Chewang Motup Goba: The man who built Ladakh’s ₹47-crore marathon economy

His work has taken him across some of the world’s most difficult mountain terrain, through military expeditions and international mountaineering, and eventually into the less glamorous work of building businesses, training local communities and organising sporting events at extreme altitude.

Over the past three decades, that work has helped create an ecosystem in which mountains are not merely scenery for tourists. They are workplaces for guides, race officials and logistics crews, a training ground for athletes, a reason for visitors to extend their stay and, increasingly, an economic asset for communities across Ladakh.

One estimate puts the wider outdoor and adventure ecosystem at 25,000-30,000 local livelihoods, directly and indirectly. The man behind much of this is Chewang Motup Goba, the man who founded Rimo Expeditions along with Yangdu Tshering and together the couple helped turn the Ladakh Marathon into an international high-altitude endurance event.

“Developing sports for our youth has never been an afterthought or a charitable side project, it is the very core of my life’s work,” Motup told financialexpress.com.

That sentence is perhaps the simplest way to understand a career that has moved between mountaineering, adventure tourism and sport. But the philosophy did not emerge in a boardroom or from a tourism strategy document. It was formed through years of living and working at altitude, often in circumstances where simply getting people, equipment and supplies from one place to another was an achievement.

While Yangdu was born into the very royalty of Himalayan mountaineering- the grand-niece of Tenzing Norgay and the daughter of legendary climber Nawang Gombu, the first person to summit Everest twice, Motup’s story begins with a childhood in which the mountains were not yet an economic opportunity. They were simply home.

Early years around mountains

Motup spent his early years in Ombe, Hundar, in Nubra, living with his maternal grandparents and running through the farmland, playing with animals and watching them cultivate the fields. The mountains around the village were razor-sharp and enormous, rising around the valley and occupying much of his childhood imagination. He would take the miniature wooden plough his grandfather had made and imitate his work in the soil.

The mountains were part of everyday life but they were also a barrier. In 1971, the war reached even this remote corner of Ladakh in the form of blackouts and fighter aircraft. Motup remembers sitting in complete darkness while aircraft roared across the high-altitude skies, a memory that remains with him more than five decades later.

“The mountains encircling Ombe were razor-sharp, soaring high into the sky, and their sheer, monumental scale held an endless fascination for me,” Motup said.. “My days were spent running through the farmlands, playing with the animals, and watching my grandparents cultivate the fields.”

A year later, at the age of seven, he was sent to boarding school in Srinagar. The journey from Nubra to Leh across Khardung La took three days. Too young to ride a horse by himself, Motup was tied securely to the back of a local man, Uncle Stanzin, using a traditional shawl. He remembers the biting cold, the snowfields and the vast silence of the pass.

Four years later, he would cross the same mountain again, but this time without anyone carrying him. He was 11. He had returned to Leh for the summer holidays and was waiting for a caravan or group travelling towards Nubra. Nothing came. With his school break slipping away and his desire to see his mother becoming stronger than his fear of the trail, Motup decided to make the journey himself.

He spent the first night with family friends at South Pullu. The following morning, he started before dawn, climbed towards the Khardung La pass and continued down towards Khardung village. By the third evening, he had reached his home in Nubra. His mother, seeing her young son arrive after crossing the pass alone, was overcome with relief and tears.

That journey gave Motup an early familiarity with the high mountains that would eventually become the foundation of his career. “That solitary walk quietly shaped the years to come, replacing the natural uncertainties of youth with an enduring, quiet ease in the high mountains,” he said.

More than four decades later, the Padma Shri awardee has built much of his professional life around the same landscape that once separated his home from the rest of the world. Through Rimo Expeditions, which he co-founded in 1992, he helped develop professional adventure tourism in the Himalayas.

Through his work around ice hockey and endurance sport, he helped create sporting opportunities for Ladakhi youth. And through the Ladakh Marathon, he helped demonstrate that a sporting event could also become a tourism and economic engine.

The business story, in Motup’s case, emerged from the personal one. He did not begin with a plan to build a sporting economy; he spent much of his life trying to find a sustainable way to work in the mountains he had grown up around.

The mountains came before the business

Motup’s attraction to endurance began during his school years in Srinagar. He was among the shortest boys in his class but his childhood in Ladakh had given him an advantage that became apparent when he started competing in cross-country races.

