Syahi Devi : A Trek for Every Traveller

How many hikes can boast of being a rewarding destination for so many kinds of traveler: the vacationers, the bikers, the meditation enthusiasts, and of course, the trekkers? The uniqueness of the Syahi Devi hike lies in the diversity (not the corporate eyewash kind!) it offers. This trek does not discriminate between its visitors.

• To the spiritual minds, it offers peace and tranquility (meditation enthusiasts, be alert!).

• To leisure-seeking holidayers, it offers a relaxing half day hike, culminating with a picnic.

• Those that swear by a Royal Enfield or a Thar or any other gas guzzling behemoth are rewarded by an off-roading adventure, peaking with a hike.

• And finally, to fitness enthusiasts inclined to choose walking (read climbing) as their weapon of choice, the Syahi Devi trek offers a day full of activity, amusement, and adventure.

This write-up includes exciting travel tips for all the above, in addition to some wonderful pictures and my own experiences during the hikes (yes, plural; for I have been fortunate to make it to the majestic peak and the temple more than once).

The Tiger Hill of Almora

Syahi Devi hill is often referred to as ‘the Tiger Hill of Almora’ in the region, not because it has anything to do with Kargil, but because of the shape of the tree line on the hilltop (when seen from Almora bazaar). This shape, the local populace believes, resembles the shape of a tiger. Tree lines of hilltops often have the ability to turn polymorphic, should one look at them long enough and punish one’s vision hard enough. Something similar happens while observing the Syahi Devi hill, located westward and easily the tallest around Almora. Tiger shaped or not, the hill does make for one picturesque sunset.

Sunset as seen from Almora bazaar during summer months. In winters, the sun shifts southwards and sets exactly on top of the Syahi Devi temple.

All roads lead to the temple

Being the highest hill around Almora, Syahi devi is equally revered by devotees and hikers alike. While the temple witnesses a majestic mela (fair) during Navaratri season, for hiking, the season remains round the year. Apart from being accessible during multiple seasons, the trek can be done via multiple routes as well. Having hiked the hill during different seasons and via different routes, I can list down three main routes.

Option 1: For holidayers | Half-day hike | Shitlakhet to Syahi Devi

About 35 kilometers from Almora town, at an altitude of just under 6,000 feet lies a small hamlet called Shitlakhet. Barring a government guest house (called TRC, operated by the Kumaon Mandal Vikas Nigam) and half-a-dozen houses, I found little at this place, when I hiked to Syahi Devi from Shitlakhet half a decade ago.

TRC Shitlakhet is located so strategically – for viewing the western Himalayan peaks – that the weary natured tourists need hardly leave their room, nay their bed, should they wish to click an Insta-perfect picture of Trishul, Nanda Devi, and other peaks. The view is best from November to February.

To climb till the Syahi Devi temple (located at the peak of the hill), one can start via a bumpy-yet-motorable road from the TRC. Cutting across the road via the pedestrian short-cuts, the hike takes under two hours, even when done leisurely. When the weather gods permit, the majestic panoramic view is visible from the top.

An ocean of fog during December: En route from Shitlakhet to Syahi Devi

The Mountains…

...and...

...the Mountain Dog: Minty

A friendly mountain dog, as large as a healthy calf welcomed me when I reached the peak. Minty, as he was called, belied his name and was no jumpy and restless canine, however, he did respond to treats (salted cookies I had on me) and was soon climbing up till my chest with his fore quarters.

Five years later, when I did Kakrighat to Syahi Devi on foot in the month of April, unfortunately, the mountains were not visible; however, more sadly, neither was Minty! There were theories about what became of him. Some say that he left, while others attribute his absence to a stealthily paid visit by a leopard, while yet another account blames his absence on sweets doled out to him by travelers and locals alike. Whatever the reason, if anything was missed more sorely than the majestic views of the Himalayas, it was Minty.

Option 2: For off-roading enthusiasts | Kakrighat to Syahi Devi | Full Day | Off-roading + Hike

This option is best suited for those hikers who have a penchant for biking or off-roading on 4x4 mean machines.

From Kakrighat to Shitlakhet, there exists an extremely uneven, but drivable (for the brave-hearted) road that passes through a village called Hararai (हरड़े; I typed this in “Hindi Typing tool” a dozen times!) and six kilometers subsequently a turn called Odadhar (both of which will feature in option 3 as well).

Sporting a well-oiled Royal Enfield (a Himalayan for the Himalayas perhaps!), an adventurist can enjoy meandering through twists and turns of a mountain road till Odadhar. The off-roading will be just as fun in a Thar or in any other 4x4.

