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Listening to Manang

  • Writer: Rubina Karki
    Rubina Karki
  • Jun 3
  • 9 min read

Updated: Jun 10

Narratives from people living through the climate crisis


Rubina Karki



“What is the highest-altitude lake in Nepal?” This question as part of my school book trivia stood with a provocative challenge, and was also my first encounter with Tilicho Lake in my early teens. 


I recall monologuing, “How high is too high?” Studying in the Jhapa district, in the lowlands of Nepal, lofty landscapes pique your fancy. However, like most childhood questions tend to wane as we get entangled with our quotidian life, as did my curiosity about lakes.


Tilicho Lake, again made a comeback in my life during my studies on disaster management. This time it was not a quiz, but a planned case study for my research. The very first lesson that expounded on the impacts of climate change on the majestic yet vulnerable water towers of Nepal and the Himalayas. 


Science showed that the face of the pale blue dot was morphing. Anthropogenic stressors were to blame. But, so what? Here I was passively soaking in the lectures, where humidity and chills were urban inconveniences that could easily be moderated with a thermostat dial or a remote in the room. I wondered what climate change meant to the people living close to the mountains. And what socioeconomic impacts did they experience? While these questions lend to a large-scale study, my thesis was a modest one. I sought stories and lived experiences that could be corroborated with scientific studies.



Ascent into Manang


I chose Manang, once etched in my childhood mind, as my research site.  Tilicho Lake bejewels the Manang district of Nepal, on the northern side of the Himalayas. This isolated district is around 150 km away from Kathmandu. Since the lake is only accessible on foot, I would experience a strenuous but adventurous journey in the rugged and harsh terrains for 12 days. Trekking would also give me plenty of opportunities to engage with the locals while I enjoyed the glory of the breathtaking landscapes and hence, my journey began.


Manang’s landscape was mesmerising-the towering Himalayan peaks pierce the sky above while tiny streams weave through arid terrains below. The people in Manang were largely dependent on two major economic pillars for livelihood: eco-tourism and agriculture, subsistence farming and livestock rearing. I was keen on understanding about the region’s tourism and its relationship with climate change.


Broken Paths


Following the trekking trail along the Marshyangdi river, I found myself mostly interacting with tea house owners, and farmers. They shared keen observations about the shifting weather patterns, while hinting towards bigger concerns, as I soaked in every detail. 


Marshyagdi river gushing in a frigid dusk crossed over by a battered bridge from a recent flood
Marshyagdi river gushing in a frigid dusk crossed over by a battered bridge from a recent flood

In recent years, with accessible roads the trekking duration has decreased significantly. SUVs like Boleros can now rumble on the roads where previously, the only sound once was that of footsteps. While I hiked from Chame, Manang's headquarters with its urban amenities of stores, banks, and pharmacies, the contrast became apparent in comparison to Koto, a small village,  just hours earlier. The tea houses and stray kiosks are dispersed spaciously. In Koto, I made an acquaintance with Man Gurung, a tea house owner who had lived in the region his entire life.


Man Gurung, a 55-year-old tea house owner in Koto, shared his frustrations as we sat on his wooden porch overlooking the village. “The once congested roads were widened in hopes of easing transportation and commute,” he explained, pointing to the carved mountainside. “Before the benefits of these wide roads could be realised, we now face new issues. Unexpected heavy rains trigger landslides in these road sections, and transportation grinds to a halt. Their overpowering currents have also swept away small bridges.”


Interview in a Tea House in Koto. Man Gurung (Far Left), Gurung’s Wife (Center), Research Associate, Dipak( Far Right)
Interview in a Tea House in Koto. Man Gurung (Far Left), Gurung’s Wife (Center), Research Associate, Dipak( Far Right)

Man’s tea house, a two-story stone structure with traditional wooden beams, had become a gathering place for locals discussing these challenges. He recalled a recent landslide that had blocked the road for weeks, preventing essential supplies from reaching the village and tourists from entering the region. “We now collect funds from hotel owners to maintain sections of the road ourselves,” he added. “The government cannot respond rapidly enough when disasters strike. So we have to do some of the maintenance ourselves.” His frustration echoes a pattern noted across the Himalayas. Studies show that extreme rainfall events, increasing in intensity due to climate change, are now undermining infrastructure development in the Annapurna region. In June 2024, floods blocked the only road linking Chame to the main highway, isolating villages for days and stalling tourism and supply routes.


Agricultural Uncertainty


The next morning, I reached Manang village through an arduous ascent. The village lay alongside the Marshyangdi River, its grandeur lay in barren land and dry terrains dotted with modern and traditional stone houses. Buddhist prayer flags danced in the breeze, splashing color across the dry landscape. 


In one of the stone houses, basking in the morning sun on the patio, Khamsung Gurung, a 63-year-old farmer, wore a contagious smile on his face. Donning muddy rubber boots, he seemed to be resting from a round of tillage on his field. Khamsung revealed to me that his whole family cultivated the same fields for generations. His weathered hands worked the soil as we spoke about changing agricultural patterns. “In the past, we used to witness rainfall during expected times, and we would cultivate our fields accordingly,” Khamsung explained, gesturing to his modest potato field. “But these days, we cannot even predict the rainfall pattern.” His voice carried the weight of uncertainty as he described how unpredictable weather had forced him to abandon traditional seasonal calendars passed down through generations.


