The human cost of Nepal’s yarsa gold rush

Chandra Basnet started walking from Jajarkot and five days later after climbing passes more than 5,300m high, she reached the desolate tent camp of yarsagumba harvesters in Upper Dolpo.

The 21-year-old joined the seasonal migration with 40kg of supplies on her back and a baby daughter wrapped around her front with a shawl. Her husband carried an additional 20kg of supply.

“Bringing my baby was the toughest part, it is hard to carry her,” says Chandra, who is on the third week of her stay. “There are no hospitals around here, so if she falls sick we have to pack up everything and walk back.”

The Basnet family is among tens of thousands who move to the high mountains on the Tibet border in the pre-monsoon yarsa gold rush every year. Yarsagumba (Cordyceps fungus) is a fungus that grows on caterpillar larvae at between 3,500-5,000m elevation, and is prized in traditional Chinese medicine fetching up to $110,000 per kg in Shanghai.

The Shey-Phoksundo National Park in Dolpo issues harvest permits every year for a month starting mid-May. This year, there were 8,584 entries – double last year’s total. But climate breakdown and overharvesting means that yarsa pickings have fallen in quantity and quality.

The Basnet family spent Rs500,000 to come here, expecting high returns but were able to make only Rs200,000. Says Chandra, “We went through a lot of hardships, but hoped we could at least make up the cost of coming here to help raise our daughter, but it was not worth it.” 

Until recently, yarsa was a lucrative albeit risky undertaking in Nepal’s highlands where subsistence farmers depend on it to supplement their income. But it is a dangerous occupation. Just this season Karnali Province reported the death of 12 harvesters.

Conditions are tough. Most pickers cannot afford proper tents and clothing to cope with the harsh weather. Most bring their children along, and they are the first to fall sick. The health post at Dho Tarap was open, but there was no staff. 

Jamuna Bista, 22, died on her way back down to Rukum because she could not get medical care in time. Her family cremated her by lighting a pile of shrubs and roots gathered from the arid slopes. 

Apart from the difficult terrain, yarsa harvest is getting riskier because of higher temperatures, winter drought and unseasonal rain caused by climate breakdown. This affects the yarsa which needs a temperature of between -15°C  to -5°C during the winter and pre-monsoon rain to grow properly and emerge partially from the ground. 

“Looking at the declining yarsa harvest and climate change, we are forced to question if yarsa will soon be extinct,” says Bishwo Babu Shrestha, warden of Shey Phoksundo National Park. 

This means a major source of livelihood for underserved families in the lower valleys of western Nepal will be in jeopardy, exacerbating the outmigration trend. As more pickers return empty-handed or with losses that have driven them into debt, the families struggle to support their children.

Kunsang Dorje Gurung, 38, of Tinje in Upper Dolpo harvested his first yarsagumba when he was 12. “It was like finding a gold nugget,” Dorje recalled. “I felt an intense energy.” 

However, in 26 years since, he has noticed a steep decline in the pickings, and the few yarsa that are collected are of poor quality. “I used to make up to Rs300,000 a season back in the day but now, I barely earn Rs30,000,” he says.

Gurung blames this on a prolonged drought that also sparked wildfires across the mountains. Some families even performed rituals, praying for rain and a good yarsa harvest. “I don’t have any other job,” says Gurung. “The only thing I know is collecting yarsa. If I find enough, it’s a good year. If not, I have nothing.”

Researchers have also plotted the decline in yarsa harvests in the past five years. A kilogram of high-quality yarsa would have between 2,500-2,900 pieces, but now even 4,000 yarsa pieces do not make 1kg. 

“Yarsa has been a huge source of income, but its ecological, economic, and social impacts are far-reaching,” says Suraj Upadhaya, of the School of Agriculture, Communities and the Environment at Kentucky State University. 

There is also a tax of Rs31,000 for every kg of yarsa, which pickers often avoid paying. Shey Phoksundo National Park also collects a Rs500 yarsa fee from every resident and Rs2,000 from those outside, making it easy to track the number of harvesters. Last year, Rs85,000 was collected in fees, whereas this year the figure jumped to Rs10.86 million, hinting at enormous overharvesting.

Trampling is also another cause of low harvests, researchers say, increased human activity on the slopes means the top soil is compacted, preventing the next cycle of growth. 

All this means that the poorest Nepalis are losing an extra source of income that was allowing them to survive. 

Warns Warden Shrestha: “This is going to unleash an economic crisis in the region, families will not have the money to buy food leading to starvation.”  

The desperation is already apparent in the rise in crime. Robbers loot pickers on their way down from the mountains, stealing their yarsa or money, or both. There are also territorial disputes between locals and pickers from outside. In 2009, seven people were killed in Manang in a fight. 

Overharvesting of yarsa also impacts on many other species in the Shey Phoksundo National Park’s fragile high altitude ecosystem where plants take a lot longer to grow. The endangered animals here like the snow leopard, Tibetan wolf, and blue sheep are also affected by the human impact on their food chain, as well as poaching.  

“We have not been able to manage this systematically,” admits Shrestha, adding that despite funding from the government, royalties, and tariff collection from locals, many of the security posts lack staff to enforce regulation.

“Dolpo used to be a self-sustaining barter economy, but now everything has to be bought,” says Upadhaya whose research suggests that alternative crops like olives can provide a good source of income in the region. Yarsa’s instant reward, however, means local people cannot wait for returns from such long-term investment. 

Worryingly, much of the income generated from yarsa hasn’t been diverted to productive sectors either. Most of the locals have spent their money on renovating their houses and on consumer items.  

As Nepal’s road network expands and snakes up through Dolpo, the remotest corners of the Himalaya are being connected. This can open up new opportunities including the region’s potential for religious and eco-tourism that can provide an alternative livelihood for yarsa pickers.

Easy pickings

Pratap Rokaya, 48, is a social studies teacher at Shree Shelri Drugdra School in Saldang in Upper Dolpo, and like his students, started collecting the fungus when he was 17. Despite having a government job, Rokaya says he needs the additional income. 

Such is the economic significance of yarsa that schools in the region are shut during the harvest season, allowing children to tag along with their parents so that they can also help pick with their keen eye-sight and nimble fingers.  

“Even though such long breaks are not good for students, their guardians are left with no choice,” Rokaya adds. “We are heavily dependent on yarsa because traditional farming is not enough to support families.” 

Dhanbir Bista is in Grade 5 but has not been to school for more than a month because he is up here scouring the steep slope on his hands and knees. “I feel bad for leaving school but I have to come here to support my father,” he tells us.

Dhanbir’s father, Bhim Bahadur, adds, “It’s very risky to bring young ones, especially after I heard that people from my own village have died. But we need the extra pair of hands.”