Pin Bhaba Pass Trek - Day 5: Pushtirang to Bwaldar

I Continue From Here: Pin Bhaba Pass Trek - Day 4: Kara to Pushtirang

Day 05: Pushtirang (4,200 m / 13,700 ft) to Bwaldar (4,080 m / 13,400 ft) via Bhaba Pass (4,900 m / 16,100 ft) - 12km / 11H

8-July-2026

I woke up at around 1:15 a.m., much earlier than necessary. I freshened up, got ready, and wore my gaiters and helmet with the head torch strapped around it. We then stepped into the dining tent for breakfast. There was spicy channa masala and daliya. I settled for the latter. At that hour, it was impossible to eat much. I had just enough to keep me going for the first few hours of the climb.

By the time we left the campsite, it was 4 a.m. Three other large trekking groups were also attempting the pass that day. The organisers had coordinated among themselves and decided to begin at 30-minute intervals so that the trail would not become overcrowded. We were the first group to start.

Pankaj had requested the guides to keep the women and the slower trekkers at the front. That allowed us to set a steady, sustainable pace. We had to cross two smaller passes before reaching Pin Bhaba Pass itself.

The first stretch was brutally steep, and carrying a backpack made it even more demanding. With Bhaskar Sir ahead of me and Ajith Mathew behind me, we found a comfortable rhythm. One slow step at a time, we steadily gained altitude. Ajith later told me that he usually struggled during summit pushes because he tended to climb too quickly. Maintaining our slower pace had helped him conserve energy, and for the first time in years, he did not experience the altitude sickness that had troubled him on previous treks.

Since ours was the first group to cross the pass that season, parts of the trail still had to be carved out with pickaxes. In some sections—especially beyond a waterfall—the path was so narrow that there was barely enough room to place one foot in front of the other. To make matters worse, the constant drizzle since the previous night had left the soil loose and slippery. One tiny misstep could have sent me tumbling down the cliff.

After crossing the first pass, we reached patches of snow and hard ice. Carefully, we made our way across them and continued towards the second pass. Needless to say, the views were spectacular. Through drifting clouds, snow-capped peaks occasionally revealed themselves before disappearing once again behind the mist.

The climb to the second pass was also fairly steep. We crossed several more stretches of snow and ice, each demanding complete concentration. Every step had to be deliberate, as the surface was extremely slippery.

Finally, after crossing both passes, we reached Pin Bhaba Pass. The last stretch turned out to be less intimidating than I had imagined. Standing at the pass was immensely rewarding. Our guide, Sachin, distributed the prasad he had carried with him. Beside a small shrine-like structure at the pass, he offered his prayers before serving all of us warm suji halwa.

We spent some time taking photographs and soaking in the magnificent views. Snow-covered mountains surrounded us in every direction. Having reached the highest point of the trek, it was now time for the descent. There were two options: hike down on foot or enjoy the exhilarating experience of glissading down the snowy slopes.

The first slide looked honestly terrifying. While most of the group chose to glissade, Divyesh, Bhaskar and I decided to walk down instead. My experience walking on snow during the Manaslu Circuit Trek had prepared me well for that.

I was initially reluctant to try glissading because of a fear that had stayed with me since my Kedarkantha trek. Back then, I had attempted it without knowing the proper technique, and the experience had been far from enjoyable.

So, for the first two descents, I chose to walk. But Pankaj gently insisted that I should at least give it a try. He did not want me to miss the experience and patiently explained the correct posture, technique, and how to control my speed while descending. That made all the difference.

Thanks to Pankaj, I overcame my fear of glissading and thoroughly enjoyed the final descent with confidence and control. Reaching the bottom filled me with an immense sense of achievement. Another fear had been conquered.

I often wonder why human beings choose to test themselves, setting goals that go far beyond necessity. What compels a mountaineer to climb a peak in such unforgiving cold, to stand atop one of the world's highest mountains for a moment that may last only a few seconds, knowing that even the memory of it will gradually fade with time?

Perhaps it is those who have not surrendered themselves completely to what Albert Camus called philosophical suicide who seek to define life for themselves—to create meaning in an otherwise absurd existence.

Almost anything can make us feel content—a slice of cheesecake, a cup of tea, or simply a good night's sleep. What distinguishes us is the scale of the challenges we choose to pursue. It is our choices, more than our circumstances, that shape the depth of our satisfaction with life.

After descending into the valley on the Spiti side, we stopped for lunch. The team had carried pulao in insulated hot pots, and it was served to everyone. Harry's wooden spoons came in handy because I had forgotten to carry one. I distributed the extra spoons to others who needed them.

The walk after lunch, however, turned out to be the most mentally exhausting stretch of any trek I have done so far.

