Pashmina, people and place
Theodora Ewer, Senior Head of Programme Implementation
In July 2026, I had the privilege of visiting Ladakh as part of CBA’s Himalayan Regenerative Fashion Living Lab, alongside Ronald Lamb, a CBA consultant and cashmere expert. We travelled to learn firsthand from the nomadic pashmina herders and to analyse the pashmina fibre value chain as part of an ongoing effort to return more value to Ladakh’s herding communities, while helping preserve the fragile Himalayan ecosystems on which they depend.
First impressions
Nothing quite prepares you for the landscape when you land in Leh. It’s something close to desert – vast, dry, and mountainous, with snow-capped peaks towering over stark, almost lunar terrain. And then, bursts of vibrant green: oases where communities have settled, sustained by the famous Indus River, fed by Himalayan snow and ice that these communities depend on for their survival. Even the rocks tell a geological story – green streaks of copper, red seams of iron – stripes running through stone as if the mountains themselves had been painted.
From the moment we arrived, we were welcomed with khataks (traditional white scarves) and immense warmth from everyone we met. That hospitality became a defining feature of the trip. Despite the environmental and economic challenges the region faces, there was an overwhelming generosity and optimism among the people who shared their homes, knowledge and livelihoods with us.
Pashmina – more than a fibre
In Ladakh, “pashmina” is the name of the fibre that comes from the pashmina goat – known to the rest of the world as “cashmere”. It is an ultra-fine fibre grown by goats living in high-altitude ecosystems, grazing on natural vegetation. The bitter cold of winter is what allows this fibre to grow. It is then shed as temperatures rise in summer.
It’s easy to think of pashmina as simply a fibre – but visiting Changthang changed that for me entirely. What became clear over the course of the trip is that pashmina is not just a fibre, it is the economic foundation sustaining one of the world’s most remarkable pastoral cultures. Thousands of families depend on it, but its value runs far deeper than income. It preserves Indigenous knowledge, sustains traditional grazing systems, supports biodiversity, and gives younger generations a reason to stay connected to their communities.
Nomadic herding is a cultural tradition built on extraordinary resilience: grazing livestock across unforgiving plateaus above 4,000 metres, 365 days a year, through winter temperatures that can fall to -40°C. Herders move camp roughly seven times a year, across distances of up to 65km – timed not only to grass and water, but to the lunar calendar, reading the stars to judge whether a season will be good or bad. It is a system that has worked for generations, built on an intimate, granular knowledge of the land that I could never hope to acquire in a lifetime, let alone a two-week visit.
A system under pressure
But it is a system under real strain. We heard directly from communities about the challenges they face. The medicinal plants that herders rely on for animal health are disappearing along with the moisture that sustains them, while rising temperatures are driving a higher incidence of disease. It is yet another example of a community bearing the brunt of climate change despite having one of the smallest carbon footprints in the world.
Beneath the climate story lies a harder demographic one. Young people are leaving in search of more stable livelihoods in the cities, leaving an ageing population to manage the livestock – or, in many cases, families are selling off their herds entirely. In Kharnak village, the 60–70 families that once lived there have dwindled to just 14.
Beyond the environmental and demographic pressures, Ladakh also faces a marketing challenge. The global market has diluted the pashmina label, which is now often used generically for lightweight shawls and wraps regardless of fibre content – sometimes containing no pashmina at all. As a result, buyers have grown wary of the term “pashmina” and increasingly demand traceability, certification and quality assurance before engaging – infrastructure that Ladakh has not yet fully developed.
Feeling inspired
We were inspired by the hardworking people we met across Ladakh – herders, artisans, cooperative members and local government officials alike – all dedicated to strengthening the pashmina value chain and unlocking its full potential: a fibre of the highest quality, produced in a way that can restore rangelands and support herder livelihoods.
Some fibre is exported raw to luxury houses like Brunello Cucinelli, where it is machine-spun and woven into luxury scarves. But what was amazing to see was the craftsmanship happening within Ladakh itself – fibre hand-spun and woven into beautiful contemporary garments, right at the source, ensuring the added value stays within the region.
A systems challenge
What struck me most was hearing, again and again, just how interconnected everything is – rangeland health, fibre quality, household income, cultural continuity, youth retention and market positioning are all bound together. It is tempting, from a distance, to treat “strengthening the value chain” as a quick fix delivered through better processing techniques. In reality, it is a systems problem – and a deeply human one. The production of the world’s finest natural fibres begins long before a goat is combed. It begins with healthy ecosystems, thriving communities, cultural pride, and generations of knowledge passed from one family to the next.
