Trek to Labkhal

Far from Wi-Fi and weekend traffic, Labkhal is a place where spring climbs higher, and life runs on cattle bells and stories.

- Sahil Manzoor

I first heard of Labkhal from a herdsman near the Shaliganga River, where conversations happen in half-whispers and gestures.

He had described it as a place “where cattle rest like kings, and water sings all day.”

I held on to that description like a compass. And now, with my backpack light and my boots broken in, I was ready to follow the trail.

On the morning of my journey through Doodhpathri, the air felt cleaner, cooler, like spring had somehow overstayed its welcome. I didn't linger and crossed the Shaliganga on foot, feeling the icy shock of its current even through my shoes.

The river was swollen from the melting snows of early summer, and the woods on the other side smelled of pine resin and damp bark. I turned left, where the forest grew thicker. No signboards pointed the way. Only instinct, memory, and the muffled sound of cattle bells somewhere ahead.

The climb to Labkhal took about an hour and a half. It wasn't steep, but it asked for patience. Wildflowers poked through patches of grass. Sunlight scattered across the forest floor in flickers.

There were moments I felt completely alone, until a goat darted past or a shepherd's call echoed through the trees. In Kashmir, even the silence speaks in layers.

And then, as the trees thinned, I stepped into a vast, green basin. Labkhal.