Trekking or hiking was never really a part of the culture where I was born. Growing up, hills were something we admired from a distance, not something we climbed with backpacks and trail shoes. It was only after I moved to Bengaluru that I discovered how deeply people here are raised around - and genuinely passionate about - being outdoors, especially when it comes to early-morning treks and weekend hikes.
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| Trekking Nandi Hills (Nov 2025). |
My first trek, unsurprisingly, was to Nandi Hills in September 2022. Like many firsts, it was both exciting and exhausting. Halfway through the climb, with my breath growing heavier and my legs questioning every step, I found myself wondering what the purpose of this trek really was. Yet, the moment I reached the top, all doubt dissolved. What replaced it was a quiet, overwhelming sense of satisfaction - one that words barely manage to capture.
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| Nandi Hills with Ajith and friends. I was the photographer here (Apr 2023). |
Since that day, I’ve been to Nandi Hills more times than I’ve been to my hometown after moving to Bengaluru. There’s something about that place that keeps pulling me back. Also known as Nandi Durga, it is one of the nine
Navadurgas that surround Bengaluru, each carrying its own history and character. The trail winds upward through stone steps carved directly into ancient rock, offering breathtaking views at every turn. After passing a small temple along the way, the path finally opens up at the summit - once the summer retreat of Tipu Sultan - where the city fades into the distance, and the horizon feels endlessly close.
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| View from the Nandi hills trek (July 2023). |
Next on the list was Makalidurga, another fortress hill that belongs to the circle of the Navadurgas. Unlike the more familiar trails, this one begins quietly near a railway track, where the occasional rumble of a passing train reminds you how close you still are to everyday life. As the trail unfolds, it gradually pulls you away from the noise and into a more rugged landscape.
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| Near the start of the Makalidurga trail. |
The path was alive with movement, home to various species of lizards darting across sun-warmed rocks, blending effortlessly into their surroundings. I wasn’t alone on this climb - Ankur and Krishnendu accompanied me, making the journey lighter with conversation between stretches of silence.
By the time we reached the top, the wind had picked up, wrapping the summit in a restless energy. Standing there, with the breeze brushing past us and the land stretching out below, it felt like we had stepped into a different world - one where the city was no longer in sight, and only the trail, the sky, and the moment truly mattered.
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Makalidurga trek (Feb 2023).
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The most intimidating trek was still ahead of me. That was Madhugiri Betta (hill translates to betta in Kannada) - a climb that demands both physical strength and mental resolve. It is claimed to be the second-largest monolithic rock of Asia. The trail is carved directly into rock, with steep stone steps, iron bars, and ropes fixed along the way to assist climbers. For the most part, these supports offer reassurance. But at one particular junction, the mountain tests you.
The slope there rises sharply, almost vertically, and unsettlingly, there were no ropes or bars to rely on. Standing at that point, I felt fear settle in. My legs froze, my confidence wavered, and for a long time I simply couldn’t gather the courage to move forward. The drop felt unforgiving, and every step ahead looked more daunting than the last.
Omkar and I decided to stay back, watching others carefully, unsure of what to do next. Then, unexpectedly, a family of four approached - two parents and their two young children. Without hesitation, the kids crossed the same section that had stopped us in our tracks. Watching them move with trust and calm shifted something in me. If they could do it, so could I.
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| The high slopes of the Madhugiri betta (Apr 2023). |
That moment gave me the push I needed. I took a deep breath, focused on my footing, and crossed the section one careful step at a time. Soon after, I made it to the top, where the rest of my friends were already waiting. The relief and pride I felt then were immense - not just for reaching the summit, but for overcoming my own fear.
The descent, however, brought its own challenges. The slope felt even steeper on the way down, and caution took over completely. I remember crawling on all fours for certain stretches, gripping the rock as tightly as I could, respecting the hill in a way I hadn’t before. It wasn’t graceful, but it was safe, and it was unforgettable.
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| At the top of the Madhugiri betta. Left to right: Basudeb, me, Ankush, Kritika, Ankur (Omkar didn't join us at the top) |
Technically, this wasn’t much of a trek. We drove our car up a zig-zag road to the top. After climbing up a few hundred steps, we saw a temple standing there, quiet and unassuming, offering the same stillness and view, no matter how you arrived. It is also one of the Navadurgas.
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| Entrance to the Devarayanadurga fort (June 2023) |
On another day, four two-wheelers carried us all the way to the Lepakshi temple, the ride itself stretching long and steady under the open sky. On our way back, we decided to stop by Vatadahosahalli Lake - a quiet detour that felt like a reward after the journey.
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At the Vatadahosahalli lake (Aug 2023).
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Just a few kilometres beyond the lake lies Gudibande Fort. The climb to the top isn’t particularly long or demanding, but by then, the hours on the road had caught up with us. Our bodies were tired, and every step felt heavier than it should have. Somewhere along the ascent, Sumi pulled out the cut watermelon pieces she had carried with her. Sweet, cold, and unexpectedly comforting, they gave us the energy we needed to keep going, turning fatigue into something lighter.
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View from the Gudibande fort.
