A Dream Above the Clouds – 12,516 ft
Kuari Pass was never just another trek on a checklist. It was a quiet promise I had made to myself months earlier — a promise whispered during late nights, during stressful days, during moments when I needed something to look forward to. For six months, I carried that dream in my mind: endless snowfields, towering Himalayan giants, and the feeling of standing above the clouds.
And on January 15, 2026, that dream finally stepped into reality.
At exactly 5:00 PM, I boarded my train to Haridwar. My side lower berth became my little world for the night — backpack tucked beside me, earphones playing soft music, and my mind racing with anticipation. I watched cities blur past the window, knowing that with every passing kilometer, I was moving closer to something life-changing.
I started this journey alone.
Or at least, that’s what I thought.
I didn’t know that this trip would reconnect me with old friends and introduce me to strangers who would soon feel like family.
At 7:00 AM the next morning, Haridwar station welcomed me with cold air and golden sunlight. And right there, on the platform, I met friends I had bonded with during my Kedarkantha trek last year. Seeing them again in that unexpected moment felt like destiny playing its favorite trick.
We laughed like no time had passed.
From Haridwar, we took a local train to Rishikesh, reaching around 8:00 AM. I had booked our stay at The Hosteller. For many of them, it was their first hostel experience — their excitement filled the room. Watching them discover travel in their own way reminded me why I love journeys like this. Travel isn’t about destinations. It’s about shared laughter, shared silence, shared wonder.
We stepped out to explore Rishikesh.
The ghats were alive with soft chants and flowing river sounds. The Ganges moved calmly, as if it had seen a thousand travelers like us and still welcomed each one warmly. We wandered through narrow markets, smelled fresh chai in the cold air, and let the city’s peaceful energy sink into our bones.
Dinner was simple. Conversations were long. Sleep came early.
Because we knew the mountains were waiting.
On January 17th at 6:30 AM, our tempo traveler stood waiting at Natraj Chowk. As we loaded our bags, we met new trekkers — faces that would soon become familiar, voices that would soon echo in memories.
The road to Joshimath was a journey in itself.
Winding mountain roads, rivers running beside us, sunlight dancing on cliffs. Every turn revealed a new postcard. We stopped at Dhari Devi Temple, offered prayers, and silently asked the mountains for safe passage.
By evening, we reached Joshimath.
Snow-covered peaks stood around us like silent guardians. The air was thinner, sharper, purer. Every breath felt like drinking ice. We layered ourselves in jackets and woolens, had a warm dinner, and slipped into sleep with the kind of excitement only adventurers understand.
Tomorrow, the real journey would begin.
Morning arrived with crisp air and glowing peaks. After breakfast and a sacred visit to Badrinath Temple, we drove to Tugasi village — the starting point of our trek.
When I took my first step on that trail, something inside me shifted.
The world behind me faded.
The first day’s hike was gentle — around 2.5 kilometers — but every step felt meaningful. The mountains opened slowly, revealing giants like Nanda Devi and Dronagiri standing proud against the sky. I kept stopping, not because I was tired, but because beauty demanded attention.
As night approached, the cold tightened its grip. We huddled together laughing, sharing drinks, clicking endless photos, pretending not to shiver. Above us, the sky exploded with stars. There were more stars than I had ever seen in my life.
That night, I slept with the mountains watching.
We woke up to a landscape that felt alive.
Every minute, the mountains changed colors — blue to gold to silver. Shadows moved like slow waves. After breakfast, we trekked toward Tali Forest. This stretch tested us.
Snow trails swallowed our footsteps. The climb grew steeper. Conversations became quieter. Only the crunch of boots and the sound of breathing filled the air.
But the views… the views kept pulling us forward.
When we reached camp, exhaustion melted into pride. We explored, joked, shared stories of our lives, and later sat together playing Mafia under a sky heavy with stars.
Strangers had turned into a tribe.
And the mountains had accepted us.
This was the day.
The reason we were here.
We woke early, packed silently, and began the longest push — 13 to 14 kilometers of pure determination. Every muscle protested. The cold cut through layers. Breathing felt heavier. Time slowed.
But quitting was never an option.
And then…
At exactly 12:00 PM on January 20th…
We stood at 12,516 feet.
We had summited Kuari Pass.
I wish I could bottle that moment.
In front of me stood Nanda Devi in all her glory, alongside Hathi Ghoda and Trishul peaks. The mountains weren’t scenery anymore. They were emotion. They were power. They were a reminder of how small we are — and how strong we can become.
I felt gratitude rush through me like electricity.
I wasn’t just happy.
I was transformed.
The descent toward Auli felt lighter. We had already conquered our fear, our doubt, our limits. The trek was long, but our hearts were full.
We laughed louder. Walked freer. Took photos like we were trying to freeze time.
By evening, we reached Auli. The cable car ride down felt surreal — like floating between worlds. Our camper van waited below, ready to return us to Joshimath.
The trek was complete.
48 kilometers of effort. A lifetime of memory.
That evening, during the certificate ceremony, I held mine and smiled. It wasn’t paper.
It was proof.
Proof that resilience beats comfort. Proof that teamwork beats fear. Proof that dreams reward those who chase them.
The next day, we returned home carrying backpacks full of stories.
Kuari Pass wasn’t about altitude or snow.
It was about discovering strength hidden deep inside me. It was about people who entered my life unexpectedly and left permanent marks on my heart.
Every ache in my body was a reminder: I had done something extraordinary.
This trek will forever remain one of the proudest chapters of my life.
Not because I reached a summit — but because I kept walking when it was hardest.