SWEET GOLD

In the remote mountain ranges of Nepal, isolated tribes have harvested a unique honey from the Himalayan slopes for centuries. These communities live in Dhaulagiri’s rugged landscape, in wooden and stone villages overshadowed by Mount Everest, accessible only by days of foot travel. Honey hunting remains a dangerous and ancient tradition, carried out with rudimentary tools and no safety precautions. The practice is increasingly threatened, not just by ecological changes but also by the honey’s rising fame and demand across Asian markets, where its rarity has driven prices skyward.

The honey is produced by the world’s largest bees, Himalayan Apis laboriosa, and varies based on the season and altitude of the nectar-producing flowers. In spring, when the bees collect nectar from Rhododendron blooms, the honey contains a neurotoxin called grayanotoxin, giving it hallucinogenic properties. A couple of teaspoons can induce a high similar to cannabis, though larger doses may be dangerous. While some find the honey intoxicating, the Nepalese regard “mad honey” as medicinal, using it in small doses as an antiseptic and pain reliever. An elder honey hunter even claims, “A teaspoon each morning strengthens the immune system, but too much may cause hallucinations, blindness, or even cardiac arrest.”

Preparing to document this rare tradition required a year of tireless effort, countless contacts, and moments of doubt. Going solo into the Himalayas, I finally reached the Pun tribe after four days of arduous trekking. Welcomed with bows, music, and tilaka marks, I witnessed a vibrant village life full of genuine smiles. Durga Gharti, the “Śikārī” or leader of the honey hunters, prepared for the hunt, a ritual confirmed by village elders consulting their deities. The chosen day was announced with offerings, ceremonies, and the sacrifice of goats, their blood symbolizing life and renewal.

Days of relentless trekking followed, through dense jungles and icy rivers, until we reached the honey hunting site at the base of a sheer rock face. Equipped with bamboo canes, handmade ropes, and long ladders, the hunters moved swiftly, cutting through obstacles while I struggled under the weight of my pack, driven by determination.

At dawn, the men prepared for the dangerous climb. Smoke from burning foliage billowed upward, warding off the bees defending their golden treasure. Durga led his team with skill and fearlessness, cutting honeycombs from massive hives as bees swarmed, attacking furiously. It felt like he had a spiritual bond with these creatures, acknowledging the risks of this primal act.

The harvest concluded as Durga left a portion of the hive intact, ensuring its regeneration. That night, back at camp, we savored our hard-won honey, some of us intoxicated, others lost in conversation with unseen deities. I observed the men, marveling at their strength and humor, and the purity of the environment they call home.

This journey, nestled between dreams and madness, fulfilled my deepest aspirations. As I lay under the stars, I wondered if this night, at last, would bring me sleep.