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Behind the Image October 2024: Brahmaputra River, Bangladesh/India

Fisher returns, Brahmaputra River, Bangladesh/India

This image (above) is taken on the Brahmaputra River, on the Bangladesh/India border. These two fishers are going back to home on a Char (pronounced ‘chore’), a river island that gets formed by the power of the Brahmaputra depositing sediment and building islands. The river builds, but the river also takes away, and in floods chars are often eroded and/or destroyed. These fishers, and those living on chars have very precarious lives and livelihoods.

I was on a boat going to a char to visit one of the NGOs who work in the health field – who bring a hospital boat to chars to provide health care to those who live there. When I was there, an ophthalmologist was conducting surgery on cataracts to restore sight.

Every now and then when you’re in the field, you are privileged to see what happens as one of the ‘thousand little stories of resilience’ that occur with little fanfare or recognition. It was quite extraordinary to see the impact of the NGO and to hear stories from the chars and from the boat.

This image is part of one of those stories.

Behind the image, September 2024: Rishi Ganga gorge, Indian Himalaya

Rishi Ganga gorge

The Rishi Ganga gorge is etched into the history of Nanda Devi and its sanctuary in the Indian Himalayan state of Uttarakhand. Nanda Devi (7816m) and its sanctuary, massive mountains making access to Nanda Devi complex, is now a National Park and World Heritage area. The Rishi Ganga gorge provides a sense of Nanda Devi’s protective fortress. Nanda Devi is at the top left corner of the image.

I was fortunate to be in the area with a group from Lata village, at the gateway to the area. The village’s connection to the area and to Nanda Devi goes back centuries.

On a personal level, this particular trek for some reason reminded me of reading Howard Newby’s book ‘A Short Walk in the Hindu Kush’, a book that was so influential in developing my interest in mountains and their people, and a professional life at the intersection of communities and landscapes.

Personhood and the rights of nature

Over the last few years there’s been increasing debates in some quarters about the rights of nature and the feasibility of bestowing ‘personhood’ to landscapes or parts of landscapes. This is something that has many parts. It can be about legal protections, recognition of the ways First Nations people view landscapes or the natural world or a deeper ethical position on the rights of nature (even though, for some, bestowing personhood seems to contradict the idea of nature’s rights).

They’re interesting debates with some contradictions and limitations. However, they do share a common attempt to strengthen the rights of and protection of nature. You can see an interesting recent piece from The Guardian, written by Patrick Barkham, here.

*This is also published at localslowtravel.com

Why the Yeti matters

“Why isn’t the Mirka here?”

I was in a valley deep within the Himalayas, discussing my list of local endangered animals with a group of herders.

“They’re very difficult to find.  But you can if you follow their trails.”

The comment certainly didn’t have all the herders nodding in agreement- there was plenty of animated disagreement and some scoffing laughter. 

Nevertheless, the herder stood by his question.  There was just one problem- I had no idea what a Mirka was.  I asked the assembled group to explain the term.

‘Yetis’ one of the other herders replied.

For me, this interaction highlights something that goes well beyond the work that drew me to this valley in the first place.  This was the moment I realised the Yeti represents two inherently connected worlds – wild places, and the stories of ‘wildness’ that go with them.  

This herder had summed up a very complex relationship in one sentence.

That was twelve years ago.  Over my time working in the Himalayas, I’ve heard other stories of Yetis – sometimes told to much laughter, sometimes to serious nodding.  Irrespective of the reaction, local people thought it important enough to mention the Yeti in discussions about establishing sustainable futures for their valleys and landscapes.

It was around the time of my discussions with the herders that Reinhold Messner wrote his book My Quest for the Yeti.  His mission in part was to prove the existence or otherwise of a strange creature he had encountered in a Tibetan forest. 

Trying to answer the question ‘Does it exist’ is nothing new.  To my mind though, this is the wrong question.  The bigger and more important question?  ‘What if the things that gave rise to the possibilities of its existence no longer exist’?

What happens when the biological and ecological wildness that could hide the Yeti – make its existence a perpetual ‘maybe’ – start to disappear?  This is a question that in many ways goes to the heart of the protection and conservation of mountain landscapes.

A related question: what if the rich cultural traditions that house Yeti stories are lost, because of social change, modernisation and science ‘proving’ it doesn’t exist?  This is a question of the centrality of cultural diversity and cultural traditions to the resilience of mountain communities.

The Yeti is a window into the diverse and rich cultural connections people have with ecosystems and landscapes in the Himalayas.  The legend’s gradual disappearance mirrors the gradual disappearance of these connections.

To look through this window, to discover the links and the pressures, you need to follow the Yeti’s trails.

Behind the Image, Jun 2024: Early Morning, Murray River, Albury

I remember having a conversation with a good friend about the Murray River, and how most of us just treat it as a river or something to drive over. Yet it’s a state border, has deep meanings for indigenous/first nations people of the area and of course has many meanings depending on if you’re a fisher, an irrigator, a swimmer and so on.

Over the last two years or so, I’ve come to embrace early morning encounters with the river – across all seasons and all weather. Walks, rides, canoeing, looking for platypus, listening as the day begins, drinking coffees. All are part of my on-going relationship with the river.