You Don’t Find a Snow Leopard, It Finds you!

A Safari Journal from Ladakh

Written by Bobby-Jo Vial

There are very few places in the world that change the pace of your thinking.

Ladakh is one of them.

Long before I saw my first snow leopard, the mountains had already given me something far more unexpected, clarity.

The towering peaks, the silence, the warmth of the Ladakhi people and the the slower pace of life, all have a way of stripping back the noise we carry with us. It’s impossible to arrive here and not feel something shift.

Of course, I came hoping to show my Honey Badgers, as I affectionately call the wonderful guests who travel with me, one of the world’s most elusive predators. Every safari host dreams of seeing the excitement on their guests’ faces when a snow leopard finally appears through the scope.

But Ladakh had something else in mind.

This journey wasn’t only about searching for the Ghost of the Mountains. It was about discovering why people return to this remarkable place again and again.

Returning to the Himalayas

As our aircraft began its descent into Leh, cameras started appearing at every window.

Outside, the snow covered peaks of the Trans Himalayas stretched as far as the eye could see. It was impossible not to stare. I smiled as I watched my Honey Badgers excitedly photographing the mountains through the tiny plane windows. Before we’d even landed, the adventure had already begun.

The moment the aircraft door opened, we were greeted by the crisp mountain air. It felt like the freshest air I’d ever breathed. It was literally breathtaking, and not just because we had arrived at an altitude of around 3,500 metres. Every one of us paused for a moment, taking that first deep breath as we looked around in amazement.

Although this was my second snow leopard expedition, it was my first time exploring Ladakh. My previous journey had taken me to Kibber in Spiti Valley, so returning to the Himalayas felt both familiar and completely new. There was an unmistakable sense of peace about being back amongst these mountains, but also the excitement of stepping into a landscape I had never explored before.

Every morning throughout the safari, I reminded myself of something I’ve learnt over years of guiding wildlife safaris:

Always have hope.

Wildlife has an incredible way of appearing when you least expect it.

Of course, I desperately wanted my Honey Badgers to experience the thrill of seeing a snow leopard, but I also hoped they would fall in love with everything else Ladakh had to offer. The monasteries, the people, the culture and the vast mountain landscapes make this one of the most extraordinary places I’ve ever visited.

Finding a snow leopard isn’t simply difficult.

It’s like searching for a needle in a haystack.

In many ways, you don’t find a snow leopard.

It finds you.

We spent our first three nights in Leh acclimatising to the altitude before heading deeper into snow leopard country. Those first few days gave us time to explore ancient monasteries with our wonderful local guide, Rigzin, and begin settling into the slower rhythm of life in Ladakh.

Looking back now, those first few days were about much more than acclimatising to the altitude.

Without realising it, Ladakh was already teaching us to slow down.

Lessons From The Mountains

Our first few days in Leh weren’t spent searching for snow leopards.

They were spent slowing down.

While our bodies adjusted to the altitude, our minds were introduced to a very different way of life. Ancient monasteries perched impossibly on rocky cliffs, colourful prayer flags dancing in the wind and a culture deeply rooted in Buddhism all encouraged us to pause, breathe and simply be present.

We were incredibly fortunate to spend those days with our local guide, Rigzin.

Born and raised in Leh, Rigzin had an incredible knowledge of Ladakh’s history, culture and Buddhist traditions. It didn’t take him long to work out that I was leading the safari and, from that moment on, he made it his personal mission to take the absolute piss out of me whenever he had the chance. We spent the day laughing, swapping stories and quickly became good mates.

But it wasn’t his knowledge that stayed with me the most.

It was his kindness.

As we travelled between monasteries, Rigzin quietly saved some of his lunch to feed the local street dogs. It was such a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes about the compassion that seems to run so deeply through the people of Ladakh. I remember laughing and telling him he was going straight to the moon.

He just smiled.

Later that day, Rigzin shared one of the most meaningful Buddhist stories I’ve ever heard.

The story of the Four Harmonious Friends.

