On the snow leopard’s wintry trail in magical, spiritual Dolpo
Tibetan Buddhist sanctuary in Nepal’s remote north, made famous by Peter Matthiessen’s The Snow Leopard in the 1970s, is hard to reach at the best of times; Post Magazine braves bitter cold to see its hardy people and sacred places
Seen from an aeroplane, the Himalayas look like a fortress wall. A single line of the world’s highest peaks rises abruptly up from the plains of the Indian subcontinent, falling back into the high-altitude desert of the Tibetan plateau.
For centuries, Tibetans and Hindus have seen the range as a symbol of something bigger than man; the shining white home of gods and, literally, the source of life: water.
Nepalgunj, in southwest Nepal, is a hub for trade with India and the stepping stone to Dolpo, a region close to the Tibetan border that has retained a cultural authenticity, untouched by the troubles of Tibet proper, remote and accessible only by foot in the good season and protected by high mountain passes. Once, the only visitors were lamas and trans-Himalayan traders carrying salt in caravans from the Changtang Plateau, but now hikers tread these ancient footpaths.
Our small expedition aims to cross the Himalayas in winter, when Dolpo is sometimes made impassable by snowstorms. With Jagan Timilsina, a Nepalese mountaineer, I want to visit the sacred places of Tibetan spirituality – the Crystal Mountain, the Shey Gompa (a gompa is a fortified place of learning) and the library of Bicher – and spot the elusive snow leopard.
At dawn, we board a small plane for the flight from Nepalgunj to the dirt runway of Juphal. The aircraft is buffeted by thermals as it stays low and hugs the sheer cliffs.
From Juphal, we hike a trail that follows a tempestuous glacial river and climbs steadily along a deep valley clothed in forests of conifer, oak and rhododendron. That night, in an abandoned village by Phoksundo Lake, we don’t bother to set up tents, and lay in our sleeping bags looking up at a million stars.
