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We often hear that youth are the future; the next generation of leaders. However, this statement can sometimes ring hollow, reduced to mere tokenism. Yet, many young individuals are making real strides in addressing critical challenges, particularly in climate action and disaster management.

Recently, through LinkedIn, I connected with Prabina Raut, a consultant with Liquid Trees and a passionate climate advocate. Liquid Trees employs an innovative approach to pollution control by cultivating microscopic silica algae (diatoms) in open water bodies. These algae neutralize pollutants like fertilizers, heavy metals, microplastics, and CO2. In short, they work to purify river waters contaminated by agricultural chemicals and wastewater. Raut’s expertise extends beyond this role; she is also an Environment Leadership Fellow with WWF.

Given my interest in breaking down knowledge silos to foster cross-sector solutions, I reached out to Raut to hear her views on the recent disasters caused by incessant rainfall across Nepal. I wanted to explore the intersection between climate action and disaster management.

In an interview conducted via email, Raut shared her insights, based on extensive research and analysis.

First, she identified a key obstacle to progress: Nepal's failure to enforce its Disaster Risk Reduction (DRR) and Disaster Risk Reduction Management (DRRM) policies. “While Nepal has several DRR and DRRM policies, they remain largely unenforced at both the national and local levels,” she explained. “The government often prioritizes short-term development projects over long-term disaster preparedness.”

She emphasized the consequences of this neglect. “Despite having policies and research, the government’s lack of enforcement leaves communities vulnerable. Poor coordination between government agencies and ineffective urban planning regulations have magnified the impact of disasters,” she added.

Raut proposed a series of essential actions. The first is to confront the scientific realities of climate change. “We can no longer afford to ignore scientists’ warnings. Building a resilient future requires immediate action and long-term planning,” she warned.

Another priority is overhauling Nepal’s Early Warning Systems. “We need real accountability and expanded technical and financial support to upgrade these systems across the country,” she urged. Despite advancements, early warning systems are not universally accessible, particularly in rural and marginalized communities. “Public awareness on disaster preparedness is limited, and insufficient planning has led to tragic losses that could have been mitigated.”

Raut also advocated for a stronger role for local governments in disaster management. “We must decentralize disaster risk management, but making it effective will require allocating more resources and decision-making power to local authorities.” Local governments should have the authority to initiate community-based early warning systems and disaster response training, which would enhance local resilience.

She also stressed the importance of integrating climate resilience into national development plans. “We need to prioritize sustainable infrastructure and empower local governments to take a more active role in disaster management,” she said. Urban resilience is another crucial area, particularly in Kathmandu Valley, where unregulated urbanization exacerbates floods and landslides. “Stricter building codes and land-use planning, along with green infrastructure solutions like rainwater harvesting, are urgently needed.”

Raut called for the creation of a National Task Force for DRR Implementation to address the inadequacies of the existing National Disaster Risk Reduction and Management Authority (NDRRMA). “A dedicated task force could ensure better coordination across departments, from hydrology to urban planning, and ensure that DRR policies are enforced at all levels,” she said. This task force could act as a stopgap measure while a more permanent, bottom-up approach to policy making is developed.
Such a bottom-up approach should involve experts from diverse fields coming together to discuss the shortcomings of the NDRRMA. These deliberations could form the basis for meaningful policy changes. Raut emphasized that enabling young professionals like herself to be recognized as knowledgeable contributors could make a significant difference. “Young people can offer expertise, ideas, and help raise local awareness.”

Raut also pointed out the lack of public awareness regarding the link between climate change and disasters, particularly in rural areas. “Community engagement is weak, and inadequate knowledge about disaster preparedness leads to higher losses during floods and landslides.” She stressed the importance of connecting local needs with international mechanisms, such as the Loss and Damage Fund approved at COP28. “International support, like the Loss and Damage Fund, will play a pivotal role in helping Nepal recover from recurring disasters.”

Finally, Raut highlighted the importance of ensuring that any international financial aid, such as climate financing, reaches local governments. “Local elected bodies must build expertise to ensure that no international climate financing is wasted,” she said.

In conclusion, Raut reflected: “Addressing the recent monsoon havoc in Nepal requires effective policy implementation, better coordination among government departments, stronger early warning systems, and international financial support. Despite the existence of policies and research, the government must move beyond short-term solutions to build long-term resilience. We cannot afford any further delays.”

“I never imagined a snow leopard’s habitat would look like this,” said Sajal Tilija, a seventh grader at Janabal Secondary School in Marpha, Mustang, as he stood in a rugged grassland near the base of a massive, barren mountain. “From what I’d read, I thought it would be a desert—dry and all red. But instead, I found some greenery, with pine trees and prickly shrubs,” he added.