It tells of an elephant, monkey, hare and bird who each use their own unique strengths to help one another. Together, they achieve something none of them could accomplish alone. It’s a simple story about respect, kindness and recognising that everyone has something valuable to contribute.

At the time, I simply thought it was a beautiful story.

I had no idea I’d see it again only a few days later.

Shanglung – Valley of the Wolves

After three days exploring the cultural heart of Ladakh, one of our first dedicated wildlife excursions took us to Shanglung, known locally as the Valley of the Wolves.

Sitting at around 4,300 metres above sea level, Shanglung stretches towards Wari La Pass, where the road climbs to more than 5,000 metres. As we gained altitude, the landscape became increasingly dramatic. Snow clung to the highest peaks while the valleys below were a maze of rock, scree and endless ridgelines. It felt like we’d landed on another planet.

Standing in the middle of that vast landscape, I remember quietly thinking, How on earth are we ever going to find wildlife out here?

Joining us that day was another of our wonderful local guides, Dorje, who I’d soon nickname Dorje Cat.

Born and raised in Ladakh, Dorje had an infectious sense of humour and an obvious passion for the mountains he called home. Thanks to our guest Caren, who quickly became Dorje’s unofficial DJ, the soundtracks to our drive became a mix of Metallica, Nirvana, Pink Floyd and David Bowie. To our surprise, Dorje knew every word. Before long, the whole vehicle was singing along as we wound our way through the mountains, and it didn’t take long for everyone to warm to him.

We had barely entered Shanglung when our vehicle slowed.

Two Himalayan wolves stood quietly on the road ahead of us.

For a few precious seconds they looked in our direction before calmly crossing the road and making their way up the mountainside. Once they reached higher ground, they settled down to rest and we spent the next few hours watching one of them through our binoculars and spotting scopes. Although the midday sun created a frustrating heat haze that made photography difficult, none of us cared. We were watching Himalayan wolves in their natural habitat, something I’d only ever dreamed of experiencing.

As the afternoon unfolded, we continued scanning the mountains, taking turns behind binoculars and spotting scopes. It was impossible not to admire the local spotters. Their ability to detect the smallest movement amongst such an immense landscape was nothing short of extraordinary. Every rock, every shadow and every ridgeline became a possibility.

By late afternoon, it looked as though our day was drawing to a close. There had been no sign of a Eurasian lynx, and Dorje admitted they were incredibly difficult to find, perhaps even harder to locate than a snow leopard.

We began packing up our gear when a vehicle came racing down the valley before pulling up beside us. Excited voices filled the air as the driver shouted to Dorje in Ladakhi.

Without hesitation, Dorje turned to us.

“Let’s go! A lynx has been spotted!”

Within moments we were back in the vehicles, racing up the valley before scrambling up a small embankment to join a group of local photographers already peering through their scopes.

Fingers pointed towards a distant ridgeline, and finally we saw it.

Our first Eurasian lynx.

The unmistakable short tail and tufted ears.

Then, just as we were taking it all in, a second lynx appeared.

Then a third.

And finally, a fourth.

A mother with three sub-adult cubs.

Even Dorje couldn’t believe what we were witnessing.

The local guides were over the moon. As we stood reviewing the photographs on the backs of our cameras, more guides wandered over after hearing about the sighting. Phones appeared from every direction as they photographed the backs of our camera screens, excited to see the images we’d just captured. Their enthusiasm was infectious, and sharing that moment with the local guiding community made the experience even more special.

As the sun disappeared behind the mountains and the moon began rising over the ridgeline, the lynx quietly melted back into the landscape.

It had been an unforgettable day, not because we’d gone searching for a lynx, but because Ladakh had reminded us, once again, that the mountains often have plans of their own.

Welcome Home, Mangyu

The evening before our departure from Leh, we met another of our local naturalist guides, Tsering. From the moment we met, I liked him. He had a gentle nature, an easy smile and an obvious passion for the wildlife and mountains of Ladakh. As we chatted, it became clear that this wasn’t simply another place he worked, Mangyu was home.

His family owned and operated Mangyu Lodge, and over the coming week we would become part of that family.

The following morning our three vehicles left Leh and began the two and a half to three hour drive towards Mangyu. The excitement inside the vehicles was building.

