The day began with solid rain and low clouds pressing in over Bhimtang. Within five minutes of leaving the tea house I had already sunk my shoe ankle-deep into mud. That pretty much set the tone.
The scenery as we entered the Annapurna region
One of the landslides we crossed
Miles of switchbacks
Views onto Manaslu from our hike
The trail dropped quickly, about 30 minutes of steady descent before giving way to forests of rhododendrons—different from those on the far side of the pass, but just as striking. Mist curled between the trees, and the trail twisted down in endless switchbacks. For hours we descended, sliding through mud, picking our way past rockslides, and losing altitude fast. By the time we reached the valley floor, we had dropped 3,917 feet.
The relief of breathing easily again was immediate. A 500-foot climb along the way barely raised a sweat—after days at 5,000 meters, oxygen at this level felt abundant, almost indulgent.
Rhododendrons, the national flower of Nepal
Hecklers on the trail
My nemesis. Mud
My other nemesis. Nepali trail construction
We stopped for lunch at Surki Khola, then pushed on for another hour and a half to reach Ghoa, a quiet little settlement tucked in the valley. The rain eased just as we arrived, and for the first time in days, the air felt still.
Connectivity returned, too—sort of. A weak internet signal stirred my phone to life, and dozens of notifications began flooding in. But the connection was patchy, never quite good enough to actually catch up. It was like being offered a glass of water just out of reach.
We crossed an invisible border of sorts. We left the Manaslu Conservation Area behind and entered the Annapurna Circuit region—a shift that felt both subtle and symbolic. The scenery, the villages, even the rhythm of the trail began to change. It was as if one chapter of the trek had closed, and another had just begun. Indeed, for many, the trek continues on to the Annapurna Circuit from here.
My room in Ghoa was decent in size and warmth, but easily the dirtiest of the trip. Many others in the group asked to change rooms. I stuck it out—it was hardly the worst hardship of the trek—but it was a reminder that as the altitudes dropped, so too did the standards of accommodation.
By evening, the rain had stopped altogether. For the first time in several days, it felt like the mountains were exhaling. I changed my meal from my typical Dal Bhat to a veg fried rice dish, the first change of the last two weeks. It felt like a small but significant shift, and I actually managed to get a decent amount of calories in a single dish. I should have done this sooner, but I was warned to avoid this dish at higher altitudes.