Sajal was participating in a camp in Mustang to learn about the elusive snow leopard. He was joined by two classmates, a teacher, and students from other schools. Other participants included field rangers, citizen scientists, artists, journalists, trainers, photographers, community members, and conservationists. The two-day Snow Leopard Scout Monitoring Camp took place in Thorangphedi and Chongur grasslands, near the holy Muktinath temple, on August 29-30, 2024.

“We mostly learned about the local landscape and how climate change is affecting the snow leopard’s habitat. We also learned about snowstorms, avalanches, and how to stay safe in those situations,” Sajal shared.

The participants were also taught how to use camera traps and the essential tools for snow leopard monitoring, like GPS devices, spotting scopes, and binoculars.

At one point during the camp, a group of locals excitedly shouted after spotting a blue sheep on a distant hilltop. Everyone quickly grabbed their binoculars, scopes, and cameras to take a closer look. “It wasn’t easy to spot the blue sheep sitting so far away,” Sajal recalled. “Focusing the lenses was tough. The sheep sat proudly, like a king, high on the ridge above the rocks.”

The camp has been held in Mustang since 2011, providing students with hands-on training in snow leopard monitoring and teaching them to observe their natural habitat, including potential prey species. This initiative continues with support from the Snow Leopard Conservancy, while Teka Samuha Nepal organized this year’s event.

After returning to school, Sajal eagerly shared his adventure with his friends. “I wrote everything in my diary! We spotted a pika, a red fox, and even a mother blue sheep with her baby. We sometimes see blue sheep near the village, but this time felt special. No one believed we found red fox scat!” he said excitedly. He also explained how they set up camera traps and used GPS during the camp.

At school, conservation teacher Amar Ghatane showed images of snow leopards on a projector and encouraged students to share what they had learned with their families and community. “I often tell my sisters and grandmother about snow leopards,” Sajal said proudly.

Sajal’s elder sister, Prasansa, noted how keen he is to share his knowledge. “He’s always learning and sharing something new,” she said. “When we’re out gathering firewood, he reminds me how important it is to protect snow leopards because their extinction would hurt the environment.”

Laxmi, Sajal’s mother, remembered a time when snow leopards preyed on her goats and cows while she lived in a remote area called ‘Chhair’. Now, living in Marpha, jackals prey on her chickens. “Sajal once told me that snow leopards are smaller than tigers,” she recalled. “They live in the mountains and depend on natural prey, mainly blue sheep, which sometimes come into our village.”

The story of snow leopards and human coexistence is playing out in Nepal’s Himalayas. Sajal is just one example of students involved in snow leopard conservation education, an initiative spreading through Mustang and Taplejung. The program raises awareness among students, encourages positive messages within communities that share habitats with snow leopards, and advocates for including conservation topics in local textbooks—working toward long-term sustainability and institutionalizing these efforts.

Holidays in Nepal, especially Dashain and Tihar, are becoming an opportunity for travel enthusiasts to explore the country’s natural beauty and experience its rich cultures and traditions. I recently embarked on a five-day trek to Gosaikunda in Rasuwa, starting from Sundarijal in Kathmandu with a group of friends, and the trip was filled with memorable moments and lessons that could be valuable for the Nepal Tourism Board.

Heavy rains just before the Dashain holiday had initially disrupted my travel plans due to the resulting landslides and floods, which cut off roads across the country. The BP Highway, in particular, suffered severe damage, forcing many travelers, especially those from Bagmati and Koshi provinces, to cancel their plans. Given the road conditions and the ongoing monsoon, I had not made any firm plans. However, an old friend unexpectedly called, suggesting we trek to Gosaikunda—one of the places on my bucket list. After discussing the route, we decided to trek from Sundarijal instead of driving to Dhunche, to avoid the risks posed by monsoon rains and dangerous road conditions.

Our trek began at Sundarijal, where we purchased tickets at the army checkpoint for 100 rupees each. After a four-hour walk, we stopped for lunch at Chisapani before continuing on to our first overnight stop at Pati Bhanjyang. Along the way, we encountered a lively couple drinking local alcohol outside their home. Their warmth and hospitality were infectious, and we even shared a brief dance to a folk song they loved. For me, part of the joy of traveling lies in connecting with local communities and their traditions, and this interaction was a perfect example of that.

The hospitality at Pati Bhanjyang was memorable. The homestay owner served us local meat and a uniquely flavored cucumber, and their warm, friendly treatment made the experience even more special. From Pati Bhanjyang, we set off for Kutumsang (altitude 2,470 meters), but the stunning scenery slowed us down. We kept stopping to capture photos, forgetting the time. One challenge in this area is the lack of readily available food—hoteliers usually only prepare meals if informed in advance. However, the people we met along the way made the journey unforgettable. One elderly woman returning from a local Gumba left a deep impression on me, reminding me of my own grandmother who passed away last year. Our conversation brought back fond memories, and as we parted ways, I left a small token of money with her. She blessed me in return, placing her hand on my head, which brought me close to tears.