Outside, the scenery became more spectacular with every kilometre. Turquoise rivers carved their way through the valleys below while colourful prayer flags lined the roadside. Towering mountains surrounded us in every direction and, although we’d already fallen in love with Ladakh, it somehow became even more beautiful the closer we got to Mangyu.

Around ten minutes before reaching the lodge I spotted something I’d never seen before, a Urial.

Seeing these beautiful wild sheep so close to the road was another first for me and a wonderful reminder that Ladakh has so much more to offer than snow leopards alone.

As we rounded the final corner, the tiny village of Mangyu came into view. Nestled beneath enormous mountains, it immediately felt peaceful.

The village itself was small and full of character. Locals waved as we drove through, many of them related to Tsering. There was a wonderful sense of community that you could feel the moment you arrived.

Waiting to greet us was Tsering’s mum. She welcomed each of us with a traditional silk khata scarf and a warm Ladakhi greeting that instantly made us feel at home.

From the moment we arrived, I felt comfortable. There was something about Mangyu that immediately felt like home.

Trina and I settled into our spacious room, complete with electric heaters and plenty of hot water. In fact, we were often so warm that we’d end up turning the heaters off. After long days in the mountains, it was the perfect place to come back to.

Trina had arrived in our room before me.

As I walked through the door, she had the biggest smile on her face and motioned for me to come over. She knew how much I’d loved Rigzin’s story about the Four Harmonious Friends just a few days earlier. Hanging on the wall was a beautiful banner depicting the elephant, monkey, hare and bird.

We just looked at each other and smiled.

It felt like a little sign.

Only days earlier, Rigzin had shared the story and its message of kindness, respect and helping one another. Now, here it was, quietly welcoming me into my room in the tiny village of Mangyu.

Every morning, Trina and I would pull back the curtains to snow covered mountains stretching across the valley. Before breakfast we’d look for the spotters already scanning the ridgelines and watch the village slowly come to life. Local people quietly attended to their livestock while another day in snow leopard country began.

From the very beginning, Mangyu felt less like a lodge and more like staying with family.

Life moved at a different pace in Mangyu.

The dining room quickly became the heart of the lodge. A crackling combustion fire kept everyone warm as we gathered for breakfast each morning and dinner each evening. It was here that we’d enjoy delicious Ladakhi chai, share stories from the day and discuss our plans for tomorrow’s adventure.

The food quickly became one of the highlights of the safari. Every meal was generous, fresh and absolutely delicious, with plenty of traditional Ladakhi dishes to enjoy. Even our lunches in the field became an experience in themselves. Somehow the lodge team would always find us, no matter where we were. Tables, chairs, cutlery, hot meals, drinks and even dessert would appear in the middle of the mountains. On one occasion they drove more than two and a half hours just to bring us lunch. After a cold morning scanning for wildlife, even a Snickers bar tasted pretty good.

Our evenings became just as memorable as our days. We’d gather around the projector to share our favourite photographs, celebrate the day’s sightings and compare everyone’s images. I also spent time helping guests with editing techniques and photography tips. After our first snow leopard sighting, we finally watched The Velvet Queen, something I’d jokingly banned until we’d seen our first Ghost of the Mountains. Watching it together in the heart of snow leopard country made it even more meaningful.

On our final evening, we carried our cameras outside and photographed the Milky Way stretching across the mountains above Mangyu. Standing beneath that incredible night sky was the perfect way to finish our stay.

Looking back now, what made Mangyu Lodge so special wasn’t just the beautiful location.

It was the people.

Tsering’s family welcomed us as though we were part of their own. Everyone had a role to play, and you could feel the pride they had in their lodge and their community. Tsering’s mum even handmade beautiful little snow leopard toys, and most of us couldn’t resist taking one home as a reminder of our time together.

Mangyu wasn’t just somewhere we stayed for one unforgettable week.

It felt like home.

Learning To Read The Mountains

Breakfast at Mangyu Lodge was usually served between 7.30 and 8.00 each morning.

