Poon Hill Trek from Pokhara: Sunrise Hike & Gurung Villages

4.98

(130 reviews)

What’s the experience like?

“Wait, how many steps did you say?” That’s what I blurted out as we started the climb from Nayapul to Ulleri. Our guide, Suman, just grinned and shrugged—he’d clearly done this Ghorepani Poon Hill trek too many times to bother counting. The air got cooler as we wound through rice terraces and little villages where kids waved at us (one tried to sell me a packet of spicy peanuts—worth it). By the time we reached Ulleri’s guesthouse, my legs were jelly but the dal bhat tasted like actual magic. I slept like a log under thick blankets while rain tapped on the tin roof.

The next day was all about rhododendron forests—honestly, I didn’t expect them to be so dense or so quiet. Just our boots crunching on wet leaves and the odd bird call. Ghorepani itself felt like a mountain outpost; blue roofs against grey clouds, shopkeepers selling wool hats and yak cheese. Suman pointed out Annapurna South peeking through mist—he said sometimes you get lucky with clear skies but honestly even half-hidden mountains feel huge here. The cold hit hard after sunset; I borrowed an extra blanket from the teahouse auntie who kept calling me “dai” (big brother) even though she was probably older than my mom.

Poon Hill morning is something else. We set off in total darkness—couldn’t see my own hands for half an hour—and joined a slow parade of headlamps zigzagging up the hill. At the top everyone just went quiet for a minute when the first sunlight hit Dhaulagiri and Annapurna ranges. It wasn’t dramatic or anything—just this slow gold creeping across snow peaks while people sipped instant coffee from paper cups. I still think about that view sometimes when I’m stuck in traffic back home.

After that it was mostly downhill through more forests (rhododendrons again—I finally learned to pronounce it right by day three). We stopped in Ghandruk for lunch; met a Gurung woman who showed us her family’s old photos at the museum there. Her laugh was louder than mine when I tried to say “namaste” in her dialect—definitely butchered it. Jeep ride back to Pokhara felt surreal after days of walking; suddenly everything was noisy and fast again.