Ladakh: The Lair of the Snow Leopard
In the northern reaches of India, an American wildlife photographer and a BBC tracker, each driven by the chase of the legendary gray ghost, lead an expedition. Their eyes, sharpened by telescopic lenses, fixate on a silent assassin nestled in a crevice. His face bears the scars of three days of blood, and as dusk approaches, hunger compels him to rise. Reluctantly, he rises, crouches low, and moves toward the summit to scout for his next prey. Here, in Hemis National Park on the outskirts of Leh, his primary target is the Himalayan blue sheep. Technically, the blue sheep is neither blue nor a sheep, but it is plentiful and flavorful. Furthermore, it stands firm and strong.
They, too, remain vigilant atop the ridges, ready to flee at the slightest disturbance. The snow leopard must approach unnoticed, creeping within striking distance, yet a cat weighing 30 to 45 kilograms attacking animals averaging over 50 kilograms is no easy feat. Success could secure meat for over a week, but failure risks a fall from the mountain, missed prey, and severe injury on the rocks below. It demands both skill and courage to survive in such a hunt with a 10% success rate. My snow leopard—a wild tourist with a relentless fixation on its quarry—slid into the next valley after moving up and down the horizon. I could not help but wish for his success.
It was great fortune to see this legendary “gray ghost” in its harsh natural environment from the first day. As we navigated the barren hairpin bends leading to Hemis, our host, Behzad Larry, exhibited rare tension. “Since launching Voyager Expeditions in 2013, we’ve never missed seeing them, though it’s always been a close call,” he said. For this 33-year-old American, dedicated to finding the finest Speyside malts for his guests, it was an unusual state of affairs. Raised in Madhya Pradesh by a Parsi father and a Muslim mother, an only child with four Dachshunds, he and his mother moved to New York City when he was 15. Even in this new city, Behzad maintained his passion for wildlife and wildlife photography. Adventurous by nature, he has organized tiger expeditions in Ranthambore National Park in Rajasthan and plans to add Siberian tigers and Amur leopards to his repertoire next year.
The rugged mountains overlook Ladakh’s Tso Moriri Lake. © Behzad J Larry
I, too, was tense. At worst, we might find nothing but an observer pointing out a distant, camouflaged, lean gray beast with black spots. “There, just there, moving beneath the rock on the right”—but I could see nothing. It was completely concealed and too far. The first long observation changed everything. Now, everyone could relax and enjoy. I mounted a sturdy 13-hand pony and ascended the hill.
In Ladakh, the high season runs from May to September, and winter expeditions start with morning flights from Delhi to Leh (the sole airport closes in the afternoon due to high-altitude desert winds). Unlike competitors catering to summer pilgrims at Buddhist monasteries, the Grand Dragon Ladakh Hotel welcomes adventurous hunters year-round. The opulent structure began with the arrival of the first hippie tourists in Ladakh in 1974. The owners, brothers Glamm Mohiuddin and Glamm Mustafa, recall, “The hippie tourists came by bus from Srinagar,” Mohiuddin reminisces. “Sixty long-haired people in pink and yellow. When the rumors spread, a friend said he tried to skip school to chase them. They were probably looking for a toilet, but we didn’t miss them.”
Upon returning home, his parents saw the hippie tourists and bought a bed, transforming their home into the Dragon Guest House to be ready for their arrival the next year, 1975. When the Grand Dragon opened its 82 rooms in 2007, it heralded the arrival of affluent tourists after years of backpacker era. Today, the brothers send their sons to the Les Roches Hospitality Management School in Crans-Montana and Marbella and live luxuriously across from the “OP” (Observation Point) at the Grand Dragon’s portico. Mustafa, the artistic brother, has his meticulous paintings of Ladakhi characters displayed in the lobby, while Mohiuddin, like a consummate hotelier, attends to the guests.
Day one of the Voyager Expedition is spent acclimating to the rapid ascent of 3,500 meters, with rest and no alcohol permitted. Oxygen tanks are available if needed. Day two involves a leisurely stroll around town in preparation for the serious activity to come. At the top of many shopping lists is pashmina. Ladakh’s second luxury item (after the snow leopard) is the shawl made from the undercoat of the Changthang goat—so fine it can pass through a narrow ring with ease.
The author heads towards Rumtse. © Behzad J Larry
Central Asia, stretching from Uzbekistan to China, is home to an estimated 3,000 to 6,000 snow leopards. Hemis National Park boasts the densest habitat, often chosen for top news footage by Planet Earth and Hostile Planet. Established in 1981 by the Indian government, the park has gradually expanded along the south side of the Indus River, now covering 4,400 square kilometers. It is the largest park in South Asia, encompassing 19 villages and the world’s most extreme high-altitude desert terrain. In summer, wildlife moves to altitudes of 6,000 meters, but by November, snow drives predators and prey from the mountaintops, marking the start of the winter observation season.
