Machapuchare’s Silent Cry: A Reflection on Beauty and Loss

Today, I came across a recent photo of the majestic Machhapuchhre Mountain in Nepal, standing tall at an elevation of 6,993 meters (22,943 feet). Commonly known as "Fishtail" for its unique peak, this mountain is one of Nepal's most iconic and breathtaking landmarks. Nestled in the Annapurna massif of the Gandaki region, Machhapuchhre remains unclimbed, protected by Nepal’s government, which has never granted a permit to ascend its sacred summit.

While climbing the peak is prohibited, visitors can trek to Machhapuchhre Base Camp at 3,700 meters, where they can immerse themselves in the awe-inspiring beauty of the Annapurna Sanctuary. But as I reflect on this, my heart grows heavy with the realization that this beauty is fading.

In recent years, due to a combination of factors including global warming and climate change, the snow and water reserves on our mountains have been vanishing at an alarming rate. The once pristine, snowcapped peaks are turning barren, their shimmering white replaced by harsh, dark stone.

This issue was a focal point during COP29, the UN Climate Change Conference. Yet, despite global debates and promises, tangible action remains elusive. Until meaningful steps are taken, especially by the nations responsible for the bulk of greenhouse gas emissions, our mountains will continue to lose their glory.

Nepal, with its negligible contribution of just 0.11% to global emissions in 2022, bears the brunt of a crisis fueled by others. The top four polluters—China, the United States, India, and the European Union—accounted for more than 56% of global emissions in 2022. (Source: CNN, Climate Change Tracker)  These developed nations, with their centuries-long industrial histories, have reaped the economic benefits while leaving nations like ours to suffer the consequences.

The irony is striking: while the world talks about achieving "net zero" emissions by various target dates, our mountains continue to melt. By the time these targets are met, if at all, we may have already lost the Himalayas as we know them. For communities like ours, who have lived under these majestic peaks, breathed their fresh air, and relied on their pure waters, this loss is unimaginable.

The thought of future generations reading about the Himalayas as mere history—a beautiful landscape they can only imagine fills me with sorrow. Our snow-capped mountains, the very essence of our identity and lifeline, risk becoming a distant memory.

Time is slipping away. Voices advocating for change are growing louder, but the actions needed to match these words are still insufficient. If we lose our mountains, we lose more than just natural beauty; we lose the lifeblood of our culture, our environment, and our hope.

The mountains, stripped bare, will remain resilient in their own way, but they will no longer provide the pure oxygen, glistening glaciers, and life-giving rivers that have nurtured generations. What will remain are naked peaks, silent witnesses to humanity’s neglect.

It is time for the world to act not tomorrow, not in decades, but today. For the mountains, for us, and for the generations yet to come.

Tek Bhat