There was never any rush. If we wanted, we could enjoy a slower start to the day, wander through the village or simply take in the incredible views from the lodge before heading out.

Long before we sat down for breakfast, however, the search had already begun. Around 6.30 each morning, the local spotters would head out into the mountains, spreading themselves across the valleys in search of any sign of snow leopard activity. If they found something, a call would come over the radio. If not, we’d head out in search of Ladakh’s other incredible wildlife, including blue sheep, ibex and urial, or spend time exploring the local village and its people.

Our senior spotter was Tsering’s brother, Stanzin, and watching him work was nothing short of remarkable. The spotters carried Swarovski spotting scopes and somehow managed to pick out the slightest movement across mountains that seemed impossibly vast. Their knowledge of the landscape, their patience and their eyesight left me in complete awe.

One piece of advice from the spotters stayed with me throughout the safari,

“Always scan the ridgelines.”

Snow leopards often move along the tops of the ridges as they travel between valleys, and learning where to look became just as important as having the patience to wait.

Unlike my previous snow leopard safari in Kibber, where much of the searching involved looking down into a large gorge, Ladakh felt completely different. The mountains were enormous. Every valley stretched endlessly into the distance, making the task of finding a perfectly camouflaged cat seem almost impossible.

Sometimes we’d spend an hour scanning a single mountainside, other days we would spend the entire day.

It didn’t take long before I found myself asking the same questions over and over again.

“Was that movement?”

“Did I just see a tail?”

“Or are my eyes playing tricks on me?”

The longer you sat behind a pair of binoculars, the more every rock began to resemble a snow leopard.

As the days passed, all of us became better observers. At first, it felt impossible to spot anything. Then suddenly we were picking out blue sheep, ibex, golden eagles and other wildlife that we’d never have noticed on our first day. Slowly, we were beginning to learn how to read the mountains.

One of the things that impressed me most was the sense of community amongst the local guides. Farmers would report snow leopard sightings if they happened to see one while tending their livestock. Guides from different lodges shared information freely, working together rather than competing with one another. Everyone wanted visitors to experience the magic of seeing a snow leopard, and that spirit of cooperation was something I admired deeply.

Little did we know, everything was about to change.

The First Snow Leopard

We’d been in Mangyu for three days without a snow leopard sighting.

Even though I was starting to feel a little pressure, it was pressure I put on myself. As a safari host, of course I wanted my Honey Badgers to experience the thrill of seeing a snow leopard. But every one of them had arrived in Ladakh understanding that seeing a snow leopard was never guaranteed. They embraced the search for what it was, an experience. We were surrounded by spectacular mountains, incredible wildlife and wonderful people, and I loved that they appreciated every part of the journey.

I had also made one promise.

We weren’t allowed to watch The Velvet Queen until we’d seen our first snow leopard.

On the morning of our fourth day, I walked into the dining room and was pouring myself a cup of chai while everyone slowly got ready for the day. Some of the Honey Badgers were already up, while others were still in their rooms.

Then it happened.

An excited voice burst across the radio.

I don’t speak Ladakhi, but I did at that moment.

There was no mistaking the excitement, a snow leopard had been spotted.

Dorje looked up, broke into the biggest smile and immediately started jumping around with excitement. That was all the confirmation we needed. Suddenly Caren, Anurag and I were hugging, laughing and yelling as we rushed to alert everyone else.

Our senior spotter had found two snow leopards on a distant ridgeline directly opposite the lodge. He’d struggled to get radio reception and had to move before he could call it through.

The cats had already disappeared over the other side of the valley.

We needed to move.

I’ve never seen a group of photographers get ready so quickly. Warm jackets, beanies, cameras and tripods were grabbed in record time before everyone piled into the vehicles. The excitement was unbelievable. At the same time, I kept reminding myself not to get carried away. By the time we reached the valley, they could easily be gone.

Around twenty minutes later, we arrived to find several local guides already in position, patiently watching through their spotting scopes.

Then came the moment I’d been hoping for.

One by one, each of the Honey Badgers looked through the scope for the very first time.

Trina burst into tears.

