Jigme Dorji National Park

Listen for a moment. The air up here is thin and cold, and it carries the smell of juniper smoke and damp moss. Somewhere below, a river runs fast over grey stones. Above you, prayer flags snap in the wind. You are now at the edge of one of the largest protected wildernesses in the Himalaya, a place where the road ends and the footpaths begin.

This is Jigme Dorji National Park. It covers more than four thousand square kilometres of north-western Bhutan, which makes it one of the largest parks in the country. It reaches across several districts, from the hills above Thimphu and Paro in the south to Gasa and the Tibetan border in the north. Most visitors only see its southern fringe. The rest is high valleys, glaciers and pastures that can only be reached on foot.

The park carries the name of Jigme Dorji Wangchuck, the third King of Bhutan. Many Bhutanese remember him as the king who opened the country to the modern world. He began reforms in government and law, and he brought Bhutan into the wider international community. Protection of this area began in the 1970s, and it was later formally designated as a national park. Naming it after him linked the idea of modern Bhutan with the idea of protecting its land.

Now think about scale, in a vertical sense. The lowest valleys in the park sit at around fourteen hundred metres. The highest summits rise above seven thousand metres. In a single long trek, a walker passes through warm broadleaf forest, then blue pine and fir, then rhododendron thickets, and finally open alpine meadows. The plants change every few hundred metres of climb. So does the temperature, and so does the colour of the sky.

Here is the first surprise. Bhutan has four official national symbols — an animal, a bird, a flower and a tree. The animal is the takin, the bird is the raven, the flower is the blue poppy, and the tree is the cypress. All four can be found inside this one park. For a small country that uses these symbols on its stamps, its money and its royal crown, that is a quiet point of pride.

The takin deserves its own moment. It is a heavy, shaggy animal with a thick neck and a nose like a moose. It looks like a creature made from the parts of several others. Locals tell a popular legend about it. According to the tale, a fifteenth-century saint known as the Divine Madman ate a cow and a goat, then joined the goat's head to the cow's bones, and the takin walked away. That is folklore, of course, but people here tell it with real affection.

The park also gives shelter to animals that most people never see. Snow leopards move across the high rocky slopes. Bengal tigers have been recorded at surprising altitudes. Red pandas live in the bamboo forests. Himalayan black bears, musk deer and herds of blue sheep share the valleys. The second surprise is this — tigers and snow leopards both live in the same protected area here. Very few places on Earth can say that.

Look north, if the clouds allow. The great white peak on the skyline may be Jomolhari, a mountain sacred to Bhutanese Buddhists. Many people believe a protective goddess lives on the summit. Nearby rise Jichu Drake and Masang Gang. Out of respect, Bhutan does not allow climbers to stand on the summits of its highest sacred mountains. The peaks are left untouched, and that rule shapes how people experience them. You look up at them. You do not conquer them.

This park is not empty wilderness. People live inside it, and they have lived here for many generations. In the far north are the Layap, the people of Laya. The women are known for their tall, conical bamboo hats, which often have a small spike at the top. Families move with their yaks between summer and winter pastures. They trade butter, cheese and yak hair. Their way of life is one reason Bhutan protects this land in partnership with the people who use it.

Water is the other gift of this park. Several of western Bhutan's main rivers begin up here, in glaciers and high lakes. The Mo Chhu flows south towards Punakha. The Pa Chhu runs down to Paro, and the Wang Chhu passes through Thimphu itself. When you hear the river in the capital, you are hearing water that started in these mountains. Bhutan also uses these rivers for hydropower, so the forest directly supports the national economy.

There is warmth here too, in a very literal sense. In the Gasa district, natural hot springs rise from the ground near the Mo Chhu. Bhutanese families travel there to bathe in stone pools. Many believe the waters help with aches and illness. Trekkers who come down from the cold passes often stop there to rest. It is a social place as much as a healing one, with conversation, laughter and steam in the cold morning air.

For walkers, this park holds some of the most demanding routes in the Himalaya. The Jomolhari trek leads to camps below the sacred peak. The long Snowman trek crosses many high passes and is famous for its difficulty and its unpredictable weather. Along the way, trekkers pass remote dzongs, the fortress-monasteries of Bhutan. Even a short day walk from the park's edge near Thimphu shows you the same moss, the same prayer flags and the same mountain silence.

Why does all this survive? Part of the answer is in Bhutan's constitution. It requires the country to keep a large share of its land under forest cover for all time. Much of that forest stands inside parks like this one. Wildlife corridors connect this park to other protected areas, so animals can move across the country. Conservation here is not a slogan. It is written into law and into daily life.

So take one more breath of this cold, resin-scented air. Notice the colour of the moss on the trees, the movement of the prayer flags, and the sound of the river below. Somewhere beyond the next ridge, a takin may be feeding, or a yak herder may be lighting a fire. As you walk back towards the road, listen for the water. It will follow you all the way down to Thimphu.