Villagers around the Hemis National Park are going all out to save all forms of wildlife courtesy a homestay programme.
It's late afternoon and I am busy getting acclimatised to Leh by drinking generous helpings of butter tea at the Snow Leopard Conservancy India office. Rinchen Wangchuk's eyes light up as he takes a call on his mobile. He gesticulates wildly, his face reddens. He exclaims a cat has made a kill on the outskirts of Rumbak village. His colleague from the field has just called him. That means the elusive mountain warrior is alive and well, up and about. And he's glad he has something to show his guests he's put up at his own home.
Wangchuk is a conservation crusader for snow leopards. He and his small team help locals who live around the Hemis National Park to set up homestays for a viable economy in this remote cold desert. This year, his initiative of eco-tourism has been voted as one of the best geo-tourism destinations in the world.
Rinchen's journey hasn't been easy. Villagers previously faced huge financial losses when their livestock was attacked by these beautiful cats. They took revenge by using the poisoned carcass of domestic animals as bait to kill them. Add to this the effects of poaching and the depletion of the snow leopards’ main prey (blue sheep, ibex, musk deer and marmot) and these wonderful animals were left with the easy alternative to prey on more abundant and easily hunted domestic stock. Sadly this cycle of events posed a danger not only to the snow leopard, but the traditional lifestyle of the region. So the Snow Leopard Conservancy India Trust was set up to build the capacity of local communities to protect and improve their lifestyle, while also protecting wildlife and the environment. This meant transforming snow leopards from a threat into a valued asset, worth more alive than dead, by offering the best solution for a long term conservation programme and placing the stewardship firmly in the hands of these local communities. Explains Rinchen's passion to get going. We lose no time and pack up to leave for Rumbak in Hemis early next morning. The Hemis High Altitude National Park was created in 1981; the park covers 3,350 sq km and is one of the best habitats of the snow leopard as well as four species of wild goats or tahr and sheep.
Next morning, an early start takes me to Spituk in no time. Dawn breaks over the imposing 11th century gompa and I get my body fluids up sipping tetrapack juice. We leave the metalled road for a single lane dirt track to Zingchen. Our trek starts here, a two- household hamlet, close to the entrance of the Hemis National Park. The distance from Leh to Zingchen is 25 km. You could also drive up to Phey, commence your trek across the bridge over the Indus and walk to Zingchen.
We start with a small entry fee at the gates of the national park. After walking for another half hour, the gorge narrows with rocky towers on either side. This is fascinating trekking country and the visuals surrounding us 360 degrees are absolutely stunning. I never knew bleakness could be so beautiful with so many shades of brown and slate. It is this landscape that helps the metallic grey feline to camouflage itself and become almost invisible to humans. The trail continues to criss-cross a mountain stream for another hour. We take mini-breaks to replenish our falling energy levels till we reach a small plantation with a narrower valley to the left. We continue walking along the main valley for another half-an-hour till we cross the Rumbak stream to the right. The gorge gets rocky and narrower as we approach a latho with prayer flags and blue sheep horns on it. Rinchen points out to a flock of red-billed choughs and rock pigeons flying over. I take photos, gasp with wonder, take more photos.
The first day of the trek is always a little stiff for the body and one has to go slow and steady to get the system working up to a good rhythm. Luckily, there are too many attractions along the way, like juicy apricot groves, to stop over at. After another 30 minutes, the valley widens quite dramatically with snow-capped mountains as the backdrop. It takes us completely by surprise and we gape open-mouthed, our fruits almost spilling out. Even for someone like Rinchen, who must have walked these parts umpteen number of times, the vista gives him a new perspective. The mountains soften up and roll down to friendly heights as we approach Rumbak Sumdo with barley fields and a parachute café by the stream. These are tea stalls under tents run by women's cooperatives from nearby villages to service trekkers. Rumbak (4,050m) lies in the valley to the left and a 20-minute walk uphill takes us there.
If you want a practical demonstration of responsible tourism, Rumbak is the place to be. Villagers strictly follow environmentally-friendly practices, including good garbage management, the use of natural gas and kerosene for cooking instead of scarce firewood or yak dung and the sale of pressure-boiled filtered water to minimise use of plastic mineral water bottles that end up littering the landscape. The homestay is an experience in itself. You get a clean, comfortable room, furnished in traditional Ladakhi style and lit by candles or solar lights. You get traditional Ladakhi meals, cooked hygienically using eco-friendly methods, boiled spring water to drink, a clean, dry-composting toilet, refreshing showers with solar-heated water and local nature guides to show you around and help you follow the snow leopard's trail.
