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Inserting a small stone into a yak wool sling, Tsering Stobdan whipped his wrist and let the object fly, sending it gliding across the dry land. He told me that this is how he protected his herd from predators and persuaded stray goats to return—just one of the countless skills he’s learned over the past 60 years that has allowed him to raise his animals in such a brutal landscape.

Meanwhile, at about 15,000 feet above sea level, I was just trying to breathe. Here, in a remote region of the Indian Himalayas, on the Changthang plateau, the height left me stunned and out of breath.

Tsering Stobdan is a member of a nomadic community known as the Kharnak, who have for centuries raised yaks, sheep and goats in the high plains of Ladakh in northern India. .

I first visited the area in 2016, in the middle of a long road trip from Cambodia to Berlin. While traveling through Nagaland in northeastern India, I met a man from Himachal Pradesh, a neighboring state of Ladakh, and he told me about the beauty of the Himalayas and the nomadic ways of the people who lived there. Based on their stories, I rented a motorcycle and drove to Leh, the capital city of Ladakh.

In Leh, I contacted a young member of the Kharnak community who took me to meet his family on the Changthang plateau. There I explained my interest in their culture and my intention to document their daily life. They graciously welcomed me during my one month stay and allowed me to participate in almost every aspect of their life.

In 2019 I returned to Ladakh to visit families I met three years ago. This time I spent more than six weeks wandering between the community’s nomadic camps and a small town on the outskirts of Leh.

The Kharnak community, once a thriving tribe, is now shrinking. Younger generations are sent to nearby cities where they can find better health and education opportunities. And although light wool pashmina cut from the bellies of Himalayan mountain goats is a profitable product, life in the mountains is extraordinarily difficult, especially during the winter months.

Today, less than 20 families remain to care for about 7,000 sheep and goats, along with a few hundred yaks. And like Tsering Stobdan, many of those left behind are aging and less able to cope with the daily demands of their jobs.

Climate change has also had a profound impact on Kharnak’s lifestyle. It has become more difficult to predict the weather, especially rain patterns. Due to warming temperatures and overuse of certain pastures, areas that were once full of vegetation are now barren. Small glaciers that have been a reliable source of water for centuries are retreating.

As a result, Kharnak herders are forced to mix their flocks more often and less precisely.

Among these nomadic communities, families and animals live in close interdependence. Milk from sheep, goats and yaks made into cheese, yoghurt and butter forms the basis of the milk-based diet.

Life is tough for Kharnak throughout the year. During the long days of spring and summer, shepherds milk and forage before grazing in the early morning, often walking more than 12 miles a day at altitude. In the evening, another milking and shearing round takes place.

But the work does not end here. Food must be cooked, sheds looked after, carpets must be woven, ropes must be made, manure must be collected for fuel.

But the real challenges come during the winter, when temperatures drop below -30 degrees Fahrenheit. Roads are often blocked and food is scarce. During these long months, from November to April, animals are confined to shelters and fed with government-supplied animal feed.

During the winter, most Kharnaks temporarily move to a town called Kharnakling, located on the outskirts of Leh, about 90 miles from their highlands. While away, they leave their animals in the hands of a few family members and paid shepherds who take care of the animals during the toughest months of the year.

To afford their homes in Kharnakling, many of the nomads had to sell their livestock and leave behind their traditional stone houses and tents in the mountains. And more often, community members give up their old way of life and stay in Kharnakling year-round.

I spoke to a Kharnak elder and one of his grandchildren at their home in Kharnakling. Dava Tundup, who was 83 years old when I met her, had left her nomadic life behind and went to settle near the city where she could live more comfortably and access health services more easily. He said he remembers his days in the Highlands and dreams of returning, but acknowledged that life there had become untenable for most young people due to the lack of suitable schools.

Her granddaughter Karma Tsiring studied in Chandighar, a city about 250 miles to the south. While admitting that in many ways his life was easier than his grandfather’s, he also talked about new forms of oppression that family members had never had to deal with in the past.

Everything in the city is about money, he complained, adding that many consumption-oriented urban values ​​are very different from the value system his ancestors taught at home.

Later, I watched the young men demonstrate ancestral livestock skills, including throwing stones on horseback, while attending a series of traditional festivals held in the mountains. Here, the younger generation’s interest in the culture of their elders was felt, as many had come all the way from the city for this single event.

There was no winner or loser of the festivities. Instead, riders were given chhang, a local Ladakh beer, and a khata, a traditional Tibetan scarf, each time they hit their target.

It was a heartwarming scene: Tribal elders instilling hard-earned wisdom among their eager grandchildren.

Still, one of the biggest concerns among the Kharnaks is how their nomadic wisdom – how certain types of grass, meat, and meat are dried and preserved that certain animals need to survive, how temporary shelters can be built with scarce materials among thousands of people. of other specimens – will disappear in the coming years.

Faced with the threats of intergenerational migration and a changing climate, the rich cultures of these countries, accumulated over the centuries, could be gone in the blink of an eye.