Watching her reaction made me choke up too. I looked around at the Honey Badgers and couldn’t stop smiling. Moments like these are exactly why I love sharing wildlife with other people.

It was a mother snow leopard and her sub-adult cub. They were a long way off and every time you took your eye away from the scope it seemed impossible to find them again. The spotters, Tsering and Dorje somehow relocated them every single time. Their ability to read the mountains continued to amaze me.

For the next few hours we simply watched them moving effortlessly through the landscape, completely at home in terrain that still felt overwhelming to us.

As if the morning hadn’t already been special enough, the wonderful Mangyu Lodge team arrived with another beautifully prepared lunch and hot chai. We sat together in the mountains, cameras resting on tripods beside us, never taking our eyes too far away from the hillside in case the cats moved. Sharing a hot meal while watching wild snow leopards through our scopes is a memory I’ll never forget.

Not long after lunch, everything changed.

The mother positioned herself beneath a herd of blue sheep while her sub-adult cub remained higher on the slope. Slowly, the blue sheep drifted closer and closer towards the cub. It almost looked as though the mother was using her cub’s presence to satisfy the blue sheep’s curiosity, quietly drawing them into the perfect position for an ambush.

She lay perfectly still.

Like a statue.

The blue sheep edged closer and closer to the cub until they were only a few metres away.

Then everything exploded.

In an instant the sheep realised the danger and scattered across the mountainside, sending huge clouds of dust into the air. At that exact moment the mother charged from below, forcing the herd to change direction once again.

It was like watching dust fireworks on the side of a mountain.

Within seconds, it was over. The blue sheep had won that round.

We all looked at one another in complete disbelief. What we’d just witnessed was so much more than a snow leopard sighting. We’d watched one of nature’s greatest predators doing exactly what it has evolved to do in one of the wildest places on Earth.

The drive back to Mangyu was filled with smiles, laughter and quiet moments of reflection.

What a first snow leopard sighting.

I couldn’t have imagined a better way for my Honey Badgers to experience the Ghost of the Mountains.

A Family of Ghost Cats

After our first snow leopard sighting, the atmosphere around the lodge felt different.

We were more relaxed. The pressure I’d quietly placed on myself had disappeared, and that evening we finally sat down together to watch The Velvet Queen. Watching the documentary in the heart of snow leopard country, after experiencing our own unforgettable sighting earlier that day, gave all of us a much deeper appreciation for what we’d witnessed.

Of course, seeing one snow leopard only made us want to see another.

A few days later we received word of a possible mating pair nearly two and a half hours away, back towards Leh. We didn’t hesitate. We made the drive full of hope, knowing there was a chance we might witness something incredibly special.

For more than five hours we waited.

The pair had disappeared behind a large rock before we arrived and, despite everyone’s patience, they never reappeared. It was disappointing, and the drive back to Mangyu was much quieter than usual.

That’s wildlife.

Sometimes the mountains don’t reward your patience.

The following morning couldn’t have been more different.

I was only half dressed when I heard Anurag outside my room.

“Snow leopard!”

He was blowing a whistle and calling out as he ran between the rooms, making sure nobody missed the opportunity. Within minutes we were all bundled into the vehicles once again.

This time the sighting was much closer to the lodge. A mother snow leopard and her two sub-adult cubs were resting on the mountainside, and we spent almost the entire day with them.

Unlike our first sighting, there was very little movement. The family rested for long periods, occasionally getting up to stretch, play and interact before settling back down again. There was something incredibly peaceful about simply watching them.

The photography was still challenging, but the light was a little kinder than during our first sighting. We all came away with some nice record shots, but more importantly, we spent less time worrying about photography and more time simply enjoying the privilege of watching a wild snow leopard family.

This safari was full of firsts for me. It was the first time I’d ever seen a female snow leopard, the first time I’d seen cubs, and the first time I’d been able to spend so many uninterrupted hours simply watching a snow leopard family in the wild.

Our first sighting had been full of adrenaline.

This one felt completely different.

More relaxed.

There was no hunting attempt, no rush and no pressure.

We simply enjoyed watching a mother and her cubs being snow leopards.