Rinchen and his colleague Tashi lead me to the house of Tsewang Dolma, our first host. A genial man with a wide smile stretching his crinkled skin, he greets us with a bundle of white silk scarves called katas. An auspicious symbol, the kata is a blessing to start any enterprise or relationship and indicates the good intentions of the person offering it. As we bow our heads and let Tsewang reverentially drape the katas around our necks, we are touched by the straight-from-the-heart Ladakhi hospitality.
Rinchen doesn't waste any time enquiring about the leopard kill. Its victim is a donkey and the fact that the predator, a female, hasn't finished it yet means we have a very good chance of getting a glimpse of her. Well, just a flurry of movement because the animal doesn't exactly sashay down for your camera. Tsewang's wife pours salt and butter tea and serves a beautiful traditional Ladakhi meal of mutton dumplings (momos), stew (skiu) and fresh vegetables.
After some rest, the three of us — Tashi, Rinchen and I — follow Tsewang to the exact spot where he had last seen the cat. He points out to a boulder high above and I follow his hand with my binoculars. Just rubble, I shrug. I cannot even locate the kill but Rinchen has other things on his mind. Just above the village, his needle sharp eyes quickscan a suitable patch where we can pitch our small tents. His plan is to come back here in the dead of night and wait it out.
Locals build up my anticipation with their many stories about the snow leopard. Of how they had heard its mating calls coming from far up a valley or on top of a high ridge a few days ago, and how within a day or two had found the signs it had left behind. Locals can piece together information from paw marks or scat about where the wild hunter had come from, where was it heading, how large it is (which often tells us its sex), and other details. They also tell us that you should be alert to the whistle of the blue sheep and watch out for any change in their behaviour; they mean the snow leopard is around.
We stick to a plan, that is eat early and get as much as sleep. At an obscene hour, Tashi wakes me up. Outside it's pitch dark with a rare overcast sky and I stumble most of the way following Tashi and Rinchen to the little camp. Here begins an excruciating wait, setting our cameras to the night shoot mode and taking turns to watch the mountain side in the dark, ensuring that not even the sound of our breath goes through. We huddle close, warming up with some hot tea when we hear a snow leopard call, a chuff really, clear and powerful. The snow leopard cannot roar as it lacks the thick pad of elastic tissue in other cats. We leap up and go outside but run into a black curtain. The cat calls again, it could be anywhere. The keen eyes of Tashi follow the sound but we don't have night vision.
I too keep my eyes peeled, not so much as rotating my head from the spot. Neither stone nor dust moves as darkness fades away in the first dim rays of the morning light.
With hope and anxiety, we hang on, munching on biscuits, chips and chocolates. At around 7.30 am, Tashi spots some movement on the high slopes through his binoculars. Bang on, we've got our cat. Seems she's lying beside a boulder as if she was always there, probably watching us through the night. The sun seems to have blown her cover. Much as I would have liked to photograph her, she is too far away for the telephoto lens and much too beautiful to not risk stirring the moment. I refuse to share the high definition scope with anybody; I am transfixed by her majesty. Rinchen and Tashi understand, they let me be. There, she moves, the light has got to her eyes. She tenses up instead of stretching herself or yawning out her jaws, curls up her long, furry tail that's been hanging limp and gazes away from us. I follow her vision along the edge of a cliff to see a herd of blue sheep. I almost shiver. Am I about to spot a kill, will the lithe beauty go for breakfast, will she crouch behind a stump of a white rock and glide in the air to take down one of them? The snow leopard can leap 50 ft horizontally and 20 ft vertically. Questions, questions. But then reason prevails. She has not even finished her kill from the day before, so she isn't hungry. And predictably, she slides away behind the rocks, far and beyond. Perhaps, she was appraising a feast she possibly could have had. Probably, she was ruing her chances, the sheep would have been better than the donkey.
Back in the Dolma household, we have a small celebration and spend the rest of the day exploring the high valleys of Rumbak, greedy for another glimpse, disregarding local advice that it's pointless hoping. The snow leopard doesn't believe in a repeat act.