Parking the vehicle near Odadhar, one can hike till Syahi devi. There is a temple at Odadhar and a small shop. The priest or the shop folks can assist in marking out the hiking route. However, for the entirely self-dependent, finding the trail should not be too cumbersome, for it starts right behind the temple. It is not very clearly marked (especially in the fall, with leaves covering already indiscernible tracks), however, one can use GPS and start climbing in the direction of the temple. About 1.5-2 hours of moderately inclined hike brings an adventurist to the Syahi Devi peak.

Odadhar temple, behind which starts an indiscernible trail to Syahi Devi

Option 3: The First among equals |

For Trekkers| Kakrighat to Syahi Devi | Full Day

The most rewarding day-hikes are, well, full day long, and do not involve an internal combustion engine. This option is the most rewarding of all three if one doesn't mind walking (even on vertical surfaces). It offers all facets of hiking: leisurely walk, stiff climb, passing through a village, navigating through a barely visible to invisible forest track, and above all, an altitude gain of 4,000+ feet. Total distance of this hike is 20+ kilometers (to and fro) and one easily clocks 40,000+ steps.

The rest of this account narrates my story while undertaking this route.

Retracing the paths of a saint

On the shores of the Kosi river, at the cusp of the border between Nainital and Almora, lies the TRC Kakrighat, nestled between two temples. Could not have been more meditation-friendly, could it? Perhaps that’s why when more than a hundred years ago Swami Vivekananda was scouting for places to meditate, Kakrighat was a natural choice. At Kakrighat Shiva temple and at Syahi Devi, both, there are inscriptions by ASI detailing about the saint’s experiences at these places. Legend also has it that on some days, when he felt that exercising the body was due (in addition to exercising the brain), he would walk uphill to Syahi Devi, meditate there, and come back. As a corollary, the fascination of Bengali travelers with the western Himalayas would also appear to be at least a century old.

Meanwhile, coming back to my story, I had just completed the Khaliya Top hike with a friend and considered myself fit – at least physically – to be able to retrace the steps of the great saint. Though, the TRC staff, a one-man army rather, was rather skeptical and looked at us with visible disbelief, when we told him the previous evening that we would be climbing to Syahi Devi and back the next day.

TRC Kakrighat on the bank of Kosi river (Forage Under Fire in the background)

Haze and morning light

It was a different kind of Friday when I woke up not looking forward to the weekend, but rather to that very day. Having done the morning exercises, the Bad Back Blokes were ready to start their climb. Some perspective here: Kakrighat, being a ghat or a place at the riverbank, is at a low altitude of about ~2800 feet. We had to gain more than 4,000 feet – not much different from Munsyari to Khaliya Top.

We were not so lucky to get a warm, cooked breakfast this time. The TRC Kakrighat, though quaint, quiet and cost-effective, is manned by just one young man in his twenties. We did not have the heart to ask our host to wake up at 5 and make parathas for us. So, MTR Poha which we were packing for some such occasion came to the rescue. Having done a light breakfast, off we were, climbing up on an uneven path, laden with broken stones. Without hiking shoes with ankle support, the knees pain significantly on such paths as my partner would learn later.

Climbing in the morning sun is a rewarding exercise in itself, notwithstanding the shortness of breath that the morning cold brings. This occasion was no different; using short-cuts, we had covered about five kilometers of the off-roading route (detailed under Option 2) I mentioned previously.

A magnificent view of the river below welcomed us at out first water break –

Towards west, lay our starting point

A view of the Eastern side

A village of ruins and remains

Having climbed for about two hours mostly on shortcuts, we reached the dusty road again. Hereupon, excavators, road rollers and the sight of a road construction greeted us. As the work was yet to begin, the clouds of dust were still a bit far away.

This village, we found out, is “Hararai” (हरड़े) and is a key landmark, for if one were to miss the pedestrian shortcut through the village here – which climbs straight to Syahi Devi via a thick pine forest, almost vertically – then one must skirt around the entire northern face of hill, for about 5 kilometers, reach Odadhar, and then climb from the north-eastern side. Neglecting to take the shortcut here would have cost us dearly, and we must have troubled the villagers on more than half a dozen occasions, to confirm if we were progressing the right way. Little did we realize that the old adage of “no shortcuts in real life” was going to materialize itself for us later.