“The snow leopard is the most enigmatic of the big cats,” says our primary observer, Kenrab Punzog, who has spent 20 years in Hemis protecting wildlife. “Staring into its eyes is like peering into the depths of its soul. I love the romance of this quest. It’s like going to a casino—no certainty, but a profound anticipation.” That evening, at our camp, we sipped spiced lamb hot cider at Voyager’s Mestent, just below the “Land of Dreams.” This plateau was named by a British naturalist for its numerous snow leopards. Four crumbling stupas bring karma, and the snow leopard shares the region with Tibetan wolves and lynxes. These primary prey include the Ladakhi urial (wild horned sheep), the Asian ibex, and the bharal. The snow leopard can also take down wild yaks, but it requires all its agility to tackle and subdue these large beasts.
In January, temperatures can plummet to -40°C, and Behzad pays meticulous attention to guest comfort. The thick canvas tents are lined with felt, spacious enough to stand up in, and furnished with beds, tables, and carpets. The double-layered full-down sleeping bags, surplus military gear used by troops guarding sensitive borders with Pakistan and China, are designed for outdoor winter use. Propane heaters and hot water bottles ensure warm nights. With only 50 permits issued daily in Hemis, some unfortunate campers might end up sleeping on the ground nearby. Those averse to canvas can opt for homestays in Rumtse, eight villages 20 minutes up the valley.
In the main tent, prayer flags flutter and lampshades cast gentle shadows. Ladakhi cuisine—delicately spiced soups and curries—is expertly prepared, with an open bar ready. Had an American millionaire requested Chaveau Blanc instead of Indian Sula Red, Behzad would have obliged. Despite the taste buds’ damage from the pony’s sway at 4,000 meters, the evening ends with a game of cribbage, a round of Scrabble, and a single malt in hand, ushering in a slightly early night.
Observers rise at dawn to search for tracks, while guests enjoy French press coffee and pomegranate juice before tackling the rugged mountains. Behzad offers several regular departure dates, but most groups are private, primarily from America, Britain, and Australia. Many are avid hikers, but the primary motivation is trophy wildlife photography. British birdwatchers camp out in the “Land of Dreams,” targeting the snow cock and Tibetan snow partridge. Golden eagles and bearded vultures soar majestically above, eyeing any carcass that comes into view.
From a conservation perspective, the Jammu and Kashmir Wildlife Protection Department, which manages Hemis, has initiated a 24-hour snow leopard monitoring project. In early 2019, they installed 650 hidden cameras and traps in the Rumtse watershed area. The plan was to capture four male and two breeding females by cleverly placing traps near rocks where animals mark their territory by rubbing or urinating.
By April, they had gleaned precious life data from three male snow leopards. These males had been trapped, anesthetized, and equipped with high-tech collars before being released. Each male, once ensnared, would pull at the trap and wait patiently for the keeper to fit the collar and set him free. Only one female, who had sprung the trap, managed to figure out how to loosen it and saunter away. It was a scientific disappointment, but snow leopards are solitary creatures, and a female must hunt for her cubs for two years. In the heavy weight of responsibility, there is no room for recklessness.
Snow leopards can take down urials, Asian ibexes, bharals, and even wild yaks.
Before I had finished my first cup of coffee, the phone rang with urgent news. The fourth male had been captured. We mounted the horses and made our way over rocks and streams. Kenrab stood tall, a rifle in hand. With a sigh, the arrow found its mark, and the captured snow leopard collapsed to the ground. Unlike other big cats, snow leopards lack the ability to roar. Instead, this second snow leopard emitted a low growl used during mating. I carefully reached for its hind legs. The fur was long and dense, the feet disproportionately large for snow adaptation, and the hair on the pads designed for grip on rocky terrain. The tail, as long as its body, lay heavily on the ground. When in motion, it serves as crucial ballast for balance, and when at rest, it becomes a protective cocoon for warmth.
Within minutes, the collar was fitted. Once this project is completed, all collars will be remotely released. In the meantime, Kenrab administered an antidote, and the snow leopard began to regain consciousness. Humans are not part of their food chain, but they still dislike us. It soon became alert, leaping onto rocks and gracefully ascending the mountain, disappearing over the ridge. On the other side, could there be an unwary bharal? Given my luck with snow leopards, it was likely.
The Reference Article 雪豹の神秘: 厳寒の地で獲物を狙う勇者たちの物語
