Some dreams don’t fade.
They stalk you.
Since seventh grade, one thought refused to leave me:
“I will see the snow leopard. Not a photo. Not a documentary. The real one.”
2023 – Ladakh.
I searched the mountains like a madman.
What did I get?
Footprints.
Just paw marks pressed into snow —
like the leopard signed its name and vanished.
Mockery?
Maybe.
Challenge?
Definitely.
2024 — I went back.
Same altitude. Same thin air. Same obsession.
And for a few unreal seconds,
the Ghost of the Himalayas appeared.
Not loud. Not dramatic.
Just a silent shape moving across white infinity.
I captured it through my lens.
But honestly?
It captured me.
That’s when it stopped being wildlife photography.
It became a pursuit.
2025 – Spiti Valley
We left Chandigarh not as tourists.
As hunters of a shadow.
First halt — Sangla.
Golden evening. Snow peaks glowing like they knew secrets.
The villagers laughed easily —
people who live close to mountains learn humility fast.
As the sun bled into red and orange, I sat staring at the peaks.
Inside my head:
“This is not a trip.
This is tracking season.”
Into the Cold – Sangla to Chisam
Morning in Spiti doesn’t wake you.
It tests you.
Breath turns to smoke.
Roads turn to glass.
Trees stand leafless — stripped down to survival mode.
Perfect snow leopard country.
The Spiti River flowed beside us — clear, cold, disciplined.
Everything here survives by adapting.
Nothing survives by complaining.
Human presence faded.
Villages became rare.
Smoke from chimneys felt like fragile proof of life.
Up here, you understand something simple:
This is not our world.
We are visitors.
The snow leopard?
It belongs.
Near the Border – Where Silence Thickens
As we neared the higher villages close to the Chinese border, the terrain grew harsher.
Mountains looked sharper.
Wind grew louder.
Life grew smaller.
This is why the snow leopard thrives.
No noise.
No crowd.
No mercy.
It doesn’t chase.
It waits.
It doesn’t roar.
It disappears.
Every ridge I looked at, I imagined a pair of grey eyes watching.
The truth about snow leopards is brutal:
You don’t find them.
They decide whether you are worthy of seeing them.
Key Monastery – Between Survival and Stillness
Then came Key Monastery — standing like patience carved in stone.
Humans built that on a mountain that doesn’t forgive mistakes.
That’s attitude.
Snow stretched in every direction — blank, pure, deceiving.
Perfect camouflage.
Somewhere in those ridgelines, the apex predator of this ecosystem walks like a whisper.
No announcement.
No footprint unless it chooses.
Up here, survival is philosophy.
The ibex watches the cliffs.
The fox scans the valley.
The raven circles above.
And somewhere unseen —
the snow leopard calculates.
Energy conservation.
Precision movement.
One perfect strike.
That’s not just wildlife.
That’s discipline.
The Realization
Standing in Spiti, I understood something clearly:
I am not chasing an animal.
I am chasing mastery.
The snow leopard survives where most life fails.
High altitude. Thin oxygen. Brutal winters. Scarcity.
And yet it doesn’t struggle loudly.
It adapts quietly.
That’s power.
And that’s why this dream never left me.
Because spotting a snow leopard is not luck.
It is patience.
Endurance.
Humility.
In these white valleys, only two things matter:
Who can wait longer.
And who can see without being seen.
The mountains are silent.
But I know this much—
Somewhere in Spiti,
the Ghost is walking.
And I’m still walking too. 
Copyright Notice: The photographs contained on this story, are the property of Jothi Manikandan and are protected under copyright laws. All Photographs are copyrighted. No permission, either express or implied, is granted for the electronic transmission, storage, retrieval, or printing of the photographs. Express written permission must be granted, on behalf of the photographer (copyright holder, Jothi Manikandan), in order to use these photographs for any purpose.