As with many villages in the hills, the deserted ruins bear witness to a diminishing civilization

Once we climbed past Hararai (हरड़े), a clear forest path came into view. It was time for second water break. As digestive biscuits were gulped down with water, my co-hiker pulled his left sleeve up to point at his bare wrist with his right index finger. I smiled at his futile exercise, for he rarely wears a watch. And, then it hit me; I was failing in my duties. Almost instantly, I turned my wrist; my Garmin showed an altimeter reading of over 5,000 feet, signaling that our progress of over 2,000 feet in about two-and-a-half hours had been quite satisfactory.

We started moving up the path and reached a clearing soon, when, on the other end of the clearing, behind a few bushes, a movement caught my eye. Stopping in my tracks, I started sliding my hand to open my camera bag. I had opened the plastic flap and was undoing the Velcro fastener, when we saw the object of our stoppage, dashing away from us. A member of the canid family, most likely a golden jackal, had broken into a run hearing the sound of the Velcro fastener.

Find a way or make one

Clearing the open ground, as we made way to find the path again, we were presented with a dilemma. There lay a bifurcation. When we had asked for directions at Hararai (हरड़े), we had been told to keep straight. No one had warned us of a bifurcation!

Being men of method, we selected two parameters to move upward: the GPS location of the Syahi Devi temple and the apparent usage (i.e. how beaten down the path looked) of the track. As the track going right looked more trodden and the GPS also pointed towards right, the right vs. left debate was settled by taking the right.

The first parameter soon proved to be futile though, as the track became less and less trodden with each step, eventually hiding under the thick pad of fallen pine leaves. We were in the middle of a thick pine forest by now, where the upward incline was nearly vertical as far as the eyes could see. The pine leaves on a hot day are more slippery than wet rocks. The going was difficult again. The only solace was that the peak was somewhat in view when seen through the boughs of the tall pine trees, doubling up as a large solar filter in the sky.

Weighing our options, I was considering climbing down till the fork and taking the other route, when I realized that the pine leaves would have probably made the other track invisible as well. This way, we had the destination in sight at least.

While I was making up my mind, I heard a declaration roar behind me, “We will either find a way or make one!”

“That’s a way of life in the hills,” I replied, while adding, “every year, the leaves block these tracks; what they can’t block is the indomitable spirit of the villagers.”

“Yeah, way to ruin the moment. Anyway, then what’s to think? Let’s do this.”

And off we began again, finding footholds through the pine leave mattress and holding onto a strong bush where we could. When we exited the forest over half an hour later, we landed onto a ridge laden with rocks. They were a sight for sore eyes this time (unlike our Khaliya Top adventure), for in dry weather, climbing on rocks is much easier than doing so on dry pine leaves.

At this point, I was asked to listen to the sound my companion was so intently listening to.

“I can’t hear anything,” I said.

“Listen again,” I was admonished.

“Only the sound of the wind rocking the pine trees,” I said with slight exasperation, directed more at myself for not being able to discern what I was supposed to hear.

“Exactly! Isn’t this wonderful? Unlike the commotion of the city, the only noise is that of the trees, standing tall and determined in the face of the howling wind,” he said poetically.

I realized that having experienced the wind vs. pine-tree struggle throughout my childhood, I was being parsimonious towards applying a poetic mindset to it.

Trees, wind, and sunlight: A perfect resting point after a ~90 degrees climb

Rocks were a relief! (contrary to their role in our Khaliya Top hike)

The pine forest with a vertical slope

The gradient becoming a bit gradual from almost vertical!

After the rocks, the trees started dwindling, as did the pine leaves. A gradual climb of about twenty minutes more brought us to a ridge again, where we saw the most optimistic sight of the trek so far. Behind a small rock, grew a medium-sized flowerless tree, with leaves curved in the middle, about half-a-foot long, and about an inch wide. Its leaves not being needle-like was definitely a sight for sore eyes; but more importantly, it’s what lay under the tree that gave us joy unbound. The shadows of the rocks resembled like a proverbial bed of red roses. We had found rhododendron! A couple of steps up and another tree came into view. This one as blooming red. And another, and so on. Apart from the colorful change of scenery from the baron pine forest, the sight of rhododendron meant that we had gained the altitude we had aimed for this sleepy Friday morning, for these eye-treats grow at nearly 7,000 feet or higher.

Pragmatic knowledge met the corroboration of technology and the Garmin confirmed our altitude. What remained was walking on the ridge, on a practically horizontal path, towards the temple location. After negotiating our way through much strenuous exercises in the past hour, the last lap felt like a well-deserved cake’walk’.

The uphill trek, as recorded by Garmin. The downhill route has been marked from memory.

