Garjai, nestled in the greenery like a secret being shared. We gathered there, waiting for others, catching breath, sharing water. A brief pause before the next chapter.

Threshold of Stone

Within minutes, we stood before the fort's Eastern entrance. Crossing that threshold felt significant somehow – stepping from one world into another. Beyond the gate, a flat area spread out with a cave carved into the living rock, dark and cool and inviting.

But what stopped us in our tracks was the sight to our right. Nature, in one of her more audacious moods, had created something extraordinary: a massive boulder, somehow separated from the mother mountain yet still resting against it, held in place by forces beyond easy comprehension. The gap between them formed a dramatic crevice, open at both ends, beckoning exploration. We filed that away mentally – the descent would bring us back here.

For now, we turned left toward an iron ladder that rose about twenty feet. The climb was straightforward, but what awaited at the top demanded respect and caution. A narrow rock ledge, barely wider than a single footfall, curved along the cliff face. One step at a time. One breath at a time. No rush. No carelessness. Just focus.

Those careful steps delivered us to a place called "Met" in Marathi – the fort's first defensive post. It was V-shaped, a natural fortress within the fortress, offering commanding views of the eastern approaches. Below us, the Mulshi forest rolled away in waves of green, seemingly endless. And there, another geological wonder caught our eyes and demanded photographs. We obliged, of course. How could we not?

The Final Push

We moved right, following the trail until we encountered a section where time and weather had crumbled the steps into an obstacle course. This required real attention – testing each foothold before committing weight, finding handholds that felt solid, trusting ancient rock worn smooth by countless seasons. About twenty-five feet of focused climbing, every member of our group navigating it with care and success.

A few more steps, gasping for breath and then, with an almost anticlimactic ease, we were there. The top.The journey upward had gifted us with discoveries: caves offering shade and shelter, water cisterns fed by mountain springs that never seem to run dry. One cistern held water so pure, so cold and refreshing, that we couldn't resist cupping our hands and drinking deeply. Mountain water, filtered through rock and time, tastes like nothing else on earth.

Sentinels and Summits

We made our way to a "Buruj" – one of the watchtowers where guards once stood vigil through long nights, scanning horizons for approaching threats. From this perch, the landscape revealed itself in all its layered glory. You could almost hear the echoes of soldiers' voices, the clank of weapons, the purposeful footsteps of men who called this stone fortress home.

But the true summit still beckoned. The highest point on Ghangad stands marked by a flag post. The saffron flag danced fiercely in the wind, its bold color a living tribute to Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj and the countless warriors who once defended these very stones with their lives. Standing there, you feel the weight and lightness of history simultaneously. Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj and his warriors once stood on these same stones, looked out at these same mountains, breathed this same air. The wind carries their stories still, if you listen.

PC - Tanmay, Trek Kshitiz

The view from here is nothing short of magnificent. Tail Baila dominates the vista – that dramatic magmatic dyke with its twin rock pinnacles soaring 200-250 feet into the sky, separated by a V-shaped chasm that looks like the earth split open and then thought better of it. In the distance, Sudhagad and Sarasgad stand like old friends, fellow guardians of this ancient land.

Nearly noon now, but the breeze kept us cool, kept us comfortable. Around us, the skeletal remains of old dwellings – mere stone foundations now – whispered their stories. Families lived here once. Children played. Meals were cooked. Life happened, in all its mundane and magnificent glory, right here on this mountain.

We sat. We breathed. We absorbed. Some moments demand to be savoured slowly.

Descent and Revelation

Gravity now our ally, we began working our way back down. Coming down that broken rock patch required even more attention than going up. Gravity, now working with us, could just as easily work against us with one careless move. We moved slowly, deliberately. Each person testing footholds before committing their weight, hands reaching for secure grips on the weathered stone. "One at a time," someone called out, and we waited patiently, watching each trekker navigate the twenty-five feet of crumbling steps with focused concentration. The rock was smooth in places, worn by centuries of monsoons and countless feet before ours. No rush. No bravado. Just careful, mindful movement. When the last person made it down safely, there was a collective exhale – that quiet satisfaction of respecting the mountain and having the mountain let you pass.