By then, all of us were already tired. The trail seemed endless. There was almost no change in scenery and not even a distant glimpse of the campsite until we were practically upon it. To make matters worse, several sections consisted of loose gravel and unstable rocks that demanded constant attention.

After waking up at 2 a.m., getting ready by 3, starting the trek at 4, climbing all the way to the pass, and enjoying the exhilarating descent, we were completely unprepared for this monotonous eight-kilometre walk to a campsite that refused to reveal itself.

By the time we reached the campsite, everyone was mentally drained. At one point, some of us even mistook the red ponchos of trekkers in the distance for toilet tents—only to realise our mistake when the "tents" began moving.

As we got closer to the campsite, we noticed several beautiful varieties of flowers blooming on this comparatively dry side of the pass.

I cannot adequately describe how frustrating that final walk was. Towards the end, I stopped feeling anything. My legs no longer seemed to register pain. I simply wanted to ignore every discomfort and keep walking until I reached the campsite. Divyesh, walking beside me, shared the same sentiments and complained every now and then.

On the opposite side of the valley, we saw a new road under construction. I am glad I completed this trek at the right time. The Indian government is building a road connecting Kafnu in Kinnaur to Mudh village in the Spiti Valley, and much of the existing trekking trail will eventually disappear beneath it. The raw charm of Pin Bhaba Pass may soon be lost in the name of development. Another pristine landscape stands on the verge of being transformed forever.

We reached the campsite at around 4 p.m., after nearly twelve hours of walking. We picked a tent and I freshened up. While I was outside, Pankaj arrived and asked Sahil whether the snacks had been served.

Sahil replied, "You were the one who called and told us not to serve the samosas until you arrived." Pankaj gave a nervous smile. I pretended not to have heard the exchange and quietly walked away.

The samosas were irresistible after such an exhausting day. Everyone looked exhausted. Curiously, though, I felt energetic. It was a strange contradiction. I had felt completely drained while walking, but after reaching camp and freshening up, I suddenly felt full of energy.

Abhi, Ajith and I went for a short walk around the campsite. We spoke about politics and found ourselves agreeing on most issues. I recorded another song by Ajith before we headed back. We spoke about hangout spots in Delhi, Ajith's farmhouse in Idukki, and some of Abhi's travel stories. I realised how much I genuinely enjoyed their company. We shared many common interests, and conversation flowed effortlessly.

At one point, someone asked what we were supposed to do with the remaining rented equipment. Pankaj immediately replied that his responsibility ended with getting us safely to Kaza, indicating that everything else was outside his scope. He could simply have said that the administrative team would get in touch with us. Instead, he chose to distance himself from the responsibility altogether.

That was when something clicked, and I began connecting the dots.

Throughout the trek, I had noticed a shift in the way trekking companies now operate. They had evolved into something resembling a corporate hierarchy. One person led the group, another managed the campsite, someone else oversaw the kitchen, another guided the trail, and so on. In the past, these teams seemed to function as a single unit, collectively owning the entire trekking experience. Now, they appeared to operate as specialised departments, each focused solely on completing its assigned task.

Perhaps that division of responsibility had also created a certain emotional detachment from the experience as a whole. It was, at least, the best explanation I could find for Pankaj's apparent lack of passion and occasional disconnect from the job he was doing.

Dinner consisted of Rice, Dal, chapati, matar paneer and jalebi. I ate heartily that evening. The hardest part of the trek was behind us, and I did not hesitate to indulge a bit. 

After dinner, Chandni wanted to inform Pankaj that she had misplaced her trekking pole near the toilet area. As soon as she mentioned it, his immediate response was, "Is it the rented trekking pole? You'll have to pay ₹500 if you lose it."

Meanwhile, one of the kitchen staff, who remembered seeing the pole earlier, went to check whether it was still there. Almost immediately, Pankaj softened his response and added a more reassuring comment.

His reaction reminded me of something that had happened earlier in the day. Vivan had enthusiastically told Pankaj how much he had enjoyed glissading. Pankaj's first response had been, "It would have been even more memorable if you had hit a rock."

He immediately realised what he had said and followed it up with something positive.

Connecting these two incidents, I felt I had begun to understand him a little better.

It seemed to be his instinct to think and speak negatively first. I wondered whether it due to cultural influences or a result of difficult experiences in life. Cynicism appeared to be his default reaction. But what gave me hope was that he almost always caught himself and consciously corrected it.

He was not a bad person. He was simply the product of a certain conditioning. The fact that he recognised his own negativity and tried to correct it suggested that, perhaps one day, he would overcome those tendencies altogether.

We never found the trekking pole that evening, but Chandni believed she knew who had taken it. A thief at the campsite? That mystery would have to wait until the next day.

To Be Continued...