COOLEST CAT

and ringed by towering peaks. Our homestay — a purpose-built tourist lodge — sits at the centre. Village life goes on around us: yaks are milked in the yard, hay is piled on the roofs, children scamper through the snow. Inside, we enjoy comforts our hosts have never known: gas heaters, cushions, hot meals. Still, the conditions take some getting used to. At night, the temperature touches minus 20°C.

Each morning, the sky sets the mood: dazzling blue means perfect visibility, so spirits soar; a white-out, with cloud spilling over ridges like an over-boiling porridge pot, brings despondency. But it’s not our spotting that counts. As we gather over breakfast, Norbu and the team are already out scrutinising the slopes or filing down the hillside, returning from a dawn search for tracks.

THE VITAL SIGN

For us, walking proves trickier. On our first morning, we tramp uphill behind the village for an hour, gaining perhaps 150m in height.

This modest exertion leaves us shattered, and stopping to scan through binoculars is a good reason to rest. As we look, wildlife emerges: huge-horned ibex crossing the slopes like beetles on a bed-sheet, a red fox stalking partridges in belly-deep snow; a golden eagle spiralling skywards.

Drives take us further afield. We descend to a rushing meltwater river and climb a summit of prayer flags to drink in the view. And at every stop, we resume the scanning.