Into the Mist: Our Rain-Soaked March to Dudhsagar Falls

They said it was a trek to remember. What they didn’t say was it would be 25 km of soaked shoes, laugh riots, jungle whispers, and dumbbell-grade footwear — all in one monsoon-drenched day.

The story begins in Sangli, where a bunch of thrill-seeking souls (read: us) decided to tackle the mighty Dudhsagar Falls trek. We roped in TrekNest — a trekking group that not only handled our bookings but also scored us berths on the Goa Express. Convenient for us Sangli-Miraj folks, the train chugged off around 10 PM. What followed was a journey that had mystery, mayhem, and monsoon magic.

Earlier, the adventure involved getting off at Castle Rock station and walking 12 km on active railway tracks — straight through tunnels . But after some unfortunate incidents, that route was sealed off. So, our path led us to Kulem station instead, from where we’d head to Dudhsagar base via a wild jungle trail — with a short stretch of rail track thrown in.

The name Dudhsagar comes from the Konkani words “Dudh” (milk) and “Sagar” (sea), meaning Sea of Milk. It’s inspired by the milky white appearance of the water as it gushes down the rocky cliffs during the monsoon — truly resembling a giant stream of milk tumbling from the heavens.

There’s also a lovely legend: A princess used to bathe in a lake near the falls and would pour milk into the water to preserve her modesty when travelers passed by. Hence, the cascading white waters came to be called Dudhsagar.We were a group of 15–18 friends and family, joining a bigger gang of 35. After many dinner table debates and emotional yes-no rollercoasters, we even decided to bring along Arnav, my son — for his first major trek. Naturally, this demanded a Decathlon pilgrimage. We stormed in like we were prepping for Everest. Jackets, bags, torches — we conquered every aisle. Looking back, we might have overdone it. Okay, we definitely did. But this was our Everest, just one that came with waterfalls and jungle fever.

There was, however, one massive blunder we made. One tiny detail we overlooked.  The SHOES.

We boarded the train all prepped — or so we thought. Kulem greeted us at 4:30 AM. After a short sleepy walk, we offloaded our gear at the Jungle Café — a peaceful hideout in the lap of nature. Our TrekNest guide Naveen, along with local experts, herded us into a hearty breakfast before setting out at 6:30 AM sharp.

A couple of folks bailed last minute, spooked by a red alert warning for heavy rain. But not us. We believed in our own Department of Weather Prediction. The skies smiled on us with perfect trekking weather. We smirked at the clouds. They smirked back. (Spoiler: They had the last laugh.)

At the Mahaveer Wildlife Sanctuary gate, we had to wait a while as the guards decided to show up fashionably late. With a 4 PM return train to catch, we were already on a ticking clock — 25 km to be wrapped up by 3 PM. Easy, right?

The jungle trail was a dream. Tall trees draped in moss, birds singing in surround sound, the occasional drizzle kissing our cheeks. After 30 minutes of Eden-like bliss, we hit the 4 km rail track stretch. Straight, stony, and spirit-crushing. Shortcut, yes. Exciting? Not really. We plodded on.

Back into the jungle, things got wet. Streams, puddles, river crossings — some shallow, some not-so-shallow — welcomed us like overenthusiastic relatives. Walking through flowing streams felt divine… until our glorious Decathlon waterproof shoes turned into portable aquariums. Waterproof? Sure. But not water-exit-proof. Once in, the water stayed. The shoes got heavier than my guilt after a Goa buffet. It felt like dragging dumbbells on my ankles. (10/10 would not recommend.)

Despite the weight training, the journey was beautiful. We had leeches too — but honestly, the pre-hype was way worse. We came armed with salt water, Dettol sprays, and leech repellent tactics worthy of a research paper. In the end? Zero leech sightings and lots of dramatic screaming. Mostly over nothing. Drama: 5, Leeches: 0.

Our chatter, laughter, and bad jokes made time fly. And then came the glimpse — a sliver of white through the trees. Dudhsagar.

The final 2 km had some tricky bits — rocky paths, slippery climbs, heartbeats matching the rhythm of our breath. But when we reached the base of the falls, it was all worth it. The thunderous roar, the mist on our faces, the silvery streams cascading from heaven — no camera could do justice. We soaked it all in. Literally.

After enough photo ops to crash our phone storage, we began our journey back. On the return trail, we started giving seasoned smiles to oncoming trekkers. You know, the kind that says, “Hang in there, buddy. You’ve still got a loooong way to go.”

And oh, when we finally hit the rail tracks again — I’d had enough. Off went the dumbbells (shoes) and on came the humble slippers I’d smartly packed. Sweet relief! One important learning: For monsoon treks, ditch the heavy waterproof shoes. Go for light, open walking shoes. Your ankles will thank you.

We reached the café again, tired but glowing. A hot meal later, we boarded our 4 PM train. But wait — nature had saved the best for the last. Twice during the return journey, the train slowed down right in front of the falls. And I swear, that view — from the train, with the backdrop of monsoon mist — was the best we had all day.

As we looked out at the roaring marvel, one thought lingered: Why can’t this treasure be shared better with the world? Why isn’t there a proper viewpoint, a way for more people to safely enjoy this miracle? If Dudhsagar were in some other country, it would be a global phenomenon. But alas, here it quietly thunders on — grand, neglected, and breathtaking.

We returned before midnight, muddy, exhausted, happy. Arnav had conquered his first big trek. We had stories to tell and shoes to dry. And Dudhsagar? It had left its mark — on our souls and our socks.

Until next trek…