My Kedarkantha Trek with HDT: A Leap of Faith

“I’m going on a trek to Uttarakhand,” I said.

“Oh, that’s great! With family?” asked my friend.

“No,” I replied.

“With friends?” he asked.

“No, alone,” I replied hesitantly, admitting to the obvious crazy decision I had made. I knew it sounded odd to go on a trek with a group of unknown people at the age of twenty — and being a female made it seem even bolder to everyone around me. I could already imagine the difference in reaction if my brother had said the same thing.

Even though I answered everyone confidently, deep down I knew I was stepping into something risky. This wasn’t going to be like Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani, and I hadn’t dreamed of finding a “Bunny.” My friends were either busy or uninterested, and honestly, I found it perfectly okay to go and make new ones.

A close friend had told me about Himalayan Dream Treks (HDT), and their detailed videos helped me decide on one of their easy to moderate treks — Kedarkantha. Except for a few one-day treks, I had no prior trekking experience. But something in me said this was going to be unforgettable.

First-Day Jitters: Heading to Sankri

I reached Haridwar station early morning, my backpack almost half my size, my mind racing with nervous excitement. As I met the Himalayan Dream Treks team, I instantly spotted a few familiar faces from our WhatsApp group. Everyone seemed friendly, yet we all carried that quiet awkwardness of strangers thrown together for an adventure.

Our tempo traveler started the long, winding journey from Haridwar to Sankri — around 10 hours through pine forests, misty valleys, and roadside dhabas that smelled like heaven. We dozed off in turns, occasionally waking up to click pictures or gasp at the deep gorges beside us.

By the time we reached Sankri, it was already evening. The cold hit me like a wall the moment I stepped out. I had imagined we’d stay in cozy guesthouses for the first night, but reality had other plans. The base camp was dotted with glowing tents under a sky full of stars.

We were called for tea soon after, where our Trek Leader gave us the briefing. His first words weren’t exactly reassuring:

“If you have a headache, report immediately. At this altitude, it can be serious.”

My confidence melted a bit right there. The dinner that night was quiet. I sat with my steel tiffin, trying to process the fact that this was actually happening. “Stepping out after 8 PM is risky. Always go with your tent mate,” we were warned. That night, twisting and turning in my sleeping bag, I couldn’t stop thinking — Maybe I should just go home.

A New Dawn at Juda Ka Talab

“Wow, I’m alive!” was my first thought the next morning. I hadn’t been eaten by a wild animal, and the tent hadn’t blown away. The air was freezing, yet so pure that I felt instantly awake.

We packed our bags and started our first real climb towards Juda Ka Talab, a beautiful lake surrounded by tall pines and thick snow patches. The ascent was around 2,000 feet, and with my poorly adjusted backpack, the first few minutes already felt challenging.

Soon, I found myself walking at the back of the group. Every few minutes, someone turned and asked, “You okay?” and I’d smile and reply, “Yeah, don’t worry.” Deep inside, though, I was trying to convince myself the same thing.

After hours of climbing, halting for Maggi and chai, and believing every “It’s just fifteen minutes more,” we finally reached Juda Ka Talab around 1:30 PM. And trust me — it was worth every step. The frozen lake reflected the surrounding pines, and the sun cast a golden hue over the snow.

I kept repeating to myself — I survived.

The evening was filled with laughter, games, and chai in the dining tent. The group that had seemed distant the day before now felt like old friends. That night, I hugged my hot water bottle tight and drifted off into the most peaceful sleep I’d had in days.

The Ascent to Kedarkantha Base Camp

The next morning, the nervousness had faded a little. I had learned how to use the toilet tent, pack my backpack efficiently, and even strike up conversations while panting for breath.

Our next destination was Kedarkantha Base Camp, at about 11,250 feet. The trail opened into vast meadows and snow-covered pine forests that looked straight out of a postcard. The weather was chilly, and the silence of the forest made the crunch of every footstep sound louder.

By the time we reached the base camp, the temperature had dropped sharply. We sipped hot soup while the sun slowly disappeared behind the peaks. The excitement was building up — tomorrow was summit day.

Summit Day: A Night to Remember

We were woken up at 2:30 AM for the summit climb. The air outside was icy and the world pitch dark except for the beams of our headlamps. Wrapped in layers, we started walking slowly, one step at a time, our breath forming clouds in the freezing air.

The trail was steep and narrow, with snow glittering under the moonlight. Every muscle in my body screamed for rest, but my heart refused to stop. Around 6:15 AM, just as the first rays of sunlight touched the peaks, we reached Kedarkantha Summit (12,500 ft).

The view left me speechless.

Snow-capped ranges stretched endlessly — Swargarohini, Bandarpoonch, and Black Peak stood tall before us. The sun rose slowly, coloring the sky in shades of orange and pink. I felt tiny, yet powerful. Tears welled up in my eyes, not from exhaustion but from joy.

I whispered to myself, I did it.

Lessons from the Mountains

The descent back to base camp felt easier — the pressure was gone, replaced by satisfaction. We played snow fights, shared chocolates, and took endless pictures.

On the final day, as we descended back to Sankri, I couldn’t believe the trek was already ending. My legs were tired, but my heart was full. I had met strangers who now felt like family, laughed until my stomach hurt, and experienced nature in its rawest form.

That evening, over chai and pakoras, we all shared our reflections. When it was my turn, I simply said,

“This trek changed something in me.”

And it truly had.

I had stepped out of my comfort zone — alone, scared, unsure — and returned stronger, more peaceful, and far more in love with myself and the mountains.

People often ask me why I prefer doing things alone. I tell them that somewhere between the frozen lake and the summit, I found my answer.

Because sometimes, solitude isn’t loneliness — it’s strength.

And Kedarkantha taught me exactly that.