
Finger Trees below Nadi
I’ve pontificated on water, global warming, traditional arts and culinary misadventure. Seems, then, like it’s time to talk about wood. The forests around the lower Himalaya are historically lush, ranging from semi-tropical rainforest to high alpine jungle. They boast a wider array of flora and fauna than that seen in most parts of the world. In one day, I could count dozens of kinds of butterflies and insects of all shapes, colors and sizes. Larger animals too, of course — from wild chickens and other similarly sized birds, to no fewer than seven or eight types of wild cats. We may have spotted the fleeing end of a leopard today. Or maybe just a local monkey. There are dozens of varieties of rhododendron, and many many other kinds of trees, undergrowth plants, and flowers.
Yet the forests are fragile. Warmer climate has combined with overpopulation in the mountains to place inordinate pressure on the ecosystems. I am learning that felling of trees for timber, cutting of branches for fodder for animals, and construction of roads on steep mountainsides all play a role.
Good grazing ground for cows and other animals is too scarce for the load of the growing population. The popularity of cow breeds (namely the Jersey), deemed to be greater milk producers but actually not so good when not fed their premium diet, have made matters worse. They cannot graze the steep slopes as their more nimble mountain cow counterparts can, and thus their owners resort to chopping branches from trees to feed. Whole forests of oak are slowly dying because of this, over-chopped of their prolific boughs. Government- and privately-controlled lands, and places too far away from villages, are the last vestiges of uncut forest. I’ve started calling them ‘finger trees’, for the way they appear like fingers pointing towards the sky.
Roads, though a boon for development, new forms of livelihood, and communication, are not such a boon to the forest. Since the terrain is so steep, huge swaths must be cut to make switchbacks, and often the re-engineered banks cannot support the old growth.
In the place of ancient forest, many slopes now only support a peppering of large, piney trees — tapped by the locals for the makings of turpentine. These trees do not support the kind of lush microclimates that the old forests did, and they allow for continued drying-out of soils and ecosystem.
That’s the bad news. The good news is that there are some places that have never seen an axe taken to their old trees. High up and away from the margin of human habitation, virgin forests still exist. And while also affected by climate change, it’s a little less conspicuous.

Vista near Laka
Last Saturday the weather allowed for visit. On a scramble up to Laka, an outlook and mountain saddle at around 11,300 ft, climbing along the ridge from Dharamkot towards the first high range of the Himalaya, ancient herder trails weave from high, lush pasture through gnarled groves of long-standing oak and pine. Snow lingered on the northern slope and I dreamt of skiing. From there, the route to the high range is traceable in one direction. In the other direction, one can see clear down to the plains, to lower Dharamsala, Kangra, and beyond. Yet tucked away from direct sight of the nearest towns of McLeod Ganj and Bagsu, it is quiet. The high perch meadow of Triund, a popular day-hike destination, nestles 1,700 ft below.
This is the abode of passing Gaddi herders, crows, spirits, and the occasional rambler-through. Though I don’t know — but doubt — that these areas are formally protected, they are as-yet unaccessible to the general population, and seem safe for the time being.
[points to anyone who got the obscure reference to the young adult bestseller, So Far from the Bamboo Grove]