HIMALAYAN WOOL: A CONVERSATION WITH SANTOSH

Mustang region sits at the edge of the Tibetan plateau, where altitude shapes what materials emerge and how they perform. Understanding Himalayan wool's origin required sending experienced lifestyle photographer and filmmaker Santosh and Anish - both deeply familiar with Nepal's handcraft traditions, into remote territory to document the complete journey from herder to fiber.

We sent Santosh and Anish to Mustang to verify our wool's origin and document the herders' reality. How does knowing a material's true origin change how you value what's underfoot? Here's our conversation with Santosh about what they found.

Santosh Chhantyal in Mustang region

Santosh, you've been to Mustang multiple times. What drew you there initially?

My first visit to Mustang was supposed to be recreational but these 21 days completely changed me. I fell in love with the place. When I returned, it was to tell a story connecting creation, culture, and craft, how life thrives at the roof of the world. As a filmmaker and photographer, I'm drawn to places where landscape feels alive, where people's lives are shaped by their environment.

I traveled by jeep from Pokhara to Jomsom, then continued higher on roads that barely deserve the name. Every turn felt like stepping into a different world, raw, ancient, breathtaking.

How would you describe standing there - at that altitude, in that landscape?

Mustang feels suspended between heaven and earth. The air is thin, light impossibly sharp. Silence echoes through canyons. These barren cliffs and wind-carved valleys look almost lunar, yet there's strange warmth in their stillness. You feel small, but not diminished, more like you're finally the right size. The colors surprised me: muted yet powerful ochres, blues, silvers that shift with the sun. Being there made me understand what humbling really means.

What struck you most about the people and their relationship with the land?

What struck me immediately was the deep respect these people have for their land. Life is about balance between man and mountain, faith and survival. Their culture is rooted in Tibetan Buddhism and centuries of tradition you can feel in everything they do. Villages are built from earth itself, prayer flags fluttering above every roof. They farm barley and buckwheat, raise yaks and sheep. Every part of life feels intentional, shaped by seasons, altitude, wind. Their environment isn't just where they live. It's who they are.

Tell us about the herders you met. How do they live?

The herders I met were humble, strong, and deeply connected to their animals. Most come from generations of shepherding families. They live in small stone huts high in grazing lands, following the rhythm of sheep and weather. Summer means climbing to higher pastures; winter, descending to lower valleys. Their bond with the flock is remarkable, they know every sound, every movement. Life isn't easy, but I saw quiet dignity in how they live. Simple, faithful, full of endurance.

You've seen the sheep at that altitude. What makes the wool different?

I haven't studied this technically, but I saw the difference - you can feel it in the wool itself. High in the Himalayas, at 3,000 to 5,000 meters, these sheep endure thin air, fierce sun, and temperature swings of over 30 degrees between day and night. Their fleece evolved dense and resilient, strong fibers, elastic, rich in lanolin. Natural protection against extreme cold and intense light. The shepherds understand this through generations of experience, even if they wouldn't describe it scientifically.

What did you observe during the shearing and processing?

I watched shearing done carefully by hand after the harsh winter ends. One shepherd told me something that stuck: shearing isn't just about wool, it's protection. An unshorn sheep can tangle in thorny bushes. The shearing saves them.

What amazed me was the expertise. Shearers know exactly what length to cut, not too short that sheep get cold, not too long that new growth tangles. After shearing, wool gets cleaned, sorted by texture and color. Women in villages do washing and combing using water from mountain streams. Every step is human, slow, intentional, filled with care.

How does highland wool compare to what you'd find at lower altitudes?

From what I observed, highland wool seems much softer. Lowland sheep aren't sheared as regularly, so the wool isn't as pure. The altitude and climate create different characteristics, shepherds know this instinctively, through touch and generations of experience.

What surprised you most?

The gentleness surprised me most. In such harsh environment, I expected everything to be harsh. But everything moves with patience and reverence. People don't rush, they work with nature's rhythm, not against it.

I realized how little of this story reaches the outside world. How much beauty is hidden in places we rarely see. While photographng, I noticed how gently the sheep is cared for. The shearers are so expert, precision I've rarely witnessed. It reminded me that behind every product, there's a whole world of people and places quietly shaping it.

Now that you've seen where it comes from, how do you look at Himalayan wool in a rug differently?

Now I don't just see color or pattern. I see the wind of Mustang, the hands of herders, the quiet endurance of sheep, the devotion of women spinning by mountain streams. Stories woven into every thread. It's no longer just a product, it's a piece of the Himalayas, carrying the soul of that land. A memoir to treasure the heart and soul of the mountains.