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With white vistas, frozen rivers, and serene silence for company, I searched for the rare Snow Leopard.
Ladakh in the summer is pleasant – a brief interlude of ample sunshine when the cold retreats to the distant snow-capped peaks. But in winter, a different Ladakh rears its head – one with only hardy locals and barely any tourists. Those who do dare to tread the mountains in the brutal winter, however, do so for a special reason: to catch a glimpse of the Ghost of the Mountains, the snow leopard.
A nature and wildlife lover, I had seen many a tiger and a fair few bears, but I'd never ventured into the white unknown in search of the most elusive big cat. I was always held back by the bitter cold and harsh conditions. To see a snow leopard, I would have to visit remote villages situated in the most unforgiving terrains of the Hemis National Park, where the slopes are steep and treacherous. Here, when the temperatures plummet and life slows down, one of the mountains' mightiest beasts roams free over the blanket of snow.
A glimpse of the big cat is enough to leave you spellbound, I'd heard. So, I steeled myself to brave the minus 30 degrees Celsius for a shot at seeing the majestic snow leopard.
The first stop on our journey was a flight to Leh. I must have looked like a lunatic boarding the flight in Mumbai, dressed in layers upon layers of wool in the balmy weather of the city. But I didn't care because I was about to land at minus 20 degrees Celsius!
The flight was uneventful, with most of the time spent dozing and daydreaming about snowscapes and snow cats. The PA system crackled with the announcement of the descent, and I peered through the window to see a different world: steep slopes covered in powdery snow, speckled with barren browns. This was a Ladakh unlike any I'd seen in summer tourism advertisements. I felt a rush of excitement wash over me. We had arrived!
While deboarding, I was surprised at the deceptively bright sun glaring down in full force, but a bitter wind gave us a true sense of the weather. As we were acclimatising to the conditions in Leh, we decided to take it slow. We spend the next two days visiting the local sights of interest, notable among which was our visit to the famous Shanti Stupa.
The chants of Om Padme mani hum filled the air, sending a message of peace and calm. After our bodies adjusted to the high altitude and thin air, we set off to explore the interior areas of the city, which would be the focus of the rest of our journey. Our first stop was Rumbak, a hamlet set deep within Hemis National Park and a hotspot for snow leopard sightings.
Each of us was assigned a village home and family to stay with for the next few days. Staying with a Ladakhi family deep in the Markham Valley in the harsh winter weather opened our eyes to a completely different world.
Ladakhis are peace-loving people who live a simple lifestyle. As I stepped into the cosy room decorated with colourful rugs and tapestry handicrafts, I was greeted by their warm hospitality which felt like a welcome respite from the harsh weather outside. I passed a room from which wafted the aroma of noodle soup, which was served hot to appease the stomach and, more so, the soul.
We stayed at the home of the village head, a well-off but simple, old couple. These people showed us genuine hospitality and warmth, inviting us not only into their homes but also into their lives. The supplies were barely adequate: there was only one army-operated satellite phone connecting this place to the outside world and there was no running water because the pipelines were frozen. Yet, here were these perfectly content people, always smiling and thankful for life.
Our evenings were spent drinking butter tea, cooking dinner together, and listening to interesting stories. Nights were all about huddling around the bukhari, a traditional heating incinerator that doubles as a heater before the cinders die out. As I listened to the wind howl, I couldn't help but think about how disconnected we are from Nature, all too engrossed in our seemingly picture-perfect urban lives.
Every day, we would bundle up in warm clothes and set out on our adventure. As the sun rose, I would sweat beneath the eight layers of clothing, but I never dared to remove them for fear of hypothermia. We would walk to a T-point with telescopes, scanning the distant slopes for the spotted beast. Our guides and spotters were village natives who knew the crests and troughs like the back of their hands.
Three days had passed and there had been no sign of the snow leopard. The routine had stuck: we arrived at the viewpoint at dawn and left at sunset. The fourth day was our last; we were to trek even further out to a remote village, which had only one household!
As the sun was about to set, a single roar brought us all rushing forward. A frozen Indus river separated us from our viewpoint and the mountains ahead. Blinded by the possibility of sighting the elusive ghost, I lost all sense of safety and plodded down the slope straight onto the frozen river, clutching the bulky wildlife lens and camera. I was finally granted my long-desired wish: a single snow leopard stood out like a speck amidst the brown and white of the snow-covered mountains. It was so well camouflaged – a true marvel of nature
The next day, we were to travel to Yurutse, a remote one-home village, which was accessible only by foot. Similar to the Chadar trek, a section of this journey involved trekking on the frozen river. Each of us settled into a rhythm, putting one foot in front of the other, lost in our thoughts. The need to constantly check the river ice for thickness and strength, lest we fall through, kept the mind from wandering. The only distraction was a herd of Himalayan blue sheep staring at me and I waved at them. A griffon vulture circled the cerulean skies above, looking for its next prey.
After a 3.5-hour trek, the sight of civilization made my heart jump with joy. We scoured the ridges and valleys the next day, our feet tired, our souls weary, our eyes fixed on the subject. We were sitting at the viewpoint, sipping tea and scanning the horizon when two dots appeared to move around. Lo and behold! As I grabbed the binoculars, I exclaimed, “Two!” The snow leopards were huddled in an embrace. As one moved forward, the other waited for it. Evidently, they were a couple.
The trip to Hemis National Park offered me the opportunity to see two snow leopards in their natural habitat. This enigmatic, breathtakingly beautiful creature had led me into its home. I couldn't help but feel moved by the success of my expedition. It was time to return, my heart and soul overflowing with inexplicable emotion.
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