He could run for long distances. His school, CMS Tyndale Biscoe, was known for its discipline and outdoor culture, and Motup gravitated towards both. During summer, students were taken to places such as Pahalgam, Yusmarg, Sonamarg and Gulmarg for two-week outdoor camps. Boarders could choose to return home instead, but Motup was often the only boarder who insisted on staying for the camps.

Trekking and scrambling over ridges gradually became more than an extracurricular activity. They gave him confidence in an environment that had been part of his life since childhood.

In 1979, when Motup was in the eighth grade, his sports teacher noticed his running endurance and selected him for an expedition to Mount Harmukh. It was his first serious mountaineering experience, although by today’s standards he was remarkably ill-equipped.

He had no technical climbing equipment, no glacier glasses and no specialised clothing. He climbed in a denim jacket and canvas shoes, yet the team completed the three-day ascent and reached the summit. Standing on Harmukh changed his ambitions. By 19, Motup had set his sights on Mount Everest and was trying to raise money to attempt the climb.

For his family, the plan was difficult to understand. In Ladakh at the time, mountaineering was not regarded as a conventional career. The expected path was to complete one’s education, find a stable government job or return to the family land. Raising money from companies and sponsors to attempt the world’s highest mountain looked less like a career plan and more like a dangerous gamble. Motup went ahead anyway.

Everest changed his understanding of adventure

Motup eventually became part of the 1985 Indian Army Everest expedition, although he did not reach the summit. Instead, he spent months around the Khumbu Icefall, crossing the shifting maze of ice 48 times in two months while carrying loads, helping establish routes and working alongside the icefall doctors.

The expedition was also marked by tragedy, and the experience changed the way Motup viewed the mountains. One of his strongest memories is of sitting beside a radio set and listening to fellow mountaineers stranded near the South Col pleading for help during a violent storm. The weather was so severe that those below could not safely reach them.

“When you are nineteen, adventure is defined by the summit,” Motup says. “It is all about the glory of standing on top, planting a flag, and proving yourself.” The Khumbu Icefall changed that definition.

“But spending months navigating the raw, shifting chaos of the Khumbu Icefall stripped away all that youthful romanticism,” he said.

The experience taught him that the mountains could not simply be treated as objects to be conquered. They demanded caution, preparation and respect, and those lessons would later influence the way he approached the business of taking people into high-altitude environments.

Siachen was an education in logistics

In 1986, Motup was recruited as a guide for a joint Indo-American ski traverse of the Siachen Glacier. The expedition lasted around two and a half months and included almost four weeks on skis, with an Indian Army contingent led by Major KV Cherian and an American team led by adventure-travel pioneer Leo LeBon.

The expedition required as much logistical problem-solving as mountaineering. Before the team could leave Leh, Motup had to find porters. He recruited 15 college students and coordinated with local communities in Panamik. When the porters failed to arrive at base camp on schedule, he went back himself to bring them up.

The team eventually travelled deep into Siachen, operating from forward military camps and at times under Pakistani artillery fire. Motup led the American contingent through Camp VI towards Turkestan La East and Indira Col, reaching areas where civilian expeditions had rarely ventured.

The experience reinforced an important lesson: difficult terrain creates a demand not only for climbers but for people who can make complex operations work.

Transport, equipment, food, safety, accommodation, guides and communications all have to come together. Motup would eventually turn that experience into a business.

Rimo began with two people trying to survive

In 1992, Motup and Yangdu founded Rimo Expeditions. The timing was important. Ladakh had tourism, but the industry was still heavily concentrated around sightseeing, while professional adventure tourism was relatively small. The idea that visitors would pay for specialist guides, sophisticated logistics, safety systems and environmentally responsible operations was not yet established.

“We set out to solve three fundamental problems: uplifting mountain staff and porters, encouraging ecological responsibility, and fostering community-centric tourism,” Motup said.

That meant spending money on things that customers could not always see. The first two years were financially difficult. Motup and Yangdu had to do much of the work themselves. He guided clients down the Indus River while Yangdu cooked meals and transported supplies to the riverbank. They also experimented with products that could work outside conventional expedition bookings, including full-moon rafting on the Indus.

The concept was simple: use something Ladakh already possessed and turn it into an experience that visitors would pay for. In 1993, Motup travelled to Alaska to work as a guide on Mount Denali. During the descent from the summit, American guide Dave Hahn, who was leading another expedition, stopped to give him news that changed the meaning of the climb almost instantly.

