“The Day the Mountain Let Me Live: Kedartal, 2022”

I had always heard mountaineers say in their stories, “I’m alive today only because of my Sherpa.” I never imagined I would one day live that truth myself.

On 26th May 2022, I was on a trek to Kedartal in Uttarakhand with 23 trekkers from across Karnataka. Blogs had warned me it was one of the most daunting trails — spider walls, loose gravel slopes, falling stones, and knife-edge ridges.

But reality hit us at the first camp. We had already crossed sections so treacherous that one misstep could send you tumbling into the valley below, into the river. Yet our team navigated each patch with skill and nerve.

It was 27th May 2022. We trekked to Kedar Kharak, where we faced a choice: traverse the gravel mountains or cross the river. The gravel route meant risking loose stones and rockfall — a single slip could be fatal.

So we chose the less dangerous option: the river. But that wasn’t easy either. We had to descend nearly 100 feet down a steep gravel slope to reach the riverbed. The path was precarious, yet with extreme caution, our trekkers managed to navigate it safely.

Believe it or not, as the team made its way down, I stood at the bottom with my fingers crossed, watching every step. My heart was racing. I kept praying that everyone would reach the riverbed unharmed.

Once we reached the riverbed, the advance team — Sherpas and guides led by Megharaj — had already arranged boulders to create a path. Thanks to them, we crossed the first river safely. As the last person reached the other side, we all thought, “We’ve done it.”

But just a few meters ahead, I saw the Sherpas and guides arranging boulders and ropes again — preparing for another river crossing. 

In the meantime, I was assigned to belay the rope for all 23 trekkers. My legs had already gone numb from the cold. Then, without warning, someone said, “Come on, it’s your turn to cross.”

I moved forward. While stepping from one boulder to another, my foot slipped into a gap. I lost my balance and plunged into the icy water, drenched up to my waist.

I felt as helpless as everyone was seeing but no one to offer help as none of them had anything to offer as everyone’s outfits was in the porter bag. So I feel we should always carry an upper and lower in the bag for emergency situations like this. Sad part is even I didn’t anticipate this kind of situation and even I was not equipped to the situation. I always advise people to carry a upper but not a lower one, lessons learned by experience.

I wasn’t hurt — the Sherpas pulled me out immediately. But the glacier-melt water sent shivers down my spine. I looked at the team and said, “I’m fine.” 

By then, my friend Ramlal had reached the riverbed. Seeing my condition, he instantly pulled a pair of pants from his bag and told me to change out of my wet clothes and socks.

I borrowed slippers from Ramlal’s daughter and walked the next 2 km to camp so I could change into dry clothes and warm up. By then, I had lost a lot of energy and my body temperature was dropping — but I didn’t realize it. Walking kept me warm, masking how much energy I had already lost.

I always tell people we lose energy fastest from the head and feet. That day, I experienced that truth firsthand.

As evening set in, it grew colder. I sat in the kitchen, feeling fatigued. I stepped outside for fresh air and saw the trekkers relaxing together. I joined them, and before we parted, I briefed them about the dream destination — Kedartal. I made sure everyone had dinner and turned in early so we could attempt the summit without hassle the next morning.

By nightfall, chills had set in. I didn’t want to worry anyone, so I went to my tent. I took a Dolo-650 from my tent mate, Manjunath Nayak, and slipped it into my pocket, planning to take it before sleeping. But I forgot. I couldn’t sleep all night.

At dawn, I woke up to find my face swollen like a Tibetan monk’s. I wondered, “How will I lead the team today?”

I had a quick talk with Dr. Rashmi V and Mohan. I asked them to lead the team safely to the summit and back. The agency team also advised me to rest completely so I could recover for the trek back to base camp the next day.

It was Day 3 of the trek, Saturday, 28th May 2022. Almost everyone advised me to rest. I took a tablet and slept for a while. The team left at 7:45 AM. I woke up at 9 AM, restless. My team was gone, and I was lying in the tent. My conscience wouldn’t let me sleep. How will I face people back home? Will they see me as a quitter?

Those thoughts haunted me. They say if you’re unwell, you should descend, not climb. But the dream I’d carried since 2020 — Kedartal — was so close. And it was slipping away before my eyes.

