Dudhsagar's Monsoon Majesty: A Trek Through Mist and Water

19th August 2022 The Gathering Storm 

The anticipation for the Dudhsagar Waterfalls trek, organized by Plan The Unplanned, started the moment my dad dropped me off at the National College Metro Station at 7:00 PM. I linked up with two fellow adventurers at Yeshwantpur, but our designated transport—a sturdy tempo—kept us waiting, delayed by the city's stubborn traffic. Finally, at 8:10 PM, we boarded, and the journey began with an immediate exercise in camaraderie. Our trek leads had us swap seats and pair up with strangers. The rule was simple: converse, learn about your partner, and then introduce them to the entire group. It was a great icebreaker, instantly forging a bond among the soon-to-be-drenched trekkers.

Later, we pulled over in Nelamangala for a quick, light dinner. As we resumed the drive, quiet songs played for a time, lulling us to sleep. The temperature dropped significantly as we plunged deeper into the night, the cold seeping in. A brief washroom stop near Haveri around 2:00 AM broke the fitful rest. The final hour and a half was a teeth-rattling challenge, a testament to the region's notoriously bad roads, making sleep nearly impossible.

20th August 2022 The Misty Jungle Edge

We arrived at our homestay, the 'Dudhsagar Jungle Resort', around 5:30 AM. Located near Castle Rock on the Karnataka border, it was a private sanctuary nestled in the thick jungle. The rain had just ceased, leaving the air heavy and cool. The owner, a welcoming, retired army man from Coorg, greeted us with hot coffee and directed us to our rooms. It was still dark, but the rooms were spacious, offering a comfortable bed for each of the three occupants, complete with an attached bath. We quickly freshened up, but the bone-chilling cold and the day's looming trek plans convinced us to save the hot shower for our victorious return.

By 7:30 AM, we were packing essentials: spare clothes, raincoats, water, and medicine. Our room had no signal, forcing us outside, where the view was spectacular. The homestay was enveloped in mist and greenery, dotted with hut-shaped cottages and even featuring an artificial fish pond. The atmosphere was incredibly serene, drizzling lightly and completely fogged in. After a hearty breakfast of idly, vada, sambhar, and chutney, and another round of coffee, we collected our packed lunches. The owner himself ensured everything was perfect before we finally piled back into the tempo, heading for the base camp.

The drive was mesmerizing. We crossed the checkpoint into Goa, traversing a ghat section where visibility dropped to almost zero due to the thick fog. The route along the Karnataka-Goa border offered stunning viewpoints of hilly jungle and cascading streams. After picking up one last traveler, we reached the base point around 10:30 AM. The air was buzzing with the energy of many other trekkers.

Our local guide met us just as the rain began to fall in earnest. We immediately donned our raincoats and started the ascent. For the first twenty minutes, we hiked an open hill amid mild rain, stopping only briefly for some photos before the drizzle subsided.

The path quickly changed. We moved into a stretch of thicker foliage, and the ground turned to slippery mud. We easily navigated three to four shallow streams, stepping carefully on the stones to keep our shoes dry. That small victory was short-lived. We hit a long, dark tunnel flooded ankle-deep. There was no way around; our shoes and socks were instantly soaked, creating that sloshing, "walking on water" feeling that marks a true monsoon trek.

Beyond the tunnel, the jungle thickened. We passed a sign for the Mahaveer Wildlife Sanctuary (entry 9:30 AM to 5:30 PM) and started hearing the distant, unmistakable sound of a train. The rain started up again as we followed the muddy trail, constantly negotiating water-logged paths and rocky scrambles. We crossed four to five more streams, stepped over fallen trees, and moved between wide, open stretches and impossibly narrow paths. We were told the crucial news that swimming near the falls was prohibited due to the high water level.

The rain stopped a bit. We then reached a place where there were forest guards and a few huts. We took a left turn and entered thicker jungle with very narrow path. This stretch had both ascents and descents with a narrow muddy stretch. And the same path for both going to the falls and returning. Surprisingly quite a few people were returning back by that time. We were told that due to rain and increased water level swimming or getting under the falls was not allowed.

The Force of the Falls

The rain was a persistent companion, stopping and starting every 20 minutes. Despite the raincoats, we were damp—a mix of condensation, sweat, and mist. Yet, our group was an unstoppable unit, pushing forward without a single planned break. We crossed wobbly wooden bridges and waded through more ankle-deep streams. The path ran parallel to a fierce, fast-flowing river, and the train's chugging sound kept us company through the dense growth.

