Shital Nyaupane
The Morning
June 7 began earlier than most Sundays should.
At 7 AM, thirteen of us gathered at 109 Degrees for breakfast. Engineers sat beside salespeople. Product managers shared tables with accountants. Managers, founders, and a few people close to us completed the group. Different roles, different floors — but that morning, nobody cared much about job titles.
We cared about food, coffee, and the hike ahead.
After breakfast, we boarded a Hiace and headed toward Changunarayan. The city slowly disappeared behind us. Buildings gave way to open hills and scattered villages. By the time the temple appeared on the ridge, the day already felt different.
Changunarayan carries a quiet presence. Prayer flags fluttered in the breeze. Stone carvings stared back from centuries we cannot quite imagine. People moved through the premises slowly, the way people move when they understand that some places deserve it.
We spent some time there. It was the right way to begin.
At around 8:45 AM, we started walking toward Nagarkot.
The Trail
The trail never felt technically difficult. Summer, however, had other plans.
The sun arrived early and stayed relentless. Every stretch of blacktop threw the heat back at us. Shirts soaked through within minutes. Water bottles emptied faster than expected.
Somewhere along the route, a few members wandered onto the wrong path. Phones came out. Calls were exchanged. People laughed more than they worried. Eventually everyone found the right trail and caught up. The detour became another story to carry home.
Jon Krakauer wrote in Into the Wild that "happiness is only real when shared." On a trail, that stops being a sentiment and becomes something you can actually feel.
We felt it that day.
Trishul Dada
Trishul Dada arrived like a reward nobody had announced.
The moment we crested the ridge, the air changed. A cool breeze rolled in and hit us all at once — the kind of wind that makes you close your eyes instinctively and just breathe. After hours of sun and heat, it felt almost unfair how good it was. Water at the top tasted the way water only tastes when you have genuinely earned it.
We stood looking out at a panoramic sweep of the valley below. Hills folding into hills. The city is somewhere distant and quiet. The whole landscape stretched wide and unhurried.
And then we noticed the dogs. Two or three of them, who had simply decided somewhere along the trail that we were worth following. No collars, no owners, no agenda — just quiet companionship that asked for nothing. They sat with us at the top, looking out at the same valley. There is something about a dog choosing to walk beside you that feels like a small endorsement from the natural world.
Telkot
After Trishul Dada, the trail changed.
Exposed roads gave way to a dense forest. Tall trees blocked the sun. A cool wind followed us through the woods. The relief was immediate. Our energy returned.
Rudra dai suggested we run a little. A few of us picked up the pace along the trail while others cheered and laughed. Nobody was trying to win anything. We simply enjoyed the moment.
Further along, we stopped for a break. Out came the cucumbers — freshly cut, served with spicy achar. After hours of walking under the summer sun, the combination tasted incredible. We stood beneath the trees, sharing food and laughter, replenishing ourselves for the next stretch.
Some things cannot be explained. That cucumber and achar just tasted better than it had any right to.
The People Who Made It
Mukesh dai checked in on everyone quietly — a word here, a question there — making sure nobody struggled alone.
Rudra dai was most at home on that trail. While some of us slowed and searched for shade, he kept moving forward with energy that never seemed to fade.
Upasna had an ankle problem. She finished ahead of most of the group anyway. Sudina didi took a longer route under the same relentless sun and never once complained. Saurab dealt with leg trouble the entire way and still made it to the top.
Some people show you what persistence looks like without saying a word about it.
Nagarkot
As the afternoon arrived, tiredness settled on everyone's faces. Conversations shortened. The climbs felt steeper than they looked. Nobody wanted to stop, and nobody did.
When we arrived, the sky was clear. Phones came out. Photos were taken. Some stood quietly and looked at the distance. Others celebrated. The destination mattered. Reaching it together mattered more.
The Ride Back
We made our way back to 109 Degrees for lunch.
The moment I settled into my seat in the air-conditioned Hiace, my body gave up. Eyes closed almost before I meant them to. When I surfaced sometime later, I looked around. Most of the group had fallen asleep too. The same people who had spent hours talking and laughing and hiking now sat quietly with their heads tilted against windows.
The sun had taken its toll.
The smiles had stayed.
When I think about that Sunday, I do not think about the distance or the kilometers. I think about dogs that followed us to the top of a ridge and asked for nothing. About cucumber and spicy achar in the middle of nowhere. About people who had every reason to slow down and didn't.
Most of all, I think about the silence in my own head — the kind that only arrives when you start walking uphill with nothing ahead but trees and sky.
"It does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop." — Confucius
And on June 7, nobody did.
