In January of 2021, a friend and I were going to Bir from Dharamkot, after 10 days of working remotely in and around Gallu, Balgaon, Kareri, and a few other mountain villages of Himachal. While we ascended into the Ghat section, we saw a small, but well-maintained and beautiful pani puri shop that was almost right in the backyard of the local zoo.
While we were enjoying our spicy pani puris, the Himalayan Black bear decided to come out of its enclosure and give us a glimpse. The majestic beast had about 100 meters and an 8-foot wall separating us. Phew!
We were equal parts thrilled and scared, considering the climbing power of bears in general. Thankfully, the bear had no interest in the sun-beaten, scrawny tourists like us. Fast forward to our Bali pass trek of June 2023, on our way to Camp Odari from Ruinsara tal, we were given another glimpse of the Himalayan black bear, which was startled just like us, to come face to face.
Thankfully, it quickly ran away from our group. Yet, this was a totally different beast altogether. This one was free. And the close quarters experience (hopefully never happens again) was magical. The mountains, the animals, the tourists, everything was the same, but the bear was free, wild, and beautiful. That’s what trekking in winter feels like.
In a more peaceful parallel, winter transforms familiar summer trails into something entirely new. The trails are the same, the peaks don’t move, but the snow transforms them into something amazing. Equal parts crazy, equal parts magical. Here is how winter trails are a totally different kind of magic, and if it sounds appealing to you, hang around. We have some snow trek recommendations for your next big winter adventure at the end of this blog.
The Silence
On a chilly, cold winter morning, a team of 3 and I were on a week-long trip to a mountain pass called Chandrakhani in Himachal, a place we knew well from summer and autumn trips to our friend's village nearby. As soon as we started, we noticed something different. The thin, cold mountain air was an indicator of a tough climb up on the slippery snow.
But the silence was an outlier. The usual chirping of the birds, high mountain winds from the pines, and almost any sounds of nature were all gone. It was as if we 4 were the only ones on the trail, listening to each other's laboured breaths, our shoes crunching the snow beneath with every stride. It was, in a way, an unexpected experience, on a very familiar terrain.
The silence throughout the day was something we were not accustomed to, as it came as a surprise. Once we ascended to the noise of our own heartbeats and the creaky sounds of our backpacks, we eventually came to enjoy the sound of silence over long periods of time.
The Trail
As we made our way up, we noticed ourselves slipping more than usual. What was normally a rocky-muddy trail was now buried by the fresh snow. As we moved ahead, albeit slightly slower, the trees, little plants, and rocks all around were covered in 50 shades of white. And the snow had covered every bit of land possible. Holes, sharp stones, roots, everything. One misstep, one wrong hand placement, and we would only have each other for aid.
Yet, the beauty, the serenity, and the calmness the snow brought to the environment, the trail, and to us, was palpable. It was as if we wanted this crazy, magical experience to never end. The sound of our carefully placed footsteps on the soft snow got therapeutic to our ears. Of course, there were falls, minor bruises, and bumps.
Yet, the yearning for trekking in winter got higher with every step, especially when we came across a partially frozen water stream, with thin, sharp scales of ice surrounding it. The sunlight turning the nearby snow-capped peaks golden was something that we had always come to cherish, despite multiple winter trips after.
The landscape wasn’t altered, but temporarily modified by the winter.
The Nights
As we settled down for the day, the moonlight had poured over our now frozen campsite. There already was white everywhere, and now, the snow was lit by the white moonlight.
Our light yellow tents sat firmly on the small plain, covered by powder snow on the outside, and surrounded by the silhouettes of trees, rocks, and ridges, all coated in a layer of white. The sun set at 4 PM, which made us realise how wisely/judiciously we had to spend our days. Had we miscalculated or walked slower than usual, we would be walking in the dark.
After dinner, we stirred up a small fire and huddled around it, wondering why we had not done this before. As the sky opened up with an array of stars and galaxies, the thought of being an astronaut seemed great in that moment. The long, winter night accommodated our early dinner, lengthy chats, and a long sleep, as the sun came back only after a 14-hour break. Needless to say, we all slept like we deserved it.
If I could sum up the whole experience of spending a winter trek on a moonlit night, I would just say ‘Hell Yeah’, and go sit by the fire again, staring at the endless sky. There is a picture of our tent from that night. One of us climbed a rock outcropping 60 yards away and shot back towards camp.
Seeing our little tent, perched on top of a clearing, facing a panorama of unknown mountaintops, lit by a glowing moon on the outside and a hanging headlamp on the inside, made us decide one thing: A winter trekking experience every year is mandatory and non-negotiable.
The Emotions
The next few days were spent thinking about the night before, as every little difference in the landscape and camping location made a huge difference to us emotionally. Every campsite became some sort of emotional milestone.
Traversing a snowy trail at 10,000ft and at sub-zero temperatures, I was always thankful for packing the right gear. The cold had made us exhausted, elated, awestruck, and angry (yes, it happens), all under an hour. Being there for one another while each one was fighting their own battle with the snow, trail, temperature, and dried lips had built a strange camaraderie in us.
A strong feeling of belonging to the mountains, to the snow, to the trails, and to each other, all connected by a single, week-long winter trek, was strong. We were all fighting the elements as one, as a team.
Sharing snacks, water, fear, and body heat day after day was a unique experience that we all weirdly missed once we cleared the pass and headed back down.
These are my experiences, and my reasons for chasing that feeling on every winter trail I can find. I hope you get to hit the winter trails and experience your own version of it. Because the cold doesn't just change the landscape, it rewires you.
Summer hands you views. Winter makes you earn them… if you pack the ideal cold-weather gear, you will cash in on the winter magic in the mountains. The feeling of walking, slipping, falling, getting back up, and repeating it all, in the sun and in darkness, is the feeling that forms the core of the winter trekking experience. It’s reserved for trekkers only.
You go there for the silence, the snow, the light, the emotions, the challenges, and the whole buffet of magic tricks that nature offers you, without asking for anything in return… unless you decide to return to those trails again!
Excited to plan your winter next adventure? Check this out before you do.