The three-hour trek from Kutumsang to Mangin Goth (altitude 3,285 meters) was challenging due to the uneven terrain and the aching leg of one of my friends, which worsened when descending. We pushed through, aware of the dangers posed by the dense forest and the presence of wild animals in Langtang National Park. We finally arrived at Mangin Goth at around 6:15 PM, using the light from our mobile phones. The warmth of the hotel, with its central firewood heating system, was a welcome relief after the exhausting day.

The next leg of our journey, from Mangin Goth to Phedi (altitude 3,720 meters), was even more difficult than we had anticipated. The terrain forced us to take frequent breaks. As we neared Phedi at dusk, the roaring sound of water and the flood-damaged paths heightened our anxiety. The couple running the hotel at Phedi had been there for nearly 30 years, and their story was both inspiring and humbling. They served us a surprisingly delicious meal, and we rested, knowing that the next day would involve scaling the highest pass on the route—Laurebina Pass (4,610 meters).

The climate at Laurebina Pass was unpredictable, with thick fog occasionally obscuring the mountains and lakes. But we were lucky, and at times the fog lifted, revealing the breathtaking views we had come for. It felt as though the landscape was playing hide and seek with us.

The scenery was incredible—tall pine trees, blooming flowers, and snow-dusted mountains. During tea breaks, I asked locals whether they had noticed any changes in the snow-covered peaks. Almost everyone mentioned that the snow has been melting rapidly in recent years and no longer lasts as long as it used to. This reminded me of Amitav Ghosh's “The Living Mountain,” which describes how once-resourceful mountains were exploited, leaving them barren.

While the trek to Gosaikunda via Sundarijal is an adventurous experience, there is a lack of information along the way that can frustrate travelers. I would recommend that the local government and relevant authorities promote homestays and encourage locals to sell homegrown products. Additionally, they should install clear signage and information along the route to prevent confusion. The disparity in treatment between foreign and local tourists should also be addressed to help boost domestic tourism. Finally, the route from Dhunche to Gosaikunda, though well-serviced in terms of lodging and food, should be extended to a three-day trek instead of two, to reduce the risk of altitude sickness for travelers.

Cheering crowds hailed an 18-year-old Nepali mountaineer as a hero as he returned home Monday after breaking the record for the youngest person to summit all 14 of the world’s 8,000-meter peaks. Nima Rinji Sherpa reached the summit of Tibet’s 8,027-meter-high ShishaPangma on Oct 9, completing his mission to stand on the world’s highest peaks.

On Monday, he returned from China to Nepal’s capital Kathmandu, where scores waited to see him. “I am feeling very happy,” he told AFP, draped in traditional Buddhist scarves and garlands of marigold flowers, as he emerged to loud cheers at the airport. “Thank you so much everyone,” he said to his supporters, beaming a wide grin.

Sherpa hugged his family while others rushed to offer him scarves and flowers. He later waved to the crowd out of a car sunroof, while proudly holding the national flag.

Nepal’s climbing community also welcomed several others who returned after completing the summit of 14 peaks. Summiting all 14 ‘eight-thousanders’ is considered the peak of mountaineering aspirations, with all the peaks located in the Himalayan and Karakoram ranges, straddling Nepal, Pakistan, Tibet and India. Climbers cross ‘death zones’ where there is not enough oxygen in the air to sustain human life for long periods.

Italian climber Reinhold Messner first completed the feat in 1986, and only around 50 others have successfully followed in his footsteps. Many elite climbers have died in the pursuit.

‘Trailblazers’

All of the mountains are in the Himalayas and neighboring Karakoram range, which spans Nepal, China, India and Pakistan. In the last few years, mountaineers are expected to reach the ‘true summit’ of every mountain, which many climbers of the previous generation had missed.

Sherpa is no stranger to the mountains, hailing from a family of record-holding climbers, who also now run Nepal’s largest mountaineering expedition company. Raised in bustling Kathmandu, Sherpa initially preferred to play football or shoot videos. But two years ago, he put his camera down to pursue mountaineering.

Sherpa, who already holds multiple records from his ascents of dozens of peaks, started high-altitude climbing at the age of 16, by climbing Mount Manaslu in Aug 2022. Nepali climbers—usually ethnic Sherpas from the valleys around Everest—are considered the backbone of the climbing industry in the Himalayas. They carry the majority of equipment and food, fixing ropes and repairing ladders.

Long in the shadows as supporters of foreign climbers, they are slowly being recognised in their own right. “I want to show the younger generation of Sherpas that they can rise above the stereotype of being only support climbers and embrace their potential as top-tier athletes, adventurers, and creators,” he said in a statement soon after his final summit. “We are not just guides. We are trailblazers.”

In recent years, climbers like Sherpa have set record after record, and are hopeful their feats will inspire the next generation of Nepali mountaineers. The record was previously held by another Nepali climber, Mingma Gyabu ‘David’ Sherpa. He achieved it in 2019, at the age of 30. 

AFP