Dachigam National Park

Listen first. Water runs fast over smooth grey stones somewhere below the path, and the air carries the cool, damp smell of fallen leaves and pine resin. Birds call from the canopy. A breeze moves through the valley and the treetops answer with a long, soft hiss. Only a short drive from the houseboats and markets of Srinagar, the city noise is already gone. In its place is a narrow mountain valley that has been guarded, in one form or another, for more than a century.

This is Dachigam National Park. The name is usually explained as meaning "ten villages", a reference to the settlements that were moved out of the valley when it was first set aside for protection. Today the park covers roughly 140 square kilometres of steep Himalayan terrain on the edge of the Zabarwan range. It rises from river meadows near its gate to high ridges far above the tree line. You are standing at the gentle, lower doorway to a much wilder place.

The protection here began early in the twentieth century, and it began with two quite practical concerns. The rulers of Kashmir kept the valley as a private hunting reserve. At the same time, its streams fed the drinking water of Srinagar, so the forests had to stay intact and the water had to stay clean. Later, after independence, the reserve became a wildlife sanctuary. In 1981 it was declared a national park. So the trees around you survived partly because of the hunt, and partly because a city was thirsty.

That water still matters. The main stream running through the valley is the Dagwan. Far upstream, in the high country, the waters gather from snowmelt and from Marsar, an alpine lake that sits among bare rock and summer meadows. From there the river drops through the park towards the plains near Harwan and the Dal Lake basin. When you hear the river beside the path, you are hearing part of the system that has supplied Srinagar for generations.

Now for the animal that makes Dachigam different from almost anywhere else on Earth. It is the hangul, also called the Kashmir stag. It is a red deer, a close cousin of the deer of Europe, and the males carry wide, branching antlers. The hangul once lived across much of the Kashmir region. Today this park and its surrounding forests hold the last significant population in the world. Its numbers fell sharply in the twentieth century, and it is now listed as critically endangered.

Here is something many visitors miss. The best way to find a hangul is often with your ears, not your eyes. In autumn, during the breeding season, the stags call across the valley. The sound is a high, rising bugle, strange and almost mournful, and it carries a long way through the cold air. Rangers and wildlife watchers listen for it at dawn and dusk. If you are here at that time of year, stand still for a while and simply listen to the slopes.

The hangul moves with the seasons. In summer many animals climb into the upper reaches of the park, where grass is fresh and the days are cool. When snow arrives, they come down into the lower valley, closer to where you are now. This seasonal migration is one reason the park stretches across such a wide range of height. A deer that lives here needs both the high meadows and the sheltered lower forest to survive the year.

The deer is not alone. Dachigam is also known for the Asiatic black bear, a dark bear with a pale crescent of fur on its chest. Bears are often seen in the lower forest, especially when fruit and nuts ripen and they feed heavily before winter. In the higher, more remote country there are Himalayan brown bears. Leopards hunt these slopes too, though they are rarely seen. Grey langur monkeys, with long tails and black faces, sometimes watch visitors from the branches.

Smaller lives fill the park as well. The forest supports many bird species, from woodpeckers and flycatchers to birds of prey turning slowly above the ridges. Look at the edges of the path for droppings, scratched bark, or flattened grass. These small signs show that animals passed here recently, even when none are in sight. A good naturalist reads the ground like a notebook. With a little patience, you can begin to do the same.

Take a moment to look at the forest itself. In the lower valley you will see broad-leaved trees mixed with conifers, and open grassy clearings beside the stream. Higher up, the forest becomes darker and more coniferous, with tall pines and firs on the steep slopes. Above that, the trees thin out into alpine meadows, rock, and snow. In a single valley, the park holds several very different worlds, stacked one above the other like the floors of a building.

Visiting Dachigam is a slightly different experience from visiting a city park. Access is managed by the wildlife authorities, and visitors may need permission before entering. Most people explore the lower part of the park, where paths are gentler and the walking is easier. The upper reaches are rugged, remote, and best left to experienced trekkers with proper arrangements. Wherever you walk, the rule is simple. Stay quiet, keep your distance from animals, and leave nothing behind.

There is another surprise here, and it is about scale. This wild valley sits on the very edge of a large city. On a clear day, from the higher ground, it is easy to sense how close Srinagar really is. Very few capitals or major towns in the world have a population of critically endangered deer living almost at their back door. That closeness is both the park's gift and its challenge. Every road, field, and new building nearby puts a little more pressure on its borders.

Conservation work continues here, often quietly. Biologists count the hangul, study its movements, and try to understand why so few young deer survive to adulthood. Forest guards patrol the slopes. Their work is slow and rarely dramatic, but the future of an entire species depends on it. When you see a ranger on the path, remember that you are meeting one of the people standing between the hangul and extinction.

Before you turn back, pause by the river once more. Feel the cold air coming down the valley from the high snow. Look up at the ridgeline and the dark band of forest below it. Somewhere on those slopes, perhaps very close, a deer is resting in the shade, or a bear is turning over stones for food. You may never see them. But as you walk back towards the gate, listen carefully... the valley is still full of life.