With the onset of monsoon, the arid landscapes of Nepal begin to turn green. Rain-soaked hills come alive with a splash of color, as wildflowers briefly bloom, painting the countryside in hues that exist only in this season. Traveling has always been my passion. Driven by wanderlust, I longed to venture into uncharted places, and trekking during the monsoon had always been on my bucket list.
There is a saying: everything has its time, and everything is beautiful in its time. On June 21, 2024, as I was sitting with friends at Boudha, my phone rang. A friend was planning the Kori Danda trek and asked if I wanted to join. Without hesitation, I said yes. I too had been searching for a group to travel with during the rains. Our team would include three Nepalis and two Norwegians.
We knew the rains would test us, but the lure of lush forests, swelling rivers, and monsoon scenery was irresistible. According to plan, we left Kathmandu at 6 am, stopping at Naubise for breakfast. The Prithvi Highway up to Muglin was in rough shape, but beyond that, the road smoothed out, carrying us to Pokhara, the lake city.
After lunch, we headed towards Khaukhola and reserved a jeep for Sikles.
Perched at 1,940 meters, Sikles is Nepal’s second-largest Gurung settlement, with around 300 households resting under the shadow of the Annapurna and Lamjung peaks. On the way, we passed cascading waterfalls and small hamlets before reaching Chipli, another Gurung village.
The paved road ended there, and the journey turned into an off-road adventure. After three hours, we finally reached Sikles. Remote and untouched by urban sprawl, the village felt like a step back into a gentler time.
That evening we stayed at Namaste Guest House. Over barbecue, chatter, and laughter, the group bonded. The next morning, the mountains revealed themselves in the golden light, smiling like a newly married bride. It was a moment to cherish.
After breakfast, we began our trek. Monsoon trekking is not easy: trails become slippery, landslides loom, and rivers swell. Yet, the rains also breathe new life into forests and rivers, making everything feel freshly born. Around 10 am, we left Sikles, descending steeply for an hour and a half to Madkyu Bridge. The locals had warned us: from there to Tasa, the first station, the climb would be steep and grueling. They were right.
The uphill trail tested us under the searing sun. After two hours, we reached Marley Cottage, where we rested and ate noodles. Soon after resuming, rain poured down, and we trudged on in drenched raincoats. By 3 pm, we reached Tasa, shivering from the cold. The teahouse owner lit a fire for us, and one by one, other trekkers arrived. That night, we shared stories and laughter before falling into deep sleep.
The following morning, one of our Norwegian friends felt too weak to continue. We urged her to rest, and eventually, she decided to move along slowly. The trail offered no mercy: steeper climbs, denser forests, and constant drizzle. The Kori trail, being relatively new, had few trekkers, adding to the sense of wilderness. As the rain pattered on pine leaves, the forest shimmered in fresh green. The only unwelcome companions were leeches, clinging to shoes and legs, but we pressed on.
After six hours, we reached Deurali at 3,800 meters, just 15 minutes shy of Kori Danda. Our exhaustion melted away at the sight of the pristine surroundings, rolling hills, alpine meadows, and a horizon dominated by Himalayan giants. Reaching Kori felt like placing a final stone on a heavy load, a release of body and spirit.
That night, we huddled around the fire again, drinking in the warmth while rain poured outside. There is no water source between Tasa and Kori, so carrying bottles is essential for anyone attempting the trek. Many others had been waiting there for days, hoping for clear skies.
When dawn broke, fortune favored us. As we stepped outside, the sky unveiled its masterpiece: Annapurna and Lamjung glowing under the first light, wildflowers carpeting the pastures, and horses grazing against the backdrop of peaks. It was surreal, like a painting come to life, or as if the sky itself had blessed the mountains with a kiss.
We soaked in the moment, took photos, and then reluctantly packed to return. The descent was punishing, and by the time we reached Madkyu Bridge, our legs were trembling. We called for a jeep and drove back to Pokhara, tired but fulfilled.
For the Norwegians, the trek had been a dream fulfilled: to see the Himalayas up close in their raw beauty. For me, it was more than just a journey through nature. Like all voyages, it was a mixture of challenge and joy, of learning and renewal.
The Kori Danda trek, also known as the Toni Hagen Trail, is not for the faint-hearted. Its steep climbs and monsoon risks demand preparation and resilience. But for those willing to take on the challenge, the reward is unforgettable.
