Chapter 4 : The “PEAK” Adrenaline!

This is continuation of “Kuari Pass Diaries” Series

Finally, the day we were most excited was here — towards the final push. We knew it was going to be a long day, but luckily didn’t have to carry our heavy backpacks.

The early morning started with a briefing. Everyone was handed gaiters since we were expecting much more snow than the last two days. With the forecast of strong winds and freezing temperatures, everyone bundled up in their wind jackets. People were excited, some nervous, but the mood was still light as we started walking.

About half an hour in, just after passing the Thali forest, we hit a tricky stretch. The trail had vanished under a fresh blanket of snow, and the slope below offered no mercy — one misstep could mean slipping into the valley. That’s when I truly regretted not bringing my trekking pole. Luckily, my selfie stick came to rescue, Me and Sumanth slowed down and told everyone to be careful.

After about 2.5 hours of walking, suddenly, the view opened up completely. Just clear, wide-open skies and massive peaks in every direction. That was Jhandi Top.

Majestic view from Jhandi top

It was the kind of sight that makes you stop without thinking. Right in front of us was Pangarchula Peak, sharp and close. Around it, the bigger ones stood tall — Mt. Kalmet, Hathi Parbat, Mt. Neelkanth, and even Mt. Rishikot far in the distance. And then there was Mt. Nanda Devi, surrounded by the Dronagiri range — it looked unreal. And finally, the first peek to the summit of our Kauri Pass , just Infront of these mighty peaks.

We reached on schedule, around 10:30 AM. Took a break, sat down for a bit, and captured a few photos of that majestic view.

While we were savoring the view, little did we know what was waiting ahead. Jhandi Top turned out to be the last point where a proper trail existed. From there, Mukesh bhai and Vipin bhai started making the path forward.

Their feet were sinking almost up to thigh level in the snow. Watching them struggle was enough for us to realize — the next stretch was not going to be easy. Looking at those conditions, a few of our fellow trekkers decided to quit. Even Vijaya aunty chose not to continue. But honestly, the fact that she made it all the way to Zandi at her age was unbelievable. The kind of energy she carries… it’s something else.

We started moving ahead. With no trail, every single step had to be taken carefully. The person in front left a footprint, and the rest of us had to place our feet exactly in the same spot to avoid sinking deeper. With every step, I kept realizing how bad a decision it was to leave my trekking pole behind.

The snow was deep — so deep that even gaiters couldn’t stop it from getting inside. Snow-proof shoes didn’t help much either; the cold found its way through. Each step made my feet go a little more numb, until after a point, they just stopped sensing the cold at all.

It was taking much longer than what Mukesh bhai had expected. The trail-breaking was testing everyone’s patience and strength. Coordinating the group was becoming more and more difficult for him.

In almost an hour, we had managed to cover a little less than half a kilometer. We decided to stop for a short rest, waiting for those who had fallen behind to catch up.

While we were resting, Mukesh bhai and Vipin bhai were tireless, checking the trail ahead. The slope below was too steep, and the rocks hidden under the snow made every step unpredictable and uneven.

I was moving ahead with Sumanth and Sanjay bhai, a little in front of the others. Just a few feet ahead, between two rocks, there was a false patch of soft snow. Mukesh bhai stepped on it and suddenly sank almost up to his chest!

That moment shook everyone. Right then, Sanjay decided to quit, even after all our efforts to motivate him. Along with him, nearly half the team also felt it was too risky and chose to turn back.

That moment made everyone a bit scared and a lot more cautious. Every step suddenly felt heavier. Mukesh bhai and Vipin had to assist each person through the tricky sections, which slowed everything down and stretched the group apart. The gap between us and the others kept increasing.

At one point Mukesh bhai told me and Sumanth to go ahead and start making the trail. My stomach tightened — I knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but there wasn’t really an option. Each step felt like a gamble. I used my Insta360 pole to test the snow depth and support myself, almost treating it like a lifeline.

But after a few meters, the pole couldn’t take it anymore and broke. I detached the camera and was left with nothing but a broken selfie stick. There was no other choice.

That was the moment we truly understood what trail-making meant. You don’t walk — you fight for every step.

You check the snow, you test the ground, and then you commit. Your foot sinks almost two feet deep, and then you have to pull it out with every ounce of strength left in your legs, only to sink again in the next step. Each step was a drain — on the lungs, on the muscles, on the mind. And the mountain kept asking for more. It was taking everything out of our bodies, and still demanding more.

