Our hosts, Lhak-Pa and Dawa, spoke precisely three words of English. With their native Tibetan and decent grasp of Mandarin, they were veritable polyglots compared to our embarrassing reliance on hand signals and apps. With limited communications it was difficult to explain why, within seconds of sitting down within their welcoming home, a panic-stricken Bryony had vaulted the table and dashed outside to pepper vomit across their yak dung garden wall. It was an inauspicious start to our stay. We apologised profusely and, if we were not understood, Bryony’s face of mortification would have clearly spelt it out as we returned to meet the rest of the family. The fresh-faced children, two young boys and a tightly swaddled bundle of giggling baby, contrasted with that of their grandparents, weathered beyond their years by harsh Himalayan conditions. Lha-Mo, the jolly brother who lived next door was the family monk and resembled a Buddhist Friar Tuck. All humbly accepted our apologies with sympathy and concern. The air was clear and crisp, albeit a little oxygen depleted, and we tried to comprehend our temporary home and our hosts semi-traditional lifestyle. Their days, their years, their lives revolved around their yak, but our visit was part of a trial for a new community-led ecotourism venture. Their winter home was small, simple, and a little smoky from the yak dung cooker, puffing away in the corner. A black cat dozed underneath, and the smell of baking bread wafted from a pan on top. Colourful photo frames dotted the greying walls and underfoot was a grubby rug and a light scattering of toys. The two wood-framed sofas, including a sizeable pile of patterned blankets, would double as our beds. The ‘toilet’, standing tall in a field opposite, consisted of a rudimentary wooden structure with a disconcerting wobble and occasional surprise intrusion from an inquisitive yak. Despite the altitude sickness, a rapidly developing cold, and new-found tummy troubles (later diagnosed as Guardia), Bryony insisted she we should venture out, and we took a short drive to a neighbouring valley. The track passed through a lightless gorge, alongside a turbulent stream. Countless prayer flags were strung between the rock-faces, ranging from the tattered and faded to the vibrant and new, each catching the breeze with equal enthusiasm. We emerged into a scene of flower-dotted meadows rimmed by cliffs, with a remote monastery adding a splash of red to otherwise subdued tones. Blue Sheep grazed the hillsides and Vultures chased their shadows across the crags. It was peacefully quiet, but visually dramatic. Back at the house, the temperature plummeted as the sun dropped behind the ridge. Although technically spring, it didn’t feel like it and I was cocooned in all my layers as I scanned the hillsides in the fading light. I mimed small talk with our hosts, until a movement high behind us caught my eye. I stared intently at the spot until my eyes watered but saw nothing. The light ebbed further but a distinctive shadow reappeared on the ridge. I blurted noises I have not made before, or since, and dashed indoors to interrupt Bryony from her weakened daze. Springing to life, she joined us outside and Lhak-Pa pointed her toward the Snow Leopard. Pulses raced and skin tinged. Eyes watered. It was an emotional experience and fulfilment of a dream; long held, but with no expectation of realisation. The animal, an adult female, leaped from rock to rock, fading in and out of view with camouflage as cryptic as it was beautiful. Pausing on a ledge, it joined a large cub and nuzzled into its neck eliciting a playful flick of the tail. They knew we were there but didn’t seem to care, allowing us a tiny window into their lives and, on their terms, we watched. As they were lost into gloom of night, their continued presence was given away by the family’s guard dog and it’s persistent barking up into the darkness. Overhead, the milky way glowed and countless stars highlighted the surrounding ridges. Sickness was forgotten as we stood in silence, the yak herder, the monk and us; our smiles telling a thousand words in any language.