Our four-day vertical foray allowed me to trace some of the social problems like timber smuggling that are festering here. Villagers cut the trees because of widespread rural unemployment and deep corruption, both results of Kashmir's unresolved status. Without trees, the snow would melt early, the greenery would recede, and shepherds and tour guides alike would be finished.
The organization, Trekking for Trees, is trying to move Kashmiris off the path of destroying their own natural heritage before it's too late. Doing something seemingly so simple, however, has made many powerful people nervous, including the Indian security forces who control even the remotest corners of the countryside.
In the background of any initiative here looms "The Kashmir Problem." The Kashmir Valley can feel like a prison: restless, brooding, waiting on unlikely appeals. At times, the trek felt like parole from all that. The guides practiced for a day when foreign tourists would visit. But the guards were never far away, watchful. And the men carried memories heavier than their packs.
That Night, our first obstacle was finding a flat place on the mountainside to pitch our tent.
Noor Mohammad Bhat, a weathered cattle herder, offered the mud-and-timber roof of his hut.
I was tired from our walk in the woods and had been quietly ruing my lack of physical endurance. But Mr. Bhat quickly reframed my thoughts for the trek around a different sort of endurance – the emotional, spiritual, cultural strength of a people who have struggled for six decades for some sort of resolution for their homeland.
Bhat, his wife, son, and 10 head of cattle stay here for the summer. When snow comes, they head back down the valley, and the cattle owner pays him $135 total for their care.