I Continue From Here: Pin Bhaba Pass Trek - Day 0: Shimla to Kafnu
Day 01: Kafnu (2,450m / 8,000 ft) to Mulling (3,200 m / 10,700) - 11km / 7H
4 July 2026
The morning began on an unfortunate note. Like many neighbourhoods on the outskirts of Bangalore, our accommodation was hit by a water shortage. Apparently, none of the Trek the Himalayas staff were available to help us deal with the situation. Some members of the kitchen staff assured us that the water supply would soon be restored, but it did not return for quite some time. I eventually had to use the washroom on the ground floor, while Divyesh fetched a bucket of water from the kitchen. It seemed that only one side of the building was affected.
Pankaj was nowhere to be seen, and when he finally appeared, he did not seem particularly concerned about resolving the issue. Fortunately, the water supply was eventually restored, although we never learned what had actually caused the problem.
Despite the chaotic morning, everyone was ready on time. My blood pressure was checked again and was within the normal range. However, Pankaj noted that my diastolic pressure (the lower reading) was slightly high and asked me to inform him if I experienced any discomfort during the trek.
Puneeth's reading was still elevated. He was nevertheless permitted to continue, albeit with caution, and was advised to report any symptoms immediately.
Breakfast consisted of idli, upma, daliya, sambar and chutney. It was, unfortunately, one of the poorest meals of the trek. The daliya was excessively sweet, the idlis were hard as rocks, and the chutney was little more than freshly grated coconut. The only redeeming item was the delicious sambar.
This was particularly disappointing because, the previous evening, Pankaj had proudly described Trek the Himalayas as serving some of the best food among trekking organisations. I initially tried to justify the poor idlis by suggesting that fermenting batter in the cold Himalayan climate must be difficult. Ashwini immediately replied,
"Then why make idlis in the first place? Why not cook what is native to this region?"
Her point was difficult to argue with. None of us expected elaborate meals in the mountains. Simple local food, prepared well and served with reasonable seasoning, would have been more than sufficient.
Before leaving, we were issued sleeping bag liners, micro spikes and gaiters. Traditionally, such equipment is carried by the organisers and distributed only when required, but apparently things had changed. I was already worried about the limited space in my backpack. I had transferred some of my spare clothes into Divyesh's backpack, which was being transported by the support team. Since this trek started and ended at different locations, unlike many circuit treks, we had to carry all our extra belongings throughout the journey.
For reasons that were never explained, our departure was delayed. After being introduced to our three local guides, listening to Pankaj's pep talk, and attending a demonstration on trekking poles, backpack adjustments and proper boot lacing, we finally began walking at around 9:30 a.m. It was unusually late; on most Himalayan treks, groups are on the trail by 8:00 a.m.
Our local guides—Anil, Sachin and Hitesh—immediately came across as cheerful, approachable and full of energy.
We followed the Bhaba River, crossed apple orchards, the reservoir and the last village before entering the wilderness. I noticed that freshly pruned branches of the apple trees had been coated with a distinctive red paste. I later learned that this is a pruning wound sealant, typically made from fungicides such as copper compounds mixed with protective sealants like resin, linseed oil or lime. It protects the trees against fungal infections, moisture loss and excessive sap bleeding while helping grafts heal properly.
Around noon, we reached a beautiful pine and Indian maple forest where we stopped for lunch. While the guides, mule handlers, Dev and Vivan went to collect water from a nearby stream, we handed them our bottles and settled down with our packed lunch of chapatis and potato sabzi.
After a short rest, we resumed our walk through the peaceful forest. Emerging from the trees, we were greeted by a magnificent open valley stretching into the distance. It was here that the first raindrops began to fall, forcing us to hurriedly put on our ponchos.
The walk that followed was breathtaking. Every imaginable shade of green surrounded us, while the delicate light-green ferns stood out beautifully against the darker vegetation. It felt as though the mountains had been freshly painted.
Eventually, however, the drizzle turned into relentless rain. Within minutes, most of us were completely drenched. Our shoes and socks were soaked through, several backpacks had begun letting water in, and we continued our long, uncomfortable walk towards the campsite.