I mustered what little courage I had and sat up. Pulling on my shoes felt exhausting, but the fire to climb hadn’t died. I asked Nepali Sherpa Bhima Bahadur Sahi to help me with my shoes. But they were still soaking wet. I took Ramlal’s shoes instead and was about to leave when a team member stopped me.

“No,” he said. “You’re taking too big a risk. You could jeopardize the whole expedition.”

But I had already made up my mind. Seeing my resolve, he gave in. “Who can advise you?” he said, and walked to the kitchen. He returned with hot water, filled my bottle, and told the Sherpa, “Be cautious with him on the climb.”

I still remember his words to the Sherpa in Hindi: “Yeh thoda pagal aur ziddi log hai, kuch bhi kar sakte hain. Thoda dhyan rakhna.”

“He’s a bit crazy and stubborn — he can do anything. Keep an eye on him.”

I couldn’t imagine turning back half-heartedly. My mind raced — Should I attempt the summit after I recover? Or start at 3 AM tomorrow and catch up with the team on the descent?

Then I slid my feet into the shoes. I bent down to tie the laces, but I couldn’t. I felt helpless. I had no choice but to ask the Nepali Sherpa to tie them for me. The situation demanded it.

It was 9:25 AM. I looked up at the sky, shouldered my backpack, and started toward the destination. But let me tell you, friends — I wasn’t the same person I used to be. Every step left me gasping. Breathlessness hit me hard. I felt utterly alone. I wished someone was beside me to share what I was feeling, but there was no one. I couldn’t even tell the Sherpa. He had been warned: If he starts panting too much, bring him down immediately.

So I stayed silent and moved slowly. I had never gasped like this in my life. There was no fire left in my body to climb. Yet I dragged myself upward. 

After some time, I stopped and looked back at the campsite. I checked my app — I had covered just 450 meters. I was gasping uncontrollably. 

For a moment, I thought, Did I make a blunder by coming? Should I turn back?  But the spirit and motivation I drew from my people, my friends, pulled me forward.

It felt like “Aaj karo ya maro” — a do-or-die moment. I couldn’t return with the face of a loser. So I mustered what little courage I had left and pushed forward.

Halfway up, my Sherpa said, “Give me your bag. I’ll carry it for you.” At first, I resisted. But he insisted, and finally I gave in. With the weight off my shoulders, I felt a little better and managed to walk on.

Then he pointed ahead. “Look,” he said, “your trekkers are moving along that ridge.”

But that ridge — it looked so close, yet it was still far. I estimated it was about a kilometer away. That was the fire he kindled in me. “You’ll catch them, sir. Don’t worry,” he said, encouraging me with every step.

After 2 kilometers, we finally reached the ridge. And there they were — our trekkers, moving toward the destination.

I felt a wave of relief when I spotted a few of them up close. I exhaled, my breathing still heavy, but with a sigh of hope. I knew the destination was near now.

We were just 200 meters away when a few trekkers shouted, “Look! Who’s there?” Mohan sir zoomed in with his camera and said, “Wow, Solanki sir!” Then he shouted, “The tiger is back in action!”

He told me later, “My sixth sense said you would come.” And just like that, I rejoined the team.

He told me he had a feeling I wasn’t the kind of person who would sit back and give up. I rejoined the team, and together we pushed for the summit. All 24 of us made it — together — to the top of Mt. Kedartal.

There it was: the emerald-green lake, ringed by the magnificent giants — Mt. Thalay Sagar, Mt. Bhrigupanth, Manda Parvat, Mt. Jogin, and Mt. Gangotri.

What a moment. What I once thought was unreachable, I had done. With a little courage, a little risk, and despite every hardship. This day will be etched forever in my book of adventures — a reminder of what it took to accomplish the goal.

It was Saturday, 28th May 2022, at 11:50 AM. History was written. A dream we had planned in 2019 was finally realized. COVID-19 in 2020 had forced us to cancel. We planned again, and the second wave crushed it. We grew restless, apprehensive. Would this expedition ever happen? It had almost become a haunted expedition. 

But at last — in 2022 — we did it.