The peak

We reached the peak in over four hours, around noon, climbing uphill for nearly all of the hike’s duration. There is primary school near the temple, with a small ground, from which the Himalayan peaks are visible on a clear day. A few old Kumaoni styled houses and a few teashops (also selling knick-knacks) also neighbor the temple. Post our prayers, we went in search of food and views. The views, as expected, disappointed us, but the food more than made up for it.

The temple traces its history to the reign of the Katyuri kings of Kumaon, dating its age back a few hundred years

An old Kumaoni style house with roof of slate stones. The ground floor, called ‘goth’ (गोठ), houses cattle, where the upper floors, called ‘pan’ (पाण) are for the people

The inscription by ASI detailing the visit of Swami Vivekananda about 125 years ago

The elementary (primary) school near the temple

No ‘mountain’ views, but a rewarding mountain meal

After the experience with ‘haze blocking the Himalayas’ at Khaliya Top, we did not expect to see the Himalayas from here. A picture taken from the same place, from where I had clicked the Western Himalayas half a decade ago, shows only haze. Sadly, the absence of views was only compounded by the absence of ‘Minty’ – the friendly mountain dog I had on my last visit.

This time around, the view was not there; sadly, neither was ‘Minty’

A satisfying meal after a strenuous climb!

The experience of the meal was -- very aptly and succulently and from preparation to consumption -- captured by my trekking mate. I am reproducing the account verbatim here –

This humble thali was cooked by an old man who must've been 65. Runs a small eatery on his rooftop near the Syahi devi temple at 7100 feet.

He lovingly prepared the meal from scratch, and he had just one pressure cooker. He hobbled around washing the lentils first, getting the cooker up, chopping the greens(known as Rai in the hills), and then proceeding to the bhaat( rice). At some point his old dame joined in, and she was adorned in the hill style silver ornaments that one only sees in museums. 

Granny wasn't much of a talker, not much of a cook either. But the two made a stunning couple. I should've asked for a pic. Not sure if they would've obliged. Gramps wore a hand woven woolen cap and sweater and looked every bit like a santa. He moved and talked slowly too. Like one who has seen enough comings and goings and even two trekkers emerging from the wrong side of the hill and in funny garb didn't perturb him. 

I kept peeping into his home cum kitchen every 5 mins as the 4 hour steep trek from 2100 feet to the top had left me ravenously hungry. He hummed a bhajan, and worked like a cute grandpa as I enjoyed the cold breeze in the pines.

 The pressure cooker let out sympathetic whistles and the masala smell kept wafting riding on the keen breeze. He's the last of his kind. The Santa clause kind of kindly grandpas who are left only in the hills.

To say I asked for helping till he had to scrape the sides and bottom of his cooker – this did actually happen -- would be an understatement. 

I totally believe it when oldies tell me that elders have magic in their hands. This is another hidden gem of Indian culture. Love transforms a humble thali into a meal that would put a Michelin starred restaurant to shame. Magical enough for me. Call me crazy.

He bid us off with a warning that the fallen pine needles make the descent slippery and we better have a care.

And care we had to. There was rumor of a leopard loose, and the dogs guarding the orchards didn't offer kind passage. It seems the smell of leopards puts the doggos on edge.

‘No sudden movements’

While returning, we had the option of either retracing our steps through the pine-forest and cut across the hill, directly landing at Hararai (हरड़े) or take the gradually sloped path to Odadhar and walk by road till Hararai (हरड़े), thereby adding at least 6-7 kilometers to our itinerary. Given that it was a sunny day, and half a dozen kilometers of walk on a dusty, motorable road did not sound too tempting, we decided to take the proverbial plunge and descend through the pine leaves infested forest. Folks around the temple had given us a landmark of a pile of rock jutting out of the hill, from where Hararai (हरड़े) is visible. As we neared a bunch of rocks – the first bunch that we noticed -- I walked till the edge to see if a village comes into sight. The haze and dust had reduced the visibility to really low and in the bright afternoon sun, it was nearly impossible to make out if there was a village below.

I wanted to give it a try using my telephoto lens and was reaching for my bag on my back without looking behind, when I heard these words, “Don’t freak out and do NOT make any sudden movements. You are on the edge of a cliff. Turn back slowly and take a step back.”

These warning words could not have been for a leopard, for leopards are not lazy enough to give their prey a chance to turn around. They are too smart and agile for it. I was afraid of a snake; summers were here after all. However, instead of hisses, I could hear low growls. Had the golden jackal returned to pose for me? Or perhaps to make his afternoon dose out of me?

