Continuing from the Netravathi Peak Trek…
Our stay was perched high on a hill near the Bamikonda View Point close to Kudremukh National Park. The place felt like a world of its own, surrounded by rolling mist and the hush of thick forests. A few kilometers above, there was a small viewpoint we had visited the evening before the trek when the rain paused just long enough to let us wander. The narrow trail climbed gently upward through lush greenery, and midway the rain returned, wrapping the mountains in fog and mystery. From the top, the view opened like a painting, the vast Kudremukh range stretching endlessly with green valleys fading softly into the clouds. It was a moment that reminded me why I travel, to feel small before nature yet deeply alive.
Two giant upright rocks stood nearby, a natural landmark visible from far away. From that spot, we could even see the distant rooftops of Mullodi village glimmering below. Someone had painted beautiful artwork across the rocks, and though no one seemed to know who did it, it added a quiet charm to the scene. A popular trekking route, the Kalchukki Peak Trail, begins right there. Since we had already completed Netravathi, we decided to save it for another day. Kudremukh Peak, they say, is the toughest of all, a long twenty-two-kilometer challenge that demands both strength and patience. Bamikonda itself was worth every step. The view stretched endlessly in every direction, and on a faraway hill, the old step-farming terraces stood frozen in time, whispering stories of the past.
Not far below our stay, a hidden waterfall waited quietly in the forest. There was no name, no signboard, no crowd. Only the sound of rushing water echoing through the trees. Within minutes, we were in the stream, laughing, swimming, and letting the cold mountain water wash away every bit of tiredness. Even our Jimny seemed happy parked by the stream as if it knew it had brought us to a secret only a few would find. When it was time to leave, we did so reluctantly, knowing that some places are meant to stay untouched. The homestay had been buzzing the night before with trekkers returning from Netravathi and Kudremukh. The air had been full of chatter, music, and the steady rhythm of rain. That day, our plan was easier, a slow drive to Avathi near Chikmagalur where our next stay awaited. Every road in this part of Karnataka feels magical during the monsoon. We crossed the Bhadra River, joined the Sringeri to Chikmagalur road, and began searching for a place that served authentic Malnad food. After passing through a forest stretch inside the Bhadra Tiger Reserve, we spotted a tiny roadside eatery that looked more like someone’s home than a restaurant.
They had rice ready, and that was reason enough to stop. We ordered steaming rice with Malnad chicken sambar, fried river fish, liver fry, and chicken kebabs. The food was simple, earthy, and full of flavor. The entire meal for our group cost just over five hundred rupees, yet it tasted like something priceless. It reminded me that the best meals often come from places that do not try too hard to impress. After lunch, we left the main road and drove through coffee estates drenched in mist and rain. The narrow road was silent except for the hum of insects and the patter of water on leaves. By the time we reached our homestay, we were completely taken by its beauty. The house sat deep inside the plantation, surrounded by tall trees and nothing but peace. It was a weekend, yet we were the only guests. We got a large dormitory for ten people with delicious home-cooked meals for sixteen hundred rupees each, and it felt just perfect.
The property had its own quiet charm with a few cats and a gentle blind dog named Lily who moved gracefully, sensing everything around her. Our host served us hot coffee, and we sat outside on the veranda, breathing in the cool mountain air. The soreness from the previous trek began to fade as the calm of the place settled over us. By evening, we decided to walk to the sunset point within the estate. The owner laughed and told us not to expect any sun that day, and he was mostly right. After a short drive and a small walk, we reached a giant rock ledge overlooking the valley. The mist drifted slowly across the trees, and just for a moment, the clouds parted and the sun peeked through. It stayed long enough to paint the valley in gold before slipping away again. As darkness crept in, we made our way back since the estate bordered the Bhadra Tiger Reserve, a place often visited by wild animals. The night was cold and damp. We skipped the campfire, had dinner, and fell asleep listening to the sound of rain on the roof.
The next morning, the world outside was wrapped in white. Thick mist covered everything, and it felt like waking up inside a dream. Slowly, sunlight began to filter through, turning the fog into a golden haze. Breakfast was a delight, soft idlis shaped like tiny puttus, warm and comforting. After checking out, we began our return to Bengaluru with one last stop in mind, the Shettihalli Church near Hassan. Built by French missionaries in the 1860s, this beautiful Gothic structure now lies partly submerged by the waters of the Hemavathi Dam. During the monsoon, when the river swells, the church appears to float, its arches and spires rising like ghosts from the water. In summer, when the levels drop, you can walk right up to it. What amazes every visitor is how it has survived since the 1960s, standing strong through decades of floods and silence. Though some walls bear careless graffiti, the structure still holds its dignity against time and tide. Locals say that during the rains you can take a coracle boat ride near the church, though we did not find anyone that day. Maybe next time, when the waters are lower, we will walk through its quiet arches and listen to the echo of the past.
With that, we started our journey back with heavy hearts. Three days had slipped by in what felt like minutes. We came seeking the monsoon and found so much more. Every trail, every downpour, and every meal felt alive with its own story. By the time I reached home, I was already thinking of the next adventure, lying in my favorite place in the world, my bed, dreaming of misty hills, rain-soaked roads, and the wild call of the Western Ghats.
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