Kalsubai Conquest: A First-Timer's Tale of Skill, Steel, and Summit Serenity

The pre-dawn air, cool and crisp, held the promise of adventure. It was Sunday, March 23rd, 2025, and at 3:00 AM, I stood at the base of Kalsubai Peak, ready to embark on my first-ever trek. The darkness was profound, punctuated only by the beams of headlamps, a constellation of tiny lights against the imposing silhouette of the mountain. My mind was a blank canvas, a sense of anticipation mixed with the unknown. I was about to open a box I'd never seen and had no idea what it contained.

The initial ascent was a journey into the quiet symphony of nature. The sounds and smells were subtle, a natural backdrop that felt inherently right. The trail, a rugged path winding through the darkness, demanded focus and a steady pace. As I climbed, the number of trekkers increased, a testament to the mountain's popularity. I realized that people moved at different speeds, creating a dynamic flow of trekkers along the trail. The crowd ebbed and flowed, offering moments of solitude and moments of shared experience.

Then, the lights of makeshift stalls dotted the trail, small beacons of human resilience. Vendors, carrying supplies, trekked up and down the mountain daily to make a living. I couldn't help but marvel at their dedication, a stark contrast to my daily commute by Uber and bus.

The first encounter with the iron ladders was a moment of apprehension. “Is this the only way?” I wondered. Looking down, I realized the necessity. The steep, unforgiving rocks would have been nearly impossible to climb without them. The ladders, though intimidating, were a testament to human ingenuity, making the peak accessible to all.

Reaching the summit at 6:20 AM, just ten minutes before sunrise, brought a mix of emotions. "All this for this?" I thought initially. The view, while beautiful, wasn't something I couldn't find elsewhere. But then, as the sun began to paint the horizon in a gradient of vibrant colors, I understood. The true beauty of Kalsubai wasn't just the destination, but the journey. The experience of climbing, the shared sense of accomplishment, and the breathtaking sunrise from the rocky peak made it unforgettable.

View from the mountain

View from the mountain - zoomed

View from the mountain - zoomed

View from somewhere in the trail during ascent

The view from the summit was spectacular. Windmills spun in the distance, agricultural lands stretched out like a patchwork quilt, and villages dotted the landscape, all rendered in vivid detail. The air was clear, and the world seemed to stretch out endlessly.

The descent, initially daunting, proved to be more manageable than expected. My gym training had equipped me with the body control needed to navigate the rocky terrain. Yet, even with my fitness, the final stages of the descent tested my resolve. As the sun climbed higher, the heat intensified, and each step felt like an eternity. “Is this the last set?” I wondered, as I navigated each rocky strip. The descent took longer than the ascent, I reached the bottom at around 11:00 AM.

While I didn't engage in extended conversations, the crowd offered a sense of camaraderie. There were funny trekkers, determined trekkers, and those frustrated by the bottlenecks at narrow sections. It was a microcosm of humanity, all united by the shared goal of reaching the summit.

My gear was simple: trekking shoes that doubled as casual wear, a headlamp for the pre-dawn climb, and a sweater that was quickly discarded as the exertion warmed me. At the peak, I opted for a healthy poha breakfast, a welcome fuel after the climb. Throughout the trek, I purchased water and lemon water from the vendors along the trail. Despite the amount of water I consumed, I felt no urge to urinate until I reached the base after completing the trek. My trousers and shoes were coated in sand, a testament to the dusty trail. I also wore a mask during the descent to protect myself from the rising sand, and carried a napkin to constantly wipe the sweat from my brow.

The weather was pleasant, until an hour after sunrise, when the summer heat began to take its toll. Kalsubai, you have gifted me a profound experience. It was a journey of physical and mental endurance, a testament to the human spirit's ability to conquer challenges. And now, I know, I will be trekking again.

A Little Monkey Business

During the descent, I encountered another unique aspect of Kalsubai: its resident monkey population. While humans relied on the iron ladders, these agile creatures moved with effortless grace, leaping and roaming across the rocks as if they owned the mountain. It struck me how "handicapped" we humans were in comparison, dependent on artificial aids to navigate the terrain. A young monkey, with curious eyes, approached me, gently touching my lower pocket, mistaking my napkin for a treat. With nothing to offer, I moved on, as other trekkers shooed the curious animal away. Further down the ladders, adult monkeys vocalized their impatience, frustrated by the slow-moving crowd. They added an unexpected layer of adventure to the descent, a reminder of the wildness that still existed on this mountain. Thankfully, despite their hunger, none of the monkeys harmed any humans.