Tsewang Dorjey from Saspochey village in Ladakh, a mountainous union territory in the north of India, recalls his childhood winters when snow leopards frequently roamed nearby in search of prey. Over time, such encounters became rare, fuelling fears that the elusive cat, native to the high mountain ranges of Central and South Asia, was vanishing.
“These interactions used to involve livestock hunting, but over the years they almost disappeared,” Dorjey, 61, tells The National. “People in my village and elsewhere often chased snow leopards, and many animals were even killed because of the damage they caused,” he says, adding that fear also led villagers to reduce their livestock, which contributed to fewer sightings.
The apex predator, which primarily preys on blue sheep, ibex and other mountain ungulates, has begun reappearing in greater numbers during winter over the past five years.
“Their numbers are not as high as they were in our childhood, but certainly much higher than in the last couple of decades,” Dorjey says. “These recent sightings have brought joy to the villagers, as they have also boosted tourism in Ladakh with many visitors from across India and abroad staying here to catch a glimpse.”
The resurgence is reshaping village life. Homestays are flourishing, and local guides lead camera-wielding tourists through the frostbitten trails of Hemis National Park and Rumbak Valley. Once viewed only as a threat to livestock, the snow leopard has now become both a beloved wild animal and an economic opportunity, weaving together ecology and livelihood in a region where winter once meant isolation.
Jigmet Dadul, one of the world’s leading snow leopard guides, says Ladakh is home to about 477 of the big cats, referring to a two-year-old survey conducted jointly by the Ladakh's Wildlife Department and the Wildlife Institute of India.
“The survey was carried out in two phases. First, researchers walked thousands of kilometres across the landscape, recording signs such as pugmarks, scrapes and rock scent to map areas of presence,” Dadul tells The National. “Based on this, nearly a thousand camera traps were deployed across selected sites. Using the unique rosette patterns on each cat’s forehead, scientists identified individuals and applied spatial capture-recapture models, producing the first reliable population estimate for Ladakh,” he adds.
Dadul guides 30 to 40 visitors each year, mostly between October and March. “The mating season, from January to March, makes spotting easier as the animals call out to attract mates,” he says. “In summer, sightings are rare since the snow leopard’s skin blends with its surroundings.”
Wildlife photographer Morup Namgail believes the growing population is a sign of hope. Conservation programmes led by the local Wildlife Department and NGOs have strengthened protection efforts, which contributed to the International Union for Conservation of Nature reclassifying the snow leopard from endangered to vulnerable in 2017.
“Advancements in science and technology have made surveys easier,” Namgail says. “The Ladakh administration has also designated specific areas where snow leopards can be observed without disturbing either the animals or local communities.”
These safe zones, Namgail says, balance the needs of wildlife and villagers, fostering a fragile coexistence that offers both protection for the predator and prosperity for the people.
Meanwhile, for Saspochey residents, the snow leopard’s return is a bridge between past and future.
“Some people in various villages have come up with small hut-like structures, where they, along with the guests, sit and watch, rediscovering their bond with the wild,” Dorjey says. “The snow leopard reminds us that survival here is about balance. If the cat thrives, so do we.”
