People often imagine a snow leopard expedition as a long trek through deep snow. It is not. It is a day of patience, warmth where you can find it, and long periods of stillness, broken, if you are fortunate, by a moment you will remember for the rest of your life.
Before dawn
The spotters leave the lodge in the dark, around six. They know the valleys the way you know your own street: which ridges a cat likes to cross, which rocks it marks, where the blue sheep grazed yesterday. They split into two teams and climb to vantage points, set up their scopes, and begin to scan.
You wake to hot tea. By the time you have dressed in every layer you own, the first radio messages may already be coming in.
First light
On a clear morning, the sun touches the highest ridges first, turning the rock gold while the valley is still blue with cold. This is the moment that gave Odzer its name: odzer, rays of light. It is also one of the best moments to find a cat, moving along a ridgeline before settling for the day.
We join the spotters at a viewpoint, usually a short drive and a walk of ten to thirty minutes. Then we wait, and scan.
When a cat is found
Everything changes quietly. A spotter will say a few words into the radio. We move, without hurrying, to the best position, and a scope is turned for you to look through.
At first you may see nothing: grey rock, grey snow, shadow. Then the shadow moves. A tail, as long as the body, curls over a rock. A head lifts. You are looking at a snow leopard.
It may be 400 metres away, or a kilometre. It may be resting, and stay for hours. It may be stalking blue sheep, or walking a ridge and gone in a minute. We stay as long as the cat is at ease, never move closer, and leave if it shows any sign of disturbance.
The middle of the day
If the morning is quiet, we return to the lodge for a hot meal and rest. Snow leopards are often least active in the middle of the day, and so, at 4,000 metres in winter, are people. Some guests sleep; some read; some sit with the spotters and hear their stories.
If a cat is resting in view, lunch comes to us.
The afternoon
By mid-afternoon we are back at a viewpoint as the light lengthens. Late afternoon, like dawn, is a good time: cats wake and begin to move. We scan until the light fades, and the cold drives us home.
The evening
On the first evening of every expedition, and often after, I talk by the fire about the snow leopard and the story of how Ladakh came to protect it. Most evenings, the talk turns to what we saw that day: why a cat chose that ridge, what the blue sheep were telling us, how the villages below have changed.
We record every sighting in the expedition log, which is shared with Ladakh's Department of Wildlife Protection for long-term research. At the end of your journey, you receive your own Field Journal of the days you spent with us, a signed copy of my book, and a gift hamper made by the village communities.
What makes a good day
Not every day brings a snow leopard. Some bring wolves, a lammergeier dropping bones on the rocks, or a herd of ibex outlined on a ridge. Some bring nothing but wind and light. All of them are part of it. The snow leopard has lived in these mountains far longer than we have searched for it, and it keeps its own counsel. That, in the end, is why seeing one feels like a gift.
Join us in the field