In the Himalayas, sound travels a great distance. A cough on the top of a hill rings through the air like a small thunderclap. It's followed by its own echo. Other things last even longer–such as that completely manmade legacy, plastic.
In a recent order, the Uttarakhand High Court has directed for an environmental audit in response to the government asking for the opening up of 30 peaks and 10 trails for tourists in the state.
The moot question the Court wants answered is how garbage like plastic will be dealt with, and what environmental management plans can be put in place before new areas of the Himalayas are thrown open for commercial tourism.
This is a much-needed strategy in a country where we are usually concerned with how far we can go, without thinking of where we should stop.
In Ladakh last year, a tourist SUV almost sank on the boggy banks of Pangong Lake. A year later, another tourist SUV got stuck on a beach in Goa.
The Himalayan vista. (Photograph: Neha Sinha)
On a recent trip to the Himalayas, I drove through the psychedelia the mountains tend to be–completely different each second. One slope was shrouded in a fog so soupy I couldn't see the road even with fog lamps, and the next slope had cutting sunshine so bright I couldn't see the road without shades.
Nature in the mountains seems gentle and bracing, wilful and violent at the same time. Climate change is likely to make this worse. These are dangerous places, and we need to set boundaries here.
Brown-fronted woodpecker. (Photograph: Neha Sinha)
The Himalayas are a young mountain range, prone to glacial lake outbursts, cloudbursts, rockslides, landslides, and flash floods. Rather than viewing the mountains as something that can be conquered (this is impossible), we should consider what is possible: setting sensible limits to how far we should go and in what numbers, when we should turn back, and what we should not leave behind.
As I climbed the slopes, pausing to look at mossy mountainsides dancing with vividly emerald ferns, the sharp tap-tap of a woodpecker drilling an old tree-trunk was the only sound I could hear.
Grey-hooded warbler. (Photograph: Neha Sinha)
There were smaller birds, warblers, shooting through bushes in a frenzy. And on an ancient oak tree, a frisky, tiny thing skittered up the trunk. This was the Himalayan tree-creeper, a bird that ‘creeps' up tree trunks, jumping vertically and dramatically to find grub.
Two things about the Himalayas strike at once–this is a habitat that is so full of life that it is hard to imagine that humans are the only ones there.
Tortoiseshell butterfly. (Photograph: Neha Sinha)
Huntsman spiders look at you from cottage walls. Centipedes hide in cracks. Butterflies are everywhere. Birds start singing even before dawn.
A place getting even a few drops of water will have lush ferns, wild flowers and grasses growing with intense determination. Leopards pad over pine needles and rocks hold springs like secrets.
In the rains, roads become streams, and slippery moss lathers itself over rocks. Steps that you take can be equal parts invigorating and perilous.
The red-headed vulture. (Photograph: Neha Sinha)
Walking through such a place, my feet sinking into pine needles and slipping on moist rock-beds, a smell slapped my face. It was the scent of a rotting carcass. I paused immediately: a carcass is actually a visual spectacle in the Indian jungles. A carcass can mean a leopard, a tiger, jackal, hyena, eagle, vulture or lion could visit. I didn't have to wait long.
A great flapping filled the sky. A huge bird, with a red head decorated with flaps of extra skin, a black-tipped beak and huge, knife-like talons settled on the side of a slope, waiting for me to leave so it could rip open the carcass. This was the Red-headed vulture, a critically endangered bird today.
Soon, more vultures gathered around–the Egyptian, the Griffon and the White-backed. Tragically, the use of an illegal veterinary drug, diclofenac, has led to a population crash for most of these birds. Deep in the mountains and high up in the skies, you can still see them.
A hare hops out as dusk falls. (Photograph: Neha Sinha)
So, here is the second thing: the Himalayas need conservation for the cloak of protection they extend to our borders, our wildlife and local communities.
The directions of the Court should likewise extend to all areas which are climate vulnerable, fragile, and rich in unique assemblages of life. This includes coastal areas, river deltas, islands and endemic areas like Western Ghat's cloud forests.
Firstly, we should do a waste inventory–what waste is produced, and where does it go? If tourists bring in essential plastics from other places, the plastic should be made to reverse-migrate to places where the plastic can be recycled.
Secondly, we urgently need carrying capacity studies. This is something like knowing how many people can climb on a lifeboat or ride on a lift without sinking the whole enterprise. Such a study should be able to determine how many vehicles can go up a slope, or down a sand dune.
Thirdly, the environmental audit approach is not meant to be prohibitory but regulatory and so, should be welcomed. Good planning can mean that we preserve the sanctity of the places we most like to escape to when city stresses are too much.
With India turning 75, it's worth considering that some of our oldest and most defining characteristics are natural features. Our broad rivers meeting the sea, the Himalayas binding our borders and the mangrove forests girding our coasts have been around much before SUVs. They deserve stewardship. And saving our most fiercely beautiful, natural areas is patriotism in action.
Neha Sinha is a conservation biologist, and the author of ‘Wild and Wilful - Tales of 15 iconic Indian species'.
The views expressed here are those of the author, and do not necessarily represent the views of BQ Prime or its editorial team.
Essential Business Intelligence, Continuous LIVE TV, Sharp Market Insights, Practical Personal Finance Advice and Latest Stories — On NDTV Profit.