Looking back, I think that’s what made it so memorable.

Somewhere between those two sightings, we also found time for one of the most unexpected highlights of the trip.

A game of cricket with the Mangyu Lodge staff.

Playing cricket at 3,500 metres above sea level isn’t something I’d ever imagined doing, but it was full of laughter, questionable bowling and plenty of friendly competition.

It was another reminder that the best memories often happen when you’re not expecting them.

More Than a Snow Leopard

When I first travelled to the Himalayas in 2009 to trek to Everest Base Camp, I never imagined I’d one day be returning to these mountains leading wildlife photography safaris in search of snow leopards. Back then, simply being surrounded by the Himalayas was enough.

Today, that feeling hasn’t changed.

Ladakh is about so much more than snow leopards.

Yes, the Ghost of the Mountains is what draws many people here, but it’s only one part of an experience that is difficult to put into words. It’s the vast mountain landscapes, the silence, the crisp mountain air, the Buddhist culture, the kindness of the people and the wildlife that has somehow adapted to survive in one of the harshest environments on Earth.

Everywhere you look, there is a sense of peace.

I found myself slowing down.

The mountains seemed to encourage it.

Hours spent quietly scanning ridgelines gave me time to think, reflect and simply be present. There was no rush. No distractions. Just the mountains, the wildlife and whatever thoughts happened to wander through my mind.

One of the greatest lessons I took away from Ladakh came through Buddhism.

Everything is temporary.

It’s a simple idea, but one that stayed with me throughout the trip. Watching the people of Ladakh, I was reminded that happiness isn’t measured by how much we own. It can be found in community, kindness, purpose and a deep connection with the place you call home.

The people of Ladakh also taught me an important lesson about conservation. Our senior spotter shared that, years ago, his family had lost livestock to snow leopards. Like many mountain communities, snow leopards were once seen as a threat. Today, that relationship has changed.

Communities now benefit from responsible wildlife tourism. Local families own lodges, work as guides, become expert spotters and welcome visitors from around the world. The snow leopard has become something worth protecting rather than fearing.

I think that’s one of conservation’s greatest success stories.

At the same time, it’s something we need to protect carefully. Responsible tourism has created opportunities for local communities, but it’s important that it never comes at the expense of the wildlife. These mountains remain the snow leopard’s home, and it’s our responsibility as visitors to ensure they stay that way.

As I boarded the plane to leave Ladakh, I already found myself wanting to return.

Not just for the snow leopards.

For the people.

For the mountains.

For the peace.

Ladakh has a way of finding a place in your heart.

Until Next Time, Ladakh

As I finish writing this Safari Journal, I can’t help but smile.

When I think back to this safari, it’s not just the snow leopards that come to mind.

I remember Dorje’s energy the moment that first radio call came through. I remember Caren spinning the prayer wheels every morning, hoping they might bring us a little luck. I remember Trina’s smile when she discovered the Four Harmonious Friends banner in our room and couldn’t wait to show me. I remember Tsering and his family, who welcomed us into their home and made Mangyu feel like ours for a little while too. I remember the Honey Badgers, who embraced every part of the journey, from scanning mountainsides for hours to sharing stories around the fire each evening.

Ladakh reminded me that the best safaris aren’t just about the wildlife.

They’re about the people you share them with, the places that make you slow down and the moments you never expected to remember.

As I look up from my desk, the Four Harmonious Friends banner now hangs on the wall of my office. It reminds me every day of the kindness of the Ladakhi people and the lessons I brought home with me.

I know I’ll return to Ladakh.

Until then, a little piece of it will always be here with me.

After all…

You don’t find a snow leopard.

It finds you.

“Travelling to the Himalayas with Bobby-Jo Safaris was an unforgettable experience from start to finish. The entire journey was exceptionally well organised, with knowledgeable local guides, comfortable accommodation in both Leh and Mangyu, and incredible wildlife encounters. The itinerary struck the perfect balance between adventure and relaxation, with amazing opportunities to look for wildlife while still having time to enjoy the stunning scenery and wonderful local culture. “

Amy Hindson, Australia

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