Khamsung led me to a storage room where grain supplies were noticeably diminished compared to what he described as normal. A recent study by Tiwari et al., has also concluded that increasing incidences of climate stressors, such as untimely rainfall in mountainous settlements, are one of the underlying causes of crop diversity loss. 


As night approached we sat around Khamsung’s hearth sharing butter tea, I asked myself: Could these events be definitively linked to climate change? The scientific consensus suggested yes, but I needed to hear more local perspectives on this. On my way back to the hotel, I met Tshering Gurung, 47. He shared, “Usually, we grow crops using melted snow. But now, we do not get as much snow as we used to. Even when it snows, we are unsure when it falls and when we even begin our cropping cycles. It’s been challenging, especially for people like us who have no other means for income other than farming.” 


Interview with Tsering & his wife, hotel owner and subsistence farmer.
Interview with Tsering & his wife, hotel owner and subsistence farmer.

According to recent news , it was reported that Manang is experiencing an unusually dry winter with freezing temperatures but no snowfall. The report highlights growing concerns over irrigation shortages and disruptions to farming practices.


False Boom


The next morning, we set out on our short journey to Gangapurna Lake, nestled at 3500 meters above sea level, fed by the Gangapurna glacier and framed by its namesake mountain. Months later, after completing my research, I came across a study, which stated that the Gangapurna glacier  is retreating at an alarming rate due to warming temperatures in the Himalayan Region. 



Gangapurna Lake's glacial majesty meets ancient Manang Village in a panoramic view
Gangapurna Lake's glacial majesty meets ancient Manang Village in a panoramic view

The recurring events of floods and landslides in Manang have not been free of economic toll. In May and June 2021, the district witnessed floods in the nearby river destroying houses, bridges, schools, and roads in several villages along the Tilicho trekking trail.  The remnants of such devastation were still visible along the trail. I could see collapsed bridges along the way, soil debris covering some portions of the trekking trail, and many stories from the locals recalling the events. 


After days of grit and determination and nights of struggle, we finally reached Tilicho Base Camp, the final stretch before Tilicho Lake. At dawn, we ascended 5000 meters, and I could hardly contain my excitement. The child in me was beaming with pride at finally witnessing what was once merely a piece of information in my textbook. 



Back at Tilicho Base Camp 
Back at Tilicho Base Camp 

On our way back to base camp, I met Netra Pariyar, a 48-year-old guide who has been leading trekkers through these mountains for over two decades. Adjusting his worn red cap adorned with the Nepal flag, he caught me off guard with a different perspective on climate change. “More foreigners come now,” he noted, while swirling instant coffee mix in his thermosteel flask’s lid, doubling up as a cup. With a mix of pride and concern, he stated further, “The weather’s kinder - even during winter, we have warm weather, and the trail is safer with less snowfall. It is cozy for trekkers and us too.” Rising temperatures, it seemed, were a huge plus for tourism - at least for now. As I spoke with more people, a deeper reality emerged. This changing climate, more specifically the rising temperatures, would only be welcoming for now, in the short term, but they dreaded its long-term consequences and worried about their revenue.


Interaction with locals en route to Khangsar.
Interaction with locals en route to Khangsar.

One local put it bluntly: “If this continues, I know for certain that I will have to find other options to earn money. Less snow means those majestic peaks and iconic trails will fade away. Tourists will stop visiting us.”  These narratives capture the irony that short-term gains from a warming climate mask the real long-term impending jeopardy to the mountain economy. Research supports their concerns; rising temperatures are indeed altering the Himalayas’ appeal.


Cumulative Alarm


Better roads, cosy accommodations, and amenities have led to the surge in tourism in Manang. But the region is not devoid of threats from climate change: rising temperatures, erratic rainfall, and shrinking snow cover. Researchers have long warned about these changing climatic patterns and now it is not just theory—it is altering the land and the lives tied to it in the greater Himalayan regions of Nepal.  I realise that climate change isn’t mere figures or slogans; it’s a reality in the lives of Man, Khamsung, Tshering, and Netra. 


Standing at Tilicho’s edge, I begin to understand that, while climate change is understood by scientific data, facts, figures, and projections, it is equally important to document the lived experiences of people impacted by it. They not only humanise the crisis but also offer invaluable context and delineate urgent priorities and needs. In the classroom, climate change was just a concept to me, but by being in Manang, it was an empirical reality. These voices are not just explorations of ground happenings; they are also the warning signs, a call to act before consequences turn irreversible.





References

Writer

Rubina Karki grew up in the lush greenery of Ilam, Nepal, with roots in her village, Jeetpur, where she spent most of her childhood immersed in the calming simplicity of life, surrounded by dense alder trees and tea gardens. She holds a Bachelor's in Environmental Science and a Master’s in Disaster Management. Throughout her academic and professional career, she has developed a keen interest in understanding the impact of climate change on vulnerable communities and finding sustainable solutions to mitigate its effects.


Editor  

Nilanjana Sinha is an Assistant Professor of Literature at Sikkim Manipal University. Her writings and research span across the sub-Himalayan region. She is based out of Kalimpong, India.


Photo credits

All photos are by the author.

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