We follow a trail that goes down to a stream that descends into the Lungmoche valley. A gradual climb along the banks leads us to the one- household hamlet of Yurutse at 4,200m. We meet up with another Rinchen, the house owner Rinchen Dorjay. The original Rinchen informs me this is good lynx country and refers to the photos he had earlier shown me at his office taken by a method called camera traps. The animal's nocturnal movements activate pre-set cameras and these take a series of shots. The lynx is also an elusive wild cat and very few have been fortunate to get a sighting.
The pastures of Maskyong opposite Yurutse and Gandala support a big number of the Tibetan Argali which is the largest wild ungulate in the Himalayas and Central Asia. Yurutse is geographically blessed with the rhubarb (lachu), a plant with big round leaves that grows in abundance and is the preferred diet of the blue sheep. The plant also has a high medicinal value and is used frequently by village healers.
Here we meet up with Jigmed Dadul, who had alerted us about the Rumbak snow leopard. He is responsible for surveying this region and taking notes and updates of issues related to the greater conservation work the team is doing here for years. We spot wolf tracks, more than one. But they don't lead to any particular direction. Maybe, a herd was huddling here, planning their next movement, scenting out prospects of prey. Despite the incredible harshness of this alpine desert, it is ever apparent that you are surrounded by wildlife. In the evening, we hear a Tibetan wolf calling and rocks falling below grazing blue sheep. But there's no sighting. A pair of eagle owls begins hooting just as night falls in the canyon.
The next morning, the entire team sets out early for Shingo for the longest hike over the high Gandala pass (4,900m). It takes us about four hours to reach the top of the pass. After crossing two camping sites, the trail heads south along the foot of a hill and then zigzags up to the pass marked by prayer flags. Himalayan marmots keep popping up from the endless underground tunnels they have dug out for themselves. They play a game of hide and seek with us; one of the rich brown ones scampers for cover the moment we get closer and then comes out boldly from a different direction to see how much we have progressed. But I just can't keep following these burrowers as I am taken in by the raw beauty of nature where clouds dance above me, constantly changing the same landscape with their shadow lines.
A large bird of prey glides overhead. I mistake it for a golden eagle but closer observations reveal it to be an upland buzzard. From the pass, we follow a well-defined trail down to Shingo village, this one a two-household hamlet. The first house of Nawang Padma is open for guests. Rinchen points out that 10 per cent of the homestay proceeds go to a village conservation fund to support activities like garbage management, tree plantation, better animal husbandry practices and restoration of cultural relics. Padma takes pride in showing me the prayer wall the villagers have rebuilt.
From Shingo, we turn left and go steadily downhill through a narrow gorge filled with willow trees and wild rose bushes. Still, it takes us three hours to reach the villages of Sku and Kaya because the way cuts through a stream which we have to cross four times in a zigzag manner along shallow stretches. These two villages are the largest in this region with nine and 12 households respectively. Sku sits in the Markha valley which runs west to east and Kaya lies to its west. A variety of green vegetables is grown here during the summer months apart from wheat but it is the seabuckthorn that grows abundant, serving as a very effective fencing material.
If you trek along the Markha river for an hour, you come to a converging valley where it meets the mighty Zanskar. In summer, when temperatures soar quite unpleasantly, the waters become a trickle and the vast river valleys and their beds flatten out to a stretch of open desert. The low undulating slopes around these parts are home to the urials, which trot away as soon as we creep up on them. On the other side of the river is the village of Chilling, known for its coppersmiths. Most of the traditional copper teapots, chang jugs, service spoons, pots and pans are made here. It is believed that the ancestors of the villagers were four craftsmen who came all the way from Nepal to craft the huge Buddha idol at Shey palace. To protect the uniqueness of the palace, they were not allowed to return to their native place and they settled down here, marrying local women. I wouldn't have come to understand the finer threads that bind this region together had I not signed up with Rinchen and hopped village to village.
Himalayan homestays, contact:
Snow Leopard ConservancyIndia Trust,
Shangara House, PO Box 67
Main Tukcha Road,Leh — 194 101
Ladakh (J&K)
Tel:+91-1982-250953; Fax 252735
E-mail: rinchen@snowleopardindia.org