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On our way back to Bengaluru, we stopped briefly at the Isha Foundation site near Chikkaballapur. The road leading in was dusty, and the landscape bore visible signs of change. The site had been carved out by cutting through a hill, and seeing that left a dull ache in my chest. It felt like something essential had been taken away in the process.
The place was crowded, bustling with people and movement, which made it hard to linger or reflect. Before long, we got back on our bikes and continued the ride, carrying that quiet discomfort with me as the city slowly came back into view.
Shivagange Hill is dotted with temples of all sizes, scattered generously across its slopes, making the entire climb feel like a continuous pilgrimage. The trek itself is long and demanding. The entrance is marked by a towering gopuram, which sets the tone early on - this is as much a spiritual journey as it is a physical one.
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| On the way to Shivagange with Anjali and Ankur (Jan 2024). |
I completed this trek with Anjali and Ankur, a small but determined group. This was my second attempt at reaching the top. My first attempt, back in June 2023, had ended halfway, when fatigue and time forced me to turn back. Returning this time felt different - more deliberate, with unfinished business pulling me forward.
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| The Shivagange hill. |
Along one particularly narrow section of the trail, a troop of monkeys had claimed the path as their own. They lingered close, watching trekkers intently, occasionally darting in to snatch food or create just enough chaos to slow everyone down. Navigating that stretch required patience and alertness, adding another layer of challenge to an already demanding climb.
When we finally made it through, the sense of completion felt deeper - not just for finishing the trek, but for returning and seeing it through after having once fallen short.
Another of the Navadurgas, Savandurga, stands apart in both scale and presence. It is one of the largest monolithic hills in India, if not the largest, rising abruptly from the surrounding landscape. The hill is stark and imposing, marked by stretches of bare rock with only sparse patches of greenery clinging to its surface. This absence of shade and vegetation makes the climb feel exposed, leaving you constantly aware of the sun, the wind, and the vastness around you.
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| Savandurga trek (May 2024) |
Although the route is well marked, trekking in Savandurga requires the guidance of a local guide. Following the guide, careful at every step, the climb becomes less about speed and more about trust, balance, and attentiveness. Each pause offers a sweeping view of the land below, reinforcing how far you have climbed and how small everything else begins to feel from that height. On the way down, I turned into a four-legged creature, inching along with extreme caution, while Anjali and Ankur walked past comfortably, thoroughly entertained by my performance.
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| Savandurga: view from the top. |
This was the earliest I had ever started for a trek, setting out well before sunrise while the world was still half asleep. Skandagiri lies very close to Nandi Hills, yet the experience is entirely different. Unlike Nandi, there are no neatly carved steps to ease the climb. The trail is raw and uneven.
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| Skandagiri hill from the road (June 2024). |
We followed a guide who led a group of about a dozen people. Our phone torchlights formed a soft, wavering line of light against the surrounding darkness. With every step upward, the temperature dropped steadily. The air grew colder and sharper, cutting through our layers and heightening the intensity of the climb, drawing us deeper into the experience with each stretch of the trail.
This was the trek where we lost our way on the descent. The trail markers were faint and easy to miss, and by the time we realised something was wrong, it was just Anjali and me navigating the hillside on our own. The fort itself is one of the Navadurgas and holds a surprisingly large water body near the top, a reminder of how these forts once sustained life high above the plains.
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| Waterbody near the top of the Chennarayana Durga (May 2025). |
As we began our way down, unease slowly crept in. The slopes were steep and slanted, offering little reassurance, and every step demanded careful footing. Without clear signs, the landscape started to feel unfamiliar, even hostile. Eventually, a local heard a dog barking at us. He noticed our confusion and offered to guide us. With his help, we found our way back, realising just how far we had strayed from the correct path.
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| Fortification till the top of the Chennarayana Durga. |
Moments like these make you understand that these forts are more than just trekking destinations. They are vast, weathered structures shaped by time, terrain, and history, and they demand respect. A single missed turn can turn a routine descent into a lesson in humility and awareness.
The fort at Chitradurga carries a powerful legend within its massive stone walls. While the climb itself is not particularly difficult, it takes time to complete, winding through multiple layers of fortifications, gates, and passages that speak of its strategic importance. Every step through the fort feels like a walk through history.
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Atop the Chitradurga fort
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What truly defines Chitradurga, however, is the extraordinary legend associated with it. In a moment of grave danger, when the fort stood vulnerable and largely unguarded, a single woman became its last line of defence. Obavva, the wife of a soldier, noticed enemies attempting to enter through a narrow opening in the wall. With no weapons or armour, only a household tool in her hand, she chose to act. Her quick thinking and fearless resolve stopped the intruders before they could gain entry, protecting the fort through sheer bravery. That moment turned her into an enduring symbol of strength and selflessness.
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| Chitradurga fort (June 2025). |
While descending, we were fortunate to witness
Jyothi Raj climbing the majestic walls of the fort.
These treks feel like just the beginning of a much longer journey toward bigger adventures. The thrill is only starting to take shape, and the curiosity to go further keeps growing. I am deeply grateful to every companion who walked beside me, shared the climbs and the fun, and kept my spirits high along the way.
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