Just beyond the ladder, we detoured to that intriguing crevice we'd marked earlier. Entering that narrow gap between the separated boulder and the mountain felt like stepping into the earth's own secret chamber – cool, dim, magnificent in its scale and audacity. We explored, photographed, marvelled at what time and geology can create when they collaborate.

Snacks came out. Water bottles made the rounds. We sat in that unique space, resting muscles, refuelling bodies, but mostly just being present with the wonder of it all.

After almost three hours under the sun's gaze, re-entering the forest's embrace felt like slipping into cool water on a hot day. Pure relief. Pure joy.

Where Memory Lives in Stone

Along our descent, we stopped at a small temple devoted to Lord Shiva, tucked into the forest like a quiet place for meditation. But it was what stood beside the temple that truly commanded attention: "Virgals" – memorial stones carved with intricate detail, standing as eternal witnesses to courage and sacrifice.

Shubham, our trek leader, became our translator for these ancient texts written in stone. The bottom panel shows the warrior in life – a man, a soldier, someone's son or brother. The middle section captures the terrible beauty of battle, the moment of ultimate sacrifice. The upper panel depicts his place in the heavens, earned through valour. And crowning it all – the Sun and Moon, carved in stone, making a promise: as long as these celestial bodies shine, so will the memory of this brave soul endure.

What profound poetry. What a fitting tribute. Standing before these stones, separated from those warriors by centuries, you still feel connected to them. Their courage, their sacrifice, their humanity – all preserved in rock for generations yet unborn.

The Feast That Feeds the Soul

We reached the village around 2:30 pm, dusty and tired and happy. After washing away the trail's residue, we gathered for what can only be described as a feast made with love.

Bhakari – that rustic flatbread made from rice flour, baked to perfection with those slightly charred edges that taste like heaven. Mataki usal, lentils cooked until they were tender and fiery, making you reach for more even as your tongue protested. Dal rice, that most comforting combination known to Indian cuisine. Fresh salad bringing crunch and coolness. And thecha – oh, that glorious hand-pounded blend of green chilies and garlic, spicy enough to make your eyes water and delicious enough to make you not care.

We ate. We ate until we couldn't eat anymore. And just when we thought the meal was complete, Lahu brought out the surprise: freshly churned buttermilk, thick and creamy with little specks of butter floating like tiny clouds. Cool, refreshing, nourishing in a way that goes beyond nutrition.

We rested after that, bellies full, hearts fuller. A casual feedback session where everyone shared their favourite moments, their gratitude, their joy. And then came the hard part – saying goodbye.

Lahu extended an invitation that we all wanted to accept immediately: come back for overnight camping, explore the offbeat trails, discover the hidden gems of this region. We promised we would. Some promises you intend to keep.

Gratitude, Carried Home

This experience was made possible by people who care deeply about what they do. Shubham Sawant, our leader, and Shreyas Ranade, our co-leader, guided us with expertise and enthusiasm. The entire Trek Kshitiz team from Dombivli – their dedication to trekking, wildlife conservation, and Durga Sanvardhan (the restoration and preservation of our historical forts and monuments) shines through in every detail. This wasn't just a well-organized trek; it was an education, a journey through history and nature both.

And to my fellow trekkers – eighteen souls who started the day as strangers and ended it as trail companions – thank you. For the laughter, the shared silences, the helping hands on difficult sections, the collective wonder at nature's artistry.

We dispersed with tired legs and recharged spirits, carrying memories and a promise: we'll meet again where the trails lead, where the mountains call, where the next adventure awaits.

Home Now

So here I am, diary filled, experience captured as best as words allow. The exhaustion remains, but it's that good kind – the type that comes from moving your body through beautiful spaces, from challenging yourself, from living fully for a day.

Ghangad, you've left your mark. Until we meet again.