We took pictures. We hoisted the tricolor by the lake. We exchanged smiles, hugs, and congratulations. A few trekkers wept — tears of accomplishment. We distributed sweets, savored the moment, and left with our hearts full.

The descent to Kedar Kharak brought its own challenges. Climbing up, you battle breathlessness. Coming down, your head feels too heavy for your shoulders. Trekkers tend to run, to rush. We had to remind everyone: most accidents happen on the descent.  In the end, all of us reached the summit camp safely.

That night was haunted. What will happen tomorrow? The agency team was debating whether to take the Gravel Mountains route — risky, but shorter. By morning on 29th May 2022, the decision was made: we would return by the same route, crossing the river. I sighed with relief. It was the safer bet.

After about 2 kilometers, the river drew near. We reached the first crossing. I went first. Despite feeling jittery, I stayed back to give a helping hand to the others. But with every crossing, I felt more energy drain from me.

By the time we crossed the second river, I felt utterly helpless — as if there was no energy left in me to climb even a single step.

I was stunned. I had no idea what had happened to me. By sheer luck, the same Sherpa from yesterday noticed me, came back, and helped me with my shoes again. “Come on, go,” he urged. “Stones are rolling down. It’s dangerous.”

But I was frozen. I couldn’t move a single step. Completely drained. Not a shred of energy left. For the first time in my life, I felt utterly helpless.

He saw it. He came down to me. “What happened?” Then, looking at my face, he said, “Come on, give me your bag. I’ll carry it. Let’s go.” 

But it was more than that — he was practically holding my hand, pulling me uphill. Every ten steps, breathlessness hit me like a wall. It was a daunting task. Somehow, he got me to the top and then left.

I thought the worst was over. The rest would be easier. But after a few steps, I went blank. I don’t remember what happened. The next thing I knew, the same Sherpa was pulling me back, shouting:

“Sir, what happened? Abhi aap chale jaate niche nadi mein!”

“You were about to fall into the valley — into the river!”

I was in shock. If he hadn’t pulled me back, this expedition might have been my last. I sat down for minutes, dazed. Will I make it to Gangotri? Will I reach safely? A big question mark hung over me.

It reminded me of Sarchu, on the way to Ladakh. I had woken up in the middle of the night and told my tent mate, “I’m gone.” He said, “Don’t worry, sir. You’ll be alright.” That’s when you realize — you need a good partner in life. Someone to share your fear with.

Then I saw Mohan ahead of me. I called out, “Mohan, if someone is unwell, you should be behind them, not in front.” From that moment, Mohan followed me like a shadow. 

By God’s grace, we all reached the Gangotri forest guest house, and later returned to Mandakani Hotel.

I was so exhausted that even talking to family on the phone felt like a mountain to climb. But I mustered courage, went to Gangotri Temple, and sat in front of the shrine amid the crowd. The energy there filled me. I showed my family the temple over video call, thanked God for saving my life, and retired to bed.

It was 29th May 2022. Tears rolled down — tears of happiness, relief, survival. Later that night, one incident broke me completely. I couldn’t share it with anyone. Nightmares haunted me. I couldn’t sleep. But I had to swallow the pain. If you show emotion there, people only offer sympathy. They asked about my health, but no one knew the agony I carried after that near-fall. I pray no one ever goes through that.

As I reached Dehradun, my heart grew heavy. Restlessness returned. Nightmares replayed the fall. Slowly, with time, I began to calm down. In Chandigarh, Mr. Kamal Sindhwani was the perfect host — compassionate, present. He gave me his time, and that helped.

Talking to a few friends eased the weight in my chest. I felt a little lighter when the next team arrived on 2nd June 2022. I couldn’t show them my drowsy, broken face. So I cheered up, pulled my socks up, and put on a brave face.

But the agency team in Himachal saw through it. One of them caught me and said, “You’re not the Solanki I’ve known.” I had no words. I just said, “Nothing’s wrong,” and carried on with the program.

Some trekkers come as blessings — they bring cheer and happiness. Some come as lessons. This was the hardest lesson I’ve learned since 1988.

I express my deepest gratitude to Mr. Bhima Bahadur Sahi. He gave me a new lease of life.