At one point, the soil was so saturated and slippery, the sole of the back half of my shoe detached and flapped with every step! I continued like that, relying on any available creeper or tree trunk for support on the slippery ascents and descents. 

As the sound of the falls grew into a roar, we caught glorious, misty glimpses of Dudhsagar itself. We took quick, cautious photos with wet hands, refueled with chocolates and biscuits, and finally descended the last, extremely muddy stretch toward the base.

We reached the thunderous base of the waterfalls around 12:00 PM. We were lucky to secure a spot close to the action. For a long time, all of us simply stared, mesmerized by the sheer volume and power of the 'Sea of Milk.' The 12-kilometer trek had been entirely worth this moment. The water sprayed off the rocks with such force that it felt like we were standing in heavy rain. 

The scene reached its peak when we heard a loud whistle and a train chugged across the bridge directly in front of the waterfall. A great cheer rose from the crowd!

We ate our packed lunch, took photos, and relaxed for an hour and a half, completely saturated but elated.

The Triumph of the Return

The return journey, following the exact same path, somehow felt longer. Our group split naturally, with a faster half following the local guide. After losing sight of the slower half, we paused, resting on a fallen tree trunk while the guide went back. Twenty minutes later, the others arrived; one member, on her first trek, was understandably exhausted.

About four kilometers from the base camp, the rain turned into a torrential downpour. We were instantly drenched, inside and out. Then came the most memorable challenge: one stream, now swollen, was knee-deep with a powerful, washing-away current. Without a word, we held hands, forming a human chain to cross it safely. We even encountered a group of civil service trainees taking on the same challenge.

The final kilometer was a different experience, walking along the train track until we reached the base camp. The rain stopped, and we felt a slight relief as we boarded the tempo for the hour-long ride back to the homestay.

We were met with the blissful reward of hot coffee! Everyone was eager to dry off, and the steaming, refreshing shower was the perfect end to the day's adventure.

Dinner was served at 8:30 PM. It was raining again, but we managed to get to the sheltered pantry for a meal of roti, rice, curries, and payasa. The evening was capped off with a campfire, where we played "Two Truths and a Lie," laughing and sharing stories. We continued the camaraderie with card games back in the cottage until exhaustion finally won, and we all retired to bed.

21st August 2022 Goa’s Beaches and the Long Goodbye

We were packed and ready by 7:30 AM. After a final breakfast of poori and kesari bath, and bidding farewell to the wonderful homestay, we started the 2.5-hour drive to Palolem beach, arriving around 11:30 AM. This small, shack-lined beach offered a welcome change of pace. We took photos, played in the water, chilled at a shack, and browsed the adjacent street market. After a relaxing lunch at one of the shacks—interrupted briefly by a flash of rain before the sun broke through—we headed towards Karwar at 2:30 PM.

Our next stop was the intriguing Black Sands Beach at 3:00 PM. The initial, public stretch was unremarkable, so we hiked inland. This required wading through a section of knee-deep water before climbing a lush, slippery hill. The views were stunning.

We soon discovered a unique stretch of the path covered entirely in mounds of sea shells instead of sand.. 

After navigating this section and a few large boulders, we reached the actual Black Sands Beach, where the sand was distinctly grainy and black. With no one else around, we quickly snapped photos before the inevitable rain began again, prompting a fast retreat to the tempo.

We made one last stop at Karwar beach for sunset. This beach was more crowded, offering the perfect spot for a final tea. As we sat on the lawn, one of our group members, a talented tarot card reader, offered readings for a few people—a fascinating final bonding experience. The cloudy weather obscured the actual sunset, but the dramatic view of thick clouds pouring pockets of rain in the distance was a beautiful sight in itself.

We started the final leg of our journey back to Bangalore at 6:15 PM, dropping off one traveler at Karwar railway station before passing through Ankola. We entertained ourselves with a lively game of Mafia before stopping for dinner at a hotel in Yellapur around 9:30 PM. After a quick round of feedback on the tour, everyone was ready for sleep. I disembarked at Yeshwantpur metro station the next morning, bidding farewell to the group, richer for the memories made and the adversity shared.