I turned slowly to see two large black dogs, looking at me menacingly. They had shiny coats, the sunlight bouncing off their bodies, and as soon as I turned, the growl turned into loud barks. I began to step backwards instinctively, when my partner, realizing that I was on the edge of a cliff, shouted, “Look here, you morons, pick someone your own size.” This was actually an empty threat, for, if size were the parameter, I would be a better match, or rather, a meatier meal for the growling duo. Realities aside, this shout did make me realize that I was standing at the precipice and another step back would land me halfway down Hararai (हरड़े) without much efforts of my own. (thanks, gravity!)

“Whatever you do, do not show them your back. That’s when they smell blood and know that you are afraid.” he advised me, while the canines were furiously barking at him now. If Minty was the friendly, loving mountain dog, these two were exactly the opposite and would evaporate the affection of any sane dog lover in seconds. We couldn’t run, we couldn’t turn; it seemed that the only thing we could do was to stare at them. I had some digestive biscuits and was in the process of maneuvering my bag to slowly retrieve them when I saw both of them look away.

Had they seen a cat? Or a monkey? For, these are the only few objects that would make two charging dogs forget their current targets. Their tails started wagging and they both ran away in the direction they had been looking a moment ago. When I followed their gaze, I saw an elderly, but fit-looking man with thick moustache, appearing in his early fifties, on his knees, affectionately patting them. Both the beasts, looking like hellhounds a moment ago, now appeared calm as kids (not the American kind, but the animal kind).

The elderly gentleman told us about frequent attacks by leopards, jackals etc. on his cattle and how the pair was immensely loyal and punctual in their duties to keep such predators at bay. While parting for his nearby house, he also clarified for us that we had missed the direct track towards Hararai (हरड़े) village half a mile up, as it is hidden behind a thicket of recently grown bushes.

Taking a (rather long) walk

As luck would have it, our options were - climb up and find the shortcut or leisurely descend till Odadhar, and walk the road till the village. When you are descending, the psyche almost always prevents you from climbing up, especially to “maybe” find a missing turn. Hence, we did the latter and started to walk down, through an oak-pine forest till Odadhar.

From Odadhar onwards, came the most monotonous part of the day, for we had to forego the shades of the jungle and the thrill of descending a slope; and we had to ... just walk, on a dusty road more so. We took as many shortcuts as we could, especially when the road had frequent hairpin bends (in such cases, the strategy is to cut across the road, on to its section right below you, without having to walk all the way to the hairpin bend). Over what proved to be the longest hour of the day, we reached Hararai (हरड़े) and stopped at a small teashop for refreshments. The clock showed quarter to four, and a break here would mean walking in the slightly less harsh sunlight an hour later. By this time, we both were a bit dehydrated and did not mind waiting for the sun to reach a bit closer to the horizons. Starting from our pitstop around five o’clock, we walked for over an hour before the TRC Kakrighat – our starting point –came into view.

In another hour, just before 7 PM, when we entered our abode, it had been a twelve-hour day; my fitness apps and the watch were screaming “Well done!”, overwhelmed by the 40,000+ steps we had clocked.

My glance was soon arrested by the towering peak we had scaled; and where, in the backdrop of the haze, the light and the darkness now jostled with each other for territory, the latter slowly overpowering the former. We had walked with no urgency, enjoying each moment (well, mostly), and as a result, felt little tired.

The day had not been without its misses though. When a native – boasting of living and breathing the hills – and a military trained navigator, both, manage to miss a turn, thereby taking a dull detour, one is not sure whether to claim success or repress certain details. Nevertheless, from ‘activity’ perspective, the day was a sparkling success and that was the highlight of our story we chose to go with.

Being the only guests in a dozen-room big hotel, we decided to rest in the dining room a bit. I was gulping down water and my compadre was nursing his knees (probably caused by trail running shoes that offer little cushioning and lesser ankle support), when the one-man army, the young manager-cum-staff-cum-cook at the TRC, came to ask for dinner. On hearing our account, he almost dragged us outside and pointed his finger to the hill above, swearing that in the direction of his index finger lay the pile of rocks -- the shortcut -- we had so ignorantly missed.

As we looked above through the thick haze, we barely saw a couple of stars against the silhouette of a peak, while the light slowly drifted away.

“We didn’t so much as miss the turn, as we did not take it, because we wanted to walk. It’s good to meet your step goal after so many days,” said I, turning away, from the questions as well.

“Didn’t you say you went to Khaliya Top just this week?” we could hear him remark from behind.

“Just keep walking,” said my companion.

“Yes, of course, walking is our middle name, remember!” I replied, unsuccessfully pretending to be inscrutable.

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