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Indu Chitrakar
6 mins Read
Being born and raised in Kathmandu Valley, I grew up seeing the majestic Langtang range to the valley’s north, listening to stories about adventures in the mountains, and flipping through pictures of yaks and their herders in the high Himalaya. I have always been curious about what it would be like to live in the mountains.
Recently, I had the opportunity to explore this curiosity when I travelled with our Rangelands and Wetlands team to Gatlang, a Tamang village in Rasuwa district. We departed from Kathmandu and headed north, riding along the bumpy roads through the scenic hills of Trishuli and onward to Syabrubesi – the stopover for trekkers heading into the Langtang region, central Nepal. From there, a winding uphill road took us to Gatlang, located at an altitude of around 2,200 metres above sea level (masl). Since our work focused on high-altitude grazing pasturelands, known as kharkas in Nepali, we continued our journey, leaving the villages behind and ascending 2,600 masl.
Gatlang is located in Aamachhodingmo Rural Municipality in Rasuwa district and lies in the high mountain region of central Nepal within the subalpine climatic zone, which is a high-elevation climate found just below the tree line on mountains. It’s elevation ranges from 2,000 to 4,000 masl and the climate is shaped by a mix of high summer rainfall and low temperatures, resulting in generally moist conditions, cool summers, cold winters, and a short growing season.
The colleagues accompanying me described the forest vegetation in the area, which included species such as Tsuga dumosa, Abies spectabilis, and Larix nepalensis (locally known as Thingre Salla, Gobre Salla and Lek Salla/Bains respectively) mixed with Rhododendron shrubs.
These species were not only providing tree covers but also acted as an important habitat for wide range of wildlife. However, in 2009, a wildfire destroyed about 400 hectares of forest, engulfing much of these vegetations. The forest since then has struggled to recover. Despite 400 hectares of forest rich in endangered wildlife and plant species was reduced to ashes, a nearby 100-hectare remained untouched by fire – an ecological mystery that stayed with me.
At the kharka, we met several herders who shared their daily experiences and challenges. They talked about changing climate, particularly decline in snowfall, shrinking grazing areas, which have limited the availability of fodder for their livestock. Also, the existing kharkas are invaded by non-palatable plants such as Rumex nepalensis (locally known as Halhaley). As grazing land becomes scarce, herders are seeking access to new areas, while forest authorities are focused on expanding forest cover. This has started to fuel tensions between herders and government authorities. Reflecting these concerns of climate change and migration Mingma Tamang, a local yak herder, said, “Snowfall is no longer the same, temperatures are rising, and many young people are leaving for Kathmandu or going abroad for education and work. This is making herding in the highlands increasingly difficult.”
We stayed at one of just two available homestays near one of the kharkas. Our hosts were warm and welcoming, but the experience revealed the limitations of rural tourism infrastructure. There were limited food supplies and there was a lack of reliable electricity. Because of the unreliable electricity supply, I couldn’t charge my phone and laptop when I needed to.
Gender inequality remains a persistent challenge in Nepal, particularly in rural communities where traditional norms and patriarchal values strongly influence daily life. Sons are often viewed as future breadwinners and carriers of the family name while girls are often expected to take on household responsibilities. This cultural preference became evident during my stay at the homestay, where I met a man in his sixties with an infant (who was less than two years of age).
Assuming he was the child’s grandfather I was surprised to learn that the boy was his son – the sixth child after five daughters. He shared that he had long hoped for a son and spoke enthusiastically about the educational plans he had for him, while his daughters received far fewer opportunities. This was a powerful reminder of how strongly gender preferences continue to influence family planning in many rural areas of Nepal. Such preferences often contribute to larger family sizes, placing significant pressure on the household economy. Hence, challenging such norms is crucial to safeguarding women’s health and expanding their socio-economic opportunities.
One of the most unforgettable moments of my trip was standing in the middle of the burnt forest in Gatlang. The charred remnants of the forest loomed like silent ghosts, frozen in time, offering no hint of natural regeneration. I wondered why the forest had failed to regenerate, even after more than a decade since the disaster. In conversations with local herders and other stakeholders, it became clear that restoring this landscape and building long-term resilience will require a collaborative effort from communities, government, and non-governmental organisations. These discussions also revealed another pressing challenge: the lack of adequate roads and transport services. Improving infrastructure could positively transform the livelihoods of herding families. With greater investment in infrastructure and stronger coordination between herders, cooperatives, and authorities, the mountain dairy economy could really flourish.
This became even more evident when we visited a small dairy factory operated by government-owned Dairy Development Cooperation (DDC). Despite the remoteness and poor road conditions, the local herders regularly delivered milk to the dairy. Yet, the difficult terrain and unreliable transportation posed a constant challenge, sometimes causing even processed dairy products to spoil before reaching the market.
The breathtaking scenery of Gatlang, dotted with flocks of yaks, herders and their homes, will always remain in my memory. Beyond its beauty, I saw how mountain communities tackle their day-to-day challenges, while continuing their livelihoods and nurturing dreams for the future.
Looking at the determination and optimism of the local herders, I am convinced that with better coordination, and targeted investments in infrastructure and local industries, this mountain village can turn its challenges into sustainable opportunities.
Gatlang was more than just a field trip to me. Seeing the strength and resilience of its people left me with a profound respect for both the land and community, and it inspired me to lead my own life with greater motivation and determination.
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