The migratory birds hold a special place in the hearts and culture of the people of the Phobjikha Valley, writes
Anthony Dennis.
Even monks need a sleep-in. I discover this while sitting in a not-too-comfy lotus position inside the prayer hall of a Buddhist shedra, or monastic college, in the Gangtey Valley, high in the peaks of mountainous Bhutan, where outside dawn is yet to break.
I’m here to observe the 5.15am prayers, except the monks neglected to inform my guide that they have sensibly adopted winter hours.
But, really, as I wait in the prayer hall, I’m unfazed by the denial of an additional 45 minutes or so of slumber. This is Bhutan, the land of gross national happiness, after all, and I smile through slightly gritted, recently brushed teeth.
It’s an honour to be able to witness their pre-dawn ritual, an experience offered by the nearby Gangtey Lodge where I’d just spent the night, with the fee of US$20 for the pleasure, donated to the monastery. Remarkably, the alpine Gangtey Valley is just 135km from Bhutan’s unprepossessing capital, Thimpu, but with the combination of winding, mostly unsealed and rutted dirt roads, and a national speed limit of 40kmh, it’s an arduous, if not torturous, 61⁄2-hour drive here.
In fact, if you were to take a helicopter – there are only two in the whole country – from Paro, site of Bhutan’s only international airport another 90 minutes from Thimpu, the travel time would be less than 20 minutes. But, as I am to discover, the trek to this sublime valley in a nation full of sublime valleys will prove more than worthwhile.
Outside the monastery I can see birds circling against a deceptively white sky, drained in this weak first light of the intense blueness of day that will reveal itself in an hour or two.
I wonder if any of the birds are the famed sacred black-necked cranes – ‘‘birds of fortune’’ as they are known among the locals – that tend to attract visitors like me, more than monks, to this corner of Bhutan.
Of course, you don’t need to be a twitcher, or a devout monk, to fully appreciate these birds, known here as thrung thrung karm. Each year, more than 300 to 500 black-necked cranes on average fly at high altitude over the Himalayas in Tibet, their summer breeding grounds, wintering in the milder Phobjikha Valley, of which Gangtey is part.
The 5000 inhabitants of the Phobjikha Valley, monks included, revere the cranes – the last to be discovered of the world’s 15 species – to such a degree that the government chose to bury cabling for the electricity, which was only connected a few years ago, rather than have cables on poles, to protect the birds. It was an extravagant measure for what is a still poor and developing nation, but one that underscores the importance of the cranes to Bhutanese society.
They believe that the first birds, which tend to arrive in late October each year, thrice circle Gangteng Gompa, the main and magnificent 17th-century monastery below which lie the wetlands where the cranes live in winter. The act, deeply embedded in folklore, is perceived as a kind of blessing by these ‘‘auspicious harbingers of hope and prosperity’’ at the end of the harvest season.
Back at the monastery a gong is being beaten firmly enough to scare off any birdlife, or any other life form for that matter, with the clamour drowning out the distant howls of stray dogs, the soundtrack of the Bhutanese night, let alone rouse the red-robed monks. They eventually drift in, rubbing their eyes and their hands to warm up, yawning, then prostrating themselves before Buddha in the middle of the hall.
Finally, they take their places and soon the room is filled with chanting. One monk, whom my guide informs me is the ‘‘discipline counsellor’’, performs circuits. He has a notebook and pen and is checking for shirkers.
Prayers over, breakfast beckons in the truly cold light of day. By the time I arrive back at my accommodation, Gangtey Lodge, consisting of 12 spacious rooms each with fireplaces and standalone bathtubs positioned to deliver perfect valley vistas, sunlight is pouring into the main lounge.
From the lodge, which is designed to blend in with the traditional stone and timber black and white farmhouses that dot the valley, it’s an easy stroll straight up (and down) the village’s undulating main street, dominated by a large stupa, to Gangteng Gompa.
Inside the monastery’s gates we pass a young monk scooping up yak dung with sheets torn from a cardboard box.
When we enter the vast courtyard of the towering monastery we discover it is occupied by novitiate monks sitting an exam. Some shelter beneath their draped crimson robes to protect themselves from the surprisingly intense winter sun.
But our main mission this morning is to glimpse the black-necked cranes below. We take the gorgeous nature trail from near here that cascades deep into the valley and is close to the wetland habitat of the black-necked cranes.
Descending 100 metres or so, we traverse pine forests and pass by the meandering Chhu Nap, or Black River, flanked by stupa-studded fields crowned by multistorey farmhouses.
Our destination is one of Phobjikha’s main attractions, the Black-Necked Crane Visitors’ Centre on the opposite side of the valley.