Snow Bonds: Shripad’s Dayara Bugyal Trek with Thrillophilia

Shripad Joglekar was sipping a cup of ginger chai in his house when his grandson Param was flipping through mountain photos on his tablet. The screen was filled with images of white meadows, snow-covered trails, and people covered in jackets smiling through the frost.

“Grandpa,” Param asked with excitement, “Would you go on a snow trek with me?”

There was silence for a moment. It was the weight of love and the realisation that time spent together is the greatest gift.

“Yes, Param. Let’s do it,” he replied.

A few days later, their seats were booked through Thrillophilia for the Dayara Bugyal trek in Uttarakhand. Neither of them knew that they were signing up for more than just a journey through snow. They were about to etch a memory into time.

Covered By The Mountains in Raithal

The duo landed in Dehradun on a bright morning. From there, a seven-hour drive took them deep into the Garhwal region, towards a quiet mountain village called Raithal.

As the vehicle climbed higher, the city noises were replaced by winding roads, pine and deodar forests, and the faint sound of streams somewhere far below. Param sat glued to the window while pointing out the changing landscape.

“Look, Grandpa! The waterfall looks so beautiful!”

Shripad laughed. The boy’s energy was infectious.

At the homestay, they met their trek leaders, Ashish and Kapil Rawat. Both of them were young, enthusiastic, and grounded. They welcomed the grandfather-grandson duo with heartfelt smiles.

“Not often do we see a pair like you two,” Ashish said during the orientation briefing. “It is inspiring.”

Shripad smiled

That night, the two generations sat side by side under a blanket of stars and watched the silhouettes of the peaks against the moonlit sky.

The Forest Trail to Gui

Day two began early. After a traditional mountain breakfast, the group began the gradual climb to their first campsite - GUI.

The trail welcomed them with beautiful surroundings. Oak trees lined the path, and birds sang from branches overhead. The sun filtered through the canopy in patches and turned the forest into a dance of shadow and light.

Param walked ahead eagerly. Shripad followed at a steady pace while pausing occasionally to soak it all in.

“It is like walking through a painting,” Param exclaimed, spinning in the middle of the trail.

Shripad laughed. “Don’t get too dizzy. We have a long way to go.”

After about four hours, the forest opened into a vast clearing of Gui. The meadow was surrounded by trees and overlooked snow-capped ridges in the distance. Their tents were pitched neatly, and a soft breeze carried the promise of colder nights.

In the evening, they took a short acclimatisation walk as advised by the guides. Around a small campfire, trekkers from different cities shared stories. Shripad mostly listened while watching the flicker of flames on Param’s face. It reminded him of his younger days when dreams were bigger than fears.

The Summit of Dayara Bugyal

Day three arrived with frost on the grass and excitement in the air. It was the day they would trek to Dayara Bugyal, the crown jewel of the Garhwal meadows.

Layered in thermals and jackets, the group began their climb. The trail passed through forests and then opened up into rolling alpine meadows. As they gained altitude, snow began to appear in patches and then in blankets.

Shripad’s breath grew heavier, and his pace slower. But his spirit was unshaken.

“Just keep moving, sir. Slow and steady,” Kapil encouraged while walking beside him.

Meanwhile, Param had already charged ahead, calling back, “Come on, Grandpa! We are almost there!”

The final stretch was steep. When every step crunched underfoot, we realised that the snow was thick and untouched. But then, the slope levelled out, and the world opened.

They had arrived.

Dayara Bugyal stretched endlessly before them in white, pristine, and shimmering midday sun. In every direction, they could see snow-covered peaks. The Dodital range rose in the distance and painted the horizon with majesty.

Param raised both hands in the air. “We made it!” he shouted.

Shripad caught up. “Yes, we did,” he said, pulling the boy into a hug.

For a long time, they stood there without speaking much. There was nothing to say as the mountains had already spoken.

Shripad sat on a rock and watched Param toss snow in the air and try to build a lopsided snowman. Despite the cold, his heart was warm. There are moments in life when everything aligns, and this was one of them.

They descended back to Gui as the afternoon sun turned the snow golden. Dinner that night was quiet because they were still living in the silence of the summit.

The Way Home

The final morning brought a hint of sadness. The group packed up after breakfast and began their descent to Raithal. The forest trail felt familiar.

As they neared Raithal, Kapil walked beside Shripad. “Sir,” he said, “you have done something remarkable. Most people half your age hesitate to trek in the snow.”

Shripad smiled. “Maybe the snow does not care how old your legs are as long as your heart shows up.”

Their car was waiting in Raithal. Param threw his rucksack in the back and plopped into the seat.

“Next year,” he said casually, “we should try a harder trek. Maybe Kedarkantha?”

Shripad raised an eyebrow.

As they drove away, Shripad looked out of the window one last time. The mountains faded behind them, but their echoes remained forever a part of them.

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