On 27 October 2025, I left Kathmandu with a backpack that weighed less than the thoughts in my head.
The plan looked simple on paper: travel to the Thankpal area, move toward Thangbukharka, take a bus to Chimti in Bhotang, walk to Tangbu Kharka, summit Panch Pokhari, stay the night, and return through Yarsa to Melamchi.
But mountains rarely respect plans.
Day 1 — The Slow Unplugging
Kathmandu faded in the rearview mirror like a conversation you didn’t finish.
The bus rolled toward Thankpal, groaning around corners carved into hillsides. Asphalt narrowed. Signal bars disappeared. The air felt cleaner, thinner, more honest. By the time we reached Chimti, the road had done its part.
From there, it was our turn.
The trail to Tangbu Kharka wasn’t dramatic at first. Forest shade. Soft soil. Occasional stone steps. But the rhythm changed with elevation. Each incline whispered a question:
Are you here for a photo… or for a story?
By sunset, Tangbu Kharka greeted us with cold wind and golden light stretching across the ridgelines. No hotels. No noise. Just sky expanding beyond imagination.
That night, I didn’t sleep much. The mountains have a way of making your thoughts louder.
Day 2 — The Climb Through Norsyam
On 29 October, we moved before the sun did.
The route through Norsyam felt ancient — forests thinning into open alpine land, prayer flags snapping in high-altitude wind. The oxygen thinned. Conversation shortened. Footsteps grew deliberate.
Somewhere between doubt and determination, the lakes appeared.
Five sacred bodies of water. Silent. Still. Reflecting the sky like a mirror that doesn’t distort truth.
Standing beside Panchpokhari, you don’t feel victorious.
You feel small.
We stayed that night near the lake area. Stars burned fiercely above us. No artificial light. No distractions. Just the awareness that you are a visitor in a place that existed long before you and will continue long after.
That was the moment.
That was when I pressed the shutter.
The Photograph That Almost Didn’t Happen
Wind picked up suddenly. Clouds rolled in fast from behind the ridge. Light shifted from soft gold to sharp silver in seconds.
For a moment, I hesitated.
Then the sky broke open.
A single beam lit the water’s surface. The reflection sharpened. The contrast deepened. The air felt charged.
Click.
One frame.
One second.
And it was gone.
Day 3 — Descent to Yarsa (The Illusion of “Easy”)
The next morning, 30 October, we descended toward Yarsa in Bhotang.
Descending is supposed to be easier.
It wasn’t.
Fatigue exposes weakness. Knees protested. Boots slipped on loose gravel. And the psychological shift from summit-high to return-mode made every step feel heavier.
Still, the trail felt cooperative.
Until it didn’t.
Day 4 — When the Land Moves
On 31 October, news reached us of landslides blocking the expected return route. The earth had shifted. Entire sections of trail were gone.
We had two options:
- Wait.
- Walk back toward Thangpal and find another way.
We chose movement.
Walking back wasn’t just physical. It was mental. Pride had to be dropped. Ego had to be quieted. The mountain had decided the route.
And then came the Indrawati stretch.
The Indrawati Crossing
The banks of the Indrawati River were no longer a path — they were a swamp of mud, rock debris, and unstable ground left by landslides.
Each step required full attention.
Balance.
Placement.
Trust.
One wrong move, and the story changes.
That crossing wasn’t about speed. It was about presence.
When Melamchi finally appeared in the distance, relief didn’t rush in.
Gratitude did.
Why This Trek Changed Me
Panchpokhari is often marketed as a scenic destination in Sindhupalchok. And yes, it’s beautiful.
But beauty isn’t the point.
It’s negotiation.
It’s humility.
It’s surrender.
It’s clarity.
The mountain doesn’t care about your timeline.
The weather doesn’t care about your expectations.
The land moves when it decides to.
You adapt.
Buy That Moment — Own the Silence
That photograph taken beside Panchpokhari is not just landscape art.
It’s:
- 4 days of altitude.
- A landslide detour.
- A risky riverbank crossing.
- A once-in-a-lifetime beam of light.
We have released a limited edition acrylic print of this exact moment.
Only 50 pieces.
No reprints.
No restocks.
No discounts.
If you hang it on your wall, you’re not buying décor.
You’re buying endurance.
You’re buying stillness.
You’re buying a second that will never exist again.
relevent Links:
- Link to our Shop Page (Acrylic Prints and metal prints Collection)
- Link to About the Photographer page
- Link to other trek stories (e.g., “Trekking in Sindhupalchok”)
- Link to your “Limited Edition Wall Art” category
- Official rural municipal page of Panchpokhari
- A travel guide about panchpokhari
- Expedition guide