By the time we arrived, the campsite team and trek leaders were pitching tents in the pouring rain while the rest of us crowded into the dining tent. All twenty-three of us huddled together among piles of duffel bags as water dripped from our clothes onto the ground. Our wet shoes became increasingly uncomfortable with every passing minute, yet there was something oddly comforting about sharing the experience together. Misery, after all, is easier to endure in good company.
I happened to be wearing the T-shirt from my recent Manaslu trek. Puneeth had mischievously told Dhaval that I was a Nepali. Dhaval looked at me and asked,
"You're from Nepal?"
I simply nodded.
He immediately began telling me about his own travels in Nepal. I encouraged him by asking where he had visited and jokingly wondered whether he might have passed through my village. I could no longer keep a straight face and burst into laughter before admitting that I wasn't Nepali at all—the shirt was simply a souvenir from my recent trek. We all had a good laugh.
Once our tents were ready, Divyesh and I settled in. Unfortunately, I carelessly left the lid of my water bottle slightly loose, and it leaked onto the sleeping mat. The water soaked into the mat, the blanket placed over it and even the underside of my sleeping bag. I spent quite some time blotting the water with tissues and borrowed a few garbage bags from Harry to dispose of the soggy paper. Ironically, Harry's extreme preparedness—something I had quietly mocked earlier—proved invaluable. I was annoyed with myself and reminded myself to slow down. I realised I was becoming carried away by the excitement of the trek.
Evening snacks consisted of tea and pakodas. Outside, the clouds had briefly parted, and the mountains glowed in the soft evening light. I was eager to step out and enjoy the sunset, but Pankaj gathered everyone inside for the daily briefing. It felt like the worst possible time to keep us indoors.
Prama openly told him so and insisted on watching the sunset instead. Neel assured Pankaj that he would brief her later, and she was allowed to leave while the rest of us obediently remained inside for what turned into nearly an hour of discussion.
During the meeting, Ashwini expressed what many of us had been thinking. In the Himalayas, mornings are generally more stable, while weather often deteriorates after noon. Had we started earlier, we might have avoided the heaviest rainfall.
Aishwarya voiced her frustration more passionately.
"How could you make us march in such heavy rain?" she demanded, sounding almost accusatory.
That was enough to put Pankaj on the defensive. He launched into another lengthy lecture explaining that mountain weather is unpredictable and that rain can arrive at any hour of the day. While much of what he said was true, he kept repeating the same points. Most of us still believed an earlier start would have reduced our exposure, but there was little point arguing further. Sometimes silence serves better than debate. By the end of the discussion, a subtle tension had begun to develop between the group and our trek leader.
Looking back, however, perhaps it was a blessing that we encountered such harsh weather on the very first day. It forced us to confront the realities of the mountains immediately and prepared us—both mentally and practically—for whatever challenges lay ahead.
Dinner consisted of roti, baingan bartha, rice, dal and shahi tukda for dessert. The dessert was absolutely outstanding.
After every meal, Pankaj inspected everyone's plates to ensure that no food was wasted. The intention was admirable, but his approach sometimes felt excessive. He would insist that even tiny leftovers be finished before allowing someone to leave.
When he noticed four forgotten grains of rice on my plate—probably invisible to me in the dimly lit dining tent—he remarked, "I still see rice here."
I looked at him in surprise and laughed. My reaction appeared to catch him off guard, and he quietly let me pass.
Before bedtime, Sahil conducted a detailed demonstration on how to use the sleeping bags properly. Although he was also a trek leader, he was assisting Pankaj on this trek by managing the campsite and tent setup.
Puneeth volunteered for the demonstration and soon found himself completely zipped inside the sleeping bag, which sent the rest of us into fits of laughter. Despite the giggles, Sahil remained remarkably composed and continued explaining the finer details without missing a beat. He struck me as focused, professional and approachable.
Standing beside me was Ajith Patel, who simply could not stop laughing. His infectious laughter reminded me of the comic personal assistant of a minister from the Bollywood film Gupt, who somehow finds humour in every situation.
Finally, we returned to our tents and called it a day. Surprisingly, after a while the tent became comfortably warm, and I even had to partially unzip my sleeping bag. That was quite unlike my previous Himalayan treks, where surviving the freezing nights was usually the greater challenge.
To be Continued...
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