Navigating the Challenging Paths: Prakhar’s Kudremukh Trek with Thrillophilia

Some journeys come from a quiet promise made to oneself.

For me, that promise was simple: go somewhere you have never been, do something you have never done, and see what unfolds.

I had always admired the mountains from photos, travel blogs, and postcards sent by friends. But I had never truly met them. Kudremukh kept appearing in my social media feed. The luscious green valleys, mist-draped peaks, and a trail that looked like it had secrets to share.

Immediately (or maybe on instinct), I booked the Kudremukh Trek through Thrillophilia. It was not a check on the bucket list. It was curiosity. The kind that pulls you gently but persistently until you listen.

A solo trek? Yes. Was I nervous? A little. But more than that, I was ready to explore the trail ahead and the version of me who would walk it alone.

The Sleepless Bus and Silent Excitement

The journey began on a Friday evening. I boarded the bus from Indiranagar in Bangalore with my heavy backpack. People around me chatted excitedly. Some were groups of friends, some couples, and some fellow solo travellers. I kept mostly to myself and watched the streetlights blur into stars as we drove further away from the city.

Our trip leader, Hari Krishna Rayanki, introduced himself with a warm smile and an energy that instantly made people feel included. “No one finishes a trek alone,” he said, “we all reach the top together.” I noted those words.

I did not sleep much that night, but I did not mind. The idea of doing something entirely for myself, with no agenda but presence, felt new and powerful.

Into the Green Heart of Kudremukh

We arrived early the next morning at Kudremukh National Park. The cool mountain air and a misty blue dawn covered us almost immediately. The silence was beautiful and amazing. Birds, wind, and distant streams. It felt like nature was whispering, “You made the right choice.”

After a quick and simple breakfast, we began the 22-kilometre trek. I knew it would be physically demanding as I had not prepared much. But as I started walking, putting one foot in front of the other, something inside me aligned.

The trail started gently on the rolling green hills, soft mud, and the occasional curious cow blocking the path. Fellow trekkers exchanged jokes and shared water bottles. I stayed mostly quiet, soaked in the scenery, and paced myself.

Halfway up, we paused for lunch. I remember sitting under a tree, munching quietly, when a co-trekker asked, “You are here alone?” I nodded. “That is brave,” she said. I smiled but did not respond.

Reaching the Summit

The final stretch to the summit was the hardest. The trail turned steep, the sun climbed high, and my legs began to hurt. But with every step, I also shed my worry, fear, and doubt. Like the mountain was taking what I did not need anymore.

When we reached the top, everything stilled. We stood there, breathless with surprise. Kudremukh was looking magnificent with rolling green folds. Clouds moved across the valleys, and the wind carried the scent of wild earth.

I walked a little away from the group, found a quiet rock, and sat down. No phone, no music, no noise. Just wind and heartbeats.

And then, it was a relief. For the first time in months, I felt completely present.

We eventually descended silently and slowly. Back at base camp, the group shared stories around dinner. There was laughter all around. I listened more than I spoke, but I was no longer alone.

Waterfalls, Temples, and the Taste of Goodbye

The next morning, we had a simple breakfast before going sightseeing. Our first stop was the Somavathi Waterfall situated between mossy rocks and jungle green. It was cascading gently, as if nature knew we were all a bit tired and needed gentleness.

I dipped my fingers into the cool water and felt calm, stillness, and gratitude.

Later, we visited the Belur Temple, a stunning piece of history carved in stone. When I walked barefoot through its corridors, I traced my fingers across centuries-old engravings. I wondered how many people before me had come here seeking peace, purpose, and healing.

Over lunch, Hari Krishna asked, “What did you take away from this trek?” I replied, “Less noise. More clarity.”

The Road Back Home

The ride back to Bangalore was quieter. Some people slept, and some had headphones on. I looked out the window most of the time. The hills gave way to highways and forests to concrete.

But something was different. I was carrying back a part of myself I thought I had lost in the everyday noise of life.

Thrillophilia had been more than a travel service. Everything promised was delivered. When something needed tweaking, like coordinating meals or guiding the slower trekkers, Hari and the team were right there to make things smooth without a fuss.

I just want to thank Thrillophilia for making this an incredible experience.

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