The Call of the Mist
By Sushil Gurung
Some places don’t just exist on maps; they hum quietly in your heart long before you ever set foot. Sailung was one of those place.
Walking through the bustling city, I first heard its name in a small teashop in Kathmandu, whispering by a friend. A guide between sips of steaming masala chiya.
“Go there,” he said softly with the expression of chimes. “That’s where the clouds speak.”
And that was it—a whisper that grew into a calling. My journey to Sailung wasn’t just a normal trek into Nepal’s high eastern hills; it became a quiet voyage inward, into the stillness, the silence, and the stories older than the wind itself.
The Road from Kathmandu to the Sky
Following the whispering, I left Kathmandu at dawn. Looking thorugh the windows, Chasing the sun along the winding road through Banepa, Dhulikhel, and Mudhe. The towns were wrapped in pine-scented air and the hum of morning life. The road to Sailung Danda takes six to eight hours by jeep, depending on the season. Mine was spring time. Asphalt turns to gravel, then dust, and finally into a path that seems to climb straight into the clouds.
Rolling through Dolakha’s countryside, terraced hills rose around us like green amphitheaters. I was the only in central space surrounded by tiers of seats for spectators. Children waved from stone fences, women carried baskets of millet on their backs. Far beyond, the snow peaks glowed in silent, patient, eternal.
When we reached Deurali, the gateway to the trek. The air grew sharper and colder. The road ended, but who knew the real journey had only begun?
Into the Realm of Clouds
The climb to Sailung is short but steep feels nostalgic that tests your lungs and quiets your thoughts. The trail winds through the rhododendron forests where sunlight filters through petals of red and gold. In spring, the hills themselves seem to bloom at its peak beauty.
Locals call it Sailung Danda, the hill of a hundred peaks. And truly, as I climbed higher, the horizon unfolded into waves of gentle domes 108 in total. As legend says, each of them are the seat of a resting deity.
The air was thick with the scent of wildflowers and the faint chime of yak bells(tingling). Each step upward it felt like letting go of big noise, rush, and the digital hum of city life. The higher I went, the quieter I became.
The Legend of Sailung Baba
At the crest, I met an old Sherpa herder tending his sheep beside a line of fluttering prayer flags. His smile was carved deep by wind and years, bright like meadows that grows once a year.
“They say Sailung Baba sits here,” he told me, pointing to the horizon, “watching over the gods as they rest in these 108 hills are their seats.”
To the Tamang and Sherpa communities, Sailung is sacred as a meeting place between heaven and earth. During local festivals, villagers gather here to offer prayers, burn incense, and dance beneath an endless sky.
That evening, as I sat beside a small fire outside a teahouse, glaring in the starry stars. Though the wind was chilling, I felt that sacred calm settle in. The stars hung so close it seemed you could reach out and poke your fingers against them.
The Symphony of Sunrise
Before dawn, I climbed to the Sailung viewpoint. The cold stung my fingers, and a burning sensation in my nose with breath rose like smoke. For a while, there was only darkness but the hope of light burning through me.
Then slowly with a glow.
The astonishing first-glance light spilled across the horizon, and suddenly the sun rose behind Gaurishankar Himal like lights bathing the peaks in molten gold. One by one, the Himalayas awakened throughout Everest, Langtang, Dorje Lakpa, Ganesh Himal, and others that are stretching in an unbroken arc of fire and ice.
Beneath them, the world lay wrapped in a sea of clouds, shifting and whispering like an ocean of light.
I stood there, wordless.
Life Among the Clouds
Time moves differently in Sailung, feeling slow and seamless, like the drifting of soul in the mist.
The locals live simply: tending yaks, brewing butter tea, and spinning prayer wheels. Tamang women wear bright shawls that echo the colors of the rhododendrons. Children laugh freely, as though time itself has no hold here.
Hospitality is a quiet ritual. A cup of warm tea is always offered, and a smile is always returned. At night, Looking at the burning crackilng coal with tired body, was it worth? And stories unfold around the fire with the tales of wandering monks, mischievous spirits, and the eternal dance of the clouds. And i got my answer.
Sailung, I realized, isn’t just a place to see. It’s a place to listen to wind, to silence, to yourself.
Practical Guide: Trekking to Sailung
Location: On the border of Dolakha and Ramechhap districts, about 130 km east of Kathmandu.
- Altitude: Around 3,146 meters at the hilltop.
- Best Seasons: October–December and March–May for clear skies and comfortable weather.
- Route: Drive from Kathmandu to Mude Bazaar, then trek via Deurali to Sailung.
- Accommodation: Basic teahouses and homestays in Deurali and Khola Kharka. Camping is possible for solitude seekers.
- What to Pack: Warm layers, trekking shoes, a sleeping bag, a rain jacket, a headlamp, and a curious heart.
Unlike Everest or Langtang, Sailung remains blissfully and quietly untouched by the tourist rush. It rewards you not with luxury, but with solitude, serenity, and Himalayan grandeur in its purest form.
Whispers That Linger
As I descended, the clouds parted one last time. The hills shimmered beneath me, giving me a feeling of being alive, ancient, and breathing.
I realized then that Sailung isn’t a destination; it’s a conversation between earth and sky, between stillness and movement, and between what we seek and what we already are.
When I returned to Kathmandu, the city’s noise felt softer somehow. The mountain had left its echo in me with a quiet whisper that said,
“Come back whenever you forget who you are.”
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