After almost two hours of absolute struggle — a mix of adventure, exhaustion, and sheer motivation to reach the summit — we finally hit the trail coming from Khullara. That moment felt like a victory on its own, the kind where you just drop down and take the hard-earned rest your body has been begging for.

As we sat catching our breath, trekkers from other groups who had taken the easier Khullara route were already making their way down. The summit was still almost 2 km ahead for us, we were way behind our initial schedule..

footsteps into unknown

Some of them looked at us with surprise and even asked if we were locals, since we had taken the Thali route and managed to make it there in that weather. That question itself said everything about the effort it had taken. We kept moving, but it was taking a toll on everyone. I remember Harsha telling me that his body just couldn’t take it anymore — he had thought of quitting multiple times, and somehow dragged himself till we reached the Khullara trail.

Me and Sumanth had just one bottle of water left between us, so we were mixing snow into it and drinking. Harsha, on the other hand, had completely run out. The lack of water and the constant push had drained him to the point that his body simply refused to go on. At that moment, he decided he couldn’t take another step and wanted to quit.

Even with all the effort from Harish and Yasha to convince him, his body just wasn’t responding anymore. Finally, they had no choice but to leave him behind and continue.

And then, as if by some miracle, our trek mate Devanshu appeared. True to his name, he showed up like a dev — and luckily, he had water to spare. For Harsha, that was life-saving at that very moment. The sip gave him the strength to continue.

After about half an hour, just before the summit, the wind picked up heavily. The strong breeze kept sweeping across the snow, and the sun rays hit it perfectly — turning the powder snow into something unreal. It looked like a snow desert, with waves of white moving like sand. For a moment, it didn’t feel real — it just felt like a visual treat for tired eyes.

When we finally reached the summit, there was literally no one there. Just me and Sumanth. That emptiness made it even more unreal.

walk towards the silence

The feeling of actually completing the climb… the raw, up-close view of the majestic Himalayan ranges… it was like our brains just stopped working for a while. For a good 10 minutes, we completely lost control — we were shouting, cheering, laughing, screaming, and clicking a crazy number of photos .

That “on top of the world” feeling? Honestly, it’s not something you can explain. It’s something you have to feel from your own heart.

We had gone up with full plans — “we’ll make cinematic reels, dramatic slow-mos, perfect summit shots.” But once we got there… blank. Completely blank. No ideas, no creativity. Just pure, silent madness in our heads.

After a few minutes of that chaos, we just sat down quietly. No talking. Just staring. Just breathing. Just absorbing the beauty in front of us. The mighty Himalayas were right there, up close. And suddenly, everything felt… small.

All the burdens you carry. All the problems. All the questions in your head. Everything just went silent in front of those mountains. Standing there, you don’t feel powerful. You feel humbled. You feel light. You feel real. Like for the first time in a long time, your mind isn’t louder than your heart.

Then slowly, the next group started arriving — Harsha, Harish, and Yasha along with a few others.

Harsha looked completely drained. Tired to the bone. Frustrated as hell.

The first thing he did? He grabbed water and started drinking like his life depended on it. And then, half angry, half hurt, he looked at us and complained that we weren’t there when he was struggling the most.

And honestly… we didn’t even know what to say.

PEAK Happiness!

12750 ft. high & -15°c chill…

After a few group photos and a quick lunch, reality hit us — we were already way behind schedule, and the cold had started creeping in again. So we began our descent.

In between, we witnessed a sunset so beautiful It felt like the sun was painting the mountains one last time before disappearing for the day. It’s one of those sights you know your mind will replay for the rest of your life.

Art by Sun.

But once the sun dipped behind the peaks, darkness arrived fast. By the time we entered the Thali forest region, it was pitch black. With the snow glowing under our headlamps and our slow, tired walk, we honestly felt like white walkers marching through the night. Cold, stiff, half-dead-looking… minus the blue eyes.

It was almost 6:30 when we finally reached the Thali camp. Everyone was exhausted, barely able to speak, but somewhere inside, that quiet happiness of completing the summit was still glowing.

The warm bowl of soup and snacks felt perfect in that cold weather as if they were waiting for us. The only thing missing was Gopal bhai, his campfire, and his endless stories and folk songs.

Even though it was freezing again that night — almost –15°C, we didn’t feel the cold the same way. Maybe it was the satisfaction of standing on the summit, or the wild adventure we had lived through earlier in the day, but something kept us warm from the inside.