Not long ago, people had to walk for days and spend nights in assorted places to reach Rara Lake, tucked away in the mid-western region of Nepal. But with the construction of roads, the number of people treading through the path had significantly gone down and it took a toll on people who earned their livelihood from the hotels, homestays and shops they ran in the area. By degrees, people started quitting their businesses and switched to another profession.
Nestled at an altitude of 2,990 meters and spanning 10.8 square kilometers across Jumla and Mugu districts, Rara Lake is Nepal’s deepest freshwater lake.
Popular for its unruffled and splendid nature, the clean and pristine blue waters never fail to mesmerize visitors.
Turning the pages of history, Rara Lake was known as “Rara Daha” for years. Once, when late king Mahendra was traveling around the country on a helicopter, he happened to reach the basin. The enchanting beauty of the waterbody lured King Mahendra, impelling him to describe the lake as ‘Swarga ki Apsara”. He later named the lake as Rara Lake.
On April 24, 2015, my friends and I planned a trip to Rara Lake. But the very next day, Nepal was struck by a devastating 7.8 magnitude earthquake, claiming nearly 9,000 lives, injuring 22,000, and causing widespread destruction.
Along with the earthquake, our plan to visit the largest and deepest freshwater lake surrounded by magnificent conifer forests was also disrupted by the unforeseen event.
They say when you truly desire something, the universe conspires to make it happen. A decade later, some friends planned a trek to Rara via Jumla, following an old route to explore the rich cultural heritage of Nepal’s western hills. I couldn’t resist joining—this was my chance to finally witness the legendary beauty of Rara Lake which I had been hearing the bewildering tales.
Gulping down the hearty breakfast, I headed to Gongabu Bus Park where other friends were waiting for me.
Our adventure began at 7 am, growing more thrilling with every turn—until we hit a massive traffic jam in Gaindakot, Nawalparasi. Taking a detour via the Kaligandaki corridor added an extra 100 km, but it spared us a 24-hour gridlock.
The Karnali Highway, linking Surkhet and Jumla, was an adrenaline-pumping experience—narrow, rugged, and carved through rocky cliffs. Watching the Karnali River rush beneath Kakilot’s steep drops was both terrifying and exhilarating. As we entered Jumla, the roads improved, and the scenery transformed.
Driving along the Tila River at sunset, with apple orchards and golden paddy fields stretching beside us, felt like a dream. Soon, we reached Khalanga, Jumla’s district headquarters, where we were warmly welcomed by Hari Bahadur Rokaya, an international marathon runner and Guinness World Record holder. Despite his global fame, he remains underappreciated in Nepal. He even arranged two of his students as our guides.
Before starting our trek, the next morning, we explored Khalanga, offering prayers at Chandan Nath Baba and Bhairabnath Temple for a safe journey.
The trail wound past glistening streams, stone houses nestled among apple farms, and cherry blossoms in full bloom—like a scene from a postcard.
After a three-hour uphill hike, we reached Chehre for a local breakfast, then continued to Danfe Lek (3,800 meters), a challenging climb due to the steep ascent and altitude.
From Danfe Lek, the view of Khalanga Valley and Jumla was surreal—snow-dusted peaks, rhododendron and pine forests, and vast meadows stretched before us.
Reaching Khali, I was spellbound: endless grasslands, crystal-clear streams, grazing sheep, and snow-capped mountains made me feel like I’d stepped into a fairy tale. The sheer beauty brought tears to my eyes—yet it saddened me to think how such pristine landscapes are often exploited for short-term gain.
After lunch, we trekked until dusk, staying overnight in Nyaurigad, a quaint hamlet by the Tila River.
Over dinner, we learned that the late Prince Dipendra and Princess Shruti had once stayed there during a hunting trip.
The next morning, we descended through villages like Bumro and Kabra, passing lush rhododendron forests and immersing ourselves in local culture. Breakfast in Chautha and lunch in Bhubhule (the gateway to Mugu and Rara National Park) fueled us for the day’s toughest challenge: crossing Ghuchi Lek. We spent the night by the Jyari River, where the lodging was surprisingly better than the previous stop.
On the third day, we finally reached Rara Lake via Jyrai Village and Salleri. Its crystal-clear waters, vibrant fish, and emerald hills left me speechless—no childhood tales had done it justice. We soaked in the views, capturing photos and videos, while a question nagged at me: Why hasn’t Nepal promoted this paradise to the world?
A boat ride across the lake offered fleeting glimpses of snow-capped peaks through the fog. Later, we rode horses to Murma Top Eco Resort, hoping for clearer skies the next day. But luck wasn’t on our side—rain loomed overhead. “On a clear day, you can see Humla, Jumla, Bajura, Badimalika, Dolpa, even China,” our guide said wistfully.
Undeterred, we pressed on toward Sinja Valley, tackling the trek’s toughest stretch: Chuchhemara Lek (4,039 meters), the highest point in Rara National Park. The steep climb felt effortless amid the breathtaking scenery—century-old deodar trees, dark pink rhododendrons, secluded lakes, and sprawling meadows.
A local mentioned this trail was once favored by German and French trekkers but has faded into obscurity due to the Maoist insurgency and new roads bypassing it.
Reaching Chuchhemara’s jagged peaks surpassed all expectations. Exhausted, drenched, but exhilarated, we finally arrived in Sinja Valley—the birthplace of the Nepali language and the national dress, Daura Suruwal.
The final leg of our journey took us from Sinja back to Khalanga. The turquoise Hima River, apple orchards, thatched-roof homes, and rhododendron forests evoked comparisons to Kashmir—earning Jumla its nickname, “Nepal’s Kashmir.” My dream of visiting Kashmir felt fulfilled here. As dusk fell at Jaljala Pass (3,800 meters), we faced our longest, toughest day, reaching the hotel by 10 p.m.
With hearts full of memories and promises to return, we boarded the bus to Kathmandu at 5 a.m., arriving after a grueling 30-hour drive.
This trek was more than a journey—it was a pilgrimage through Nepal’s natural splendor, cultural roots, and forgotten history. Sadly, as roads expand, this majestic trail risks being lost to time.
Photos: Achitra Thieng