Motup had become a father. The mountain could wait. His priority became reaching base camp, finding the first available flight and returning home.

That ability to adapt would become an important feature of his professional life. Rimo’s early years were not built around one dependable source of revenue. The company moved between expeditions, rafting, exploratory routes and logistics work, gradually developing a reputation among serious mountaineers.

The things Rimo sold were often invisible

Professional adventure tourism required Motup to spend money on things that clients might never notice.

Proper equipment, trained guides, medical preparedness, oxygen, waste management, load limits and safety procedures all increased operating costs. In a market where lower prices could be an attractive selling point, those expenses were not always easy to justify.

Motup says Rimo deliberately chose a different approach, particularly around the treatment of mountain staff and the environment. The company sought to provide better compensation, proper equipment and training for its field teams while adopting leave-no-trace practices and working directly with local communities.

Some of those decisions increased the cost and complexity of operating expeditions. They also created a form of differentiation. For international clients undertaking serious Himalayan expeditions, safety and operational reliability were not optional extras. They were part of the product.

Over time, Rimo moved beyond one-off climbs and developed the ability to manage complex adventure operations across the Himalayan region. The company eventually received the National Tourism Award.

For Motup, however, the larger achievement was demonstrating that the mountains could generate professional livelihoods without being treated simply as scenery.

Then came an unexpected sporting experiment

By the early 2000s, Motup was thinking about a different problem. Winter. Ladakh’s extreme cold meant that the region’s conventional tourism economy effectively shut down for several months. Roads and passes became difficult to access, tourists disappeared and young people had limited organised sporting opportunities.

Yet they were already skating on frozen ponds. They used improvised wooden sticks, crude pucks and makeshift blades strapped to ordinary footwear. Motup believed the problem was not a lack of interest but a lack of equipment.

In 2003, with help from Canadian mountaineers Pat and Baiba Morrow, he connected with the NHL Players’ Association’s Goals & Dreams programme. The result was a donation of 50 complete sets of professional ice hockey equipment, including helmets, skates, pads, gloves and sticks.

Getting the equipment to Ladakh was itself a logistical operation. The gear had to be cleared through customs in Delhi and transported to Leh, but once it arrived, Motup and the local clubs chose not to treat the equipment as individual possessions. The sets were pooled and shared among local players.

Training camps and inter-village competitions followed. Motup remembers watching one of the first full games at the natural rink in Karzoo, Leh. Children who had previously played on makeshift blades were suddenly wearing proper protective equipment and using standard sticks and pucks.

The significance was larger than the game itself. The equipment gave local youngsters a structured sporting activity during a period when much of the region’s traditional economy was dormant. It also demonstrated that sport could become a pathway towards employment, whether through competitive sport, coaching, guiding, outdoor safety or recruitment into institutional sports programmes.

The 2010 floods created a different kind of crisis

The next major change came in 2010. Flash floods caused widespread destruction in Ladakh, damaging homes and infrastructure and leaving a significant psychological impact on the region. Tourism, which supported thousands of local livelihoods, was badly affected.

Hotels stood empty, taxis had fewer passengers and trekking routes became quieter. The 2011 tourism season suffered as visitors stayed away and the region struggled with the perception that Ladakh was unsafe.

Motup believed that conventional tourism advertising would not be enough to change that perception. He wanted people to see Ladakh operating at an altitude and scale that would demonstrate its resilience. His answer was a marathon.

Why a marathon made economic sense

The Ladakh Marathon was launched in 2012. It was not designed simply as another sporting event. Motup saw the race as a way to demonstrate that Ladakh was functioning and capable of hosting visitors, while also addressing a problem in the region’s tourism economy: the sharp decline in visitors after the peak summer period.

September offered an opportunity. A high-altitude endurance race requires participants to arrive early and spend several days acclimatising. Unlike a conventional city marathon, runners cannot simply fly in the evening before the event and leave the following morning.

That creates a longer economic footprint. Hotels receive more bookings. Taxi operators get work. Restaurants and cafes see additional customers. Guides and outdoor workers can be employed in course logistics and safety. Families travelling with runners also contribute to local spending.

The marathon therefore offered Motup something beyond a sporting spectacle: a way of extending the period during which tourism generated income. The first edition in September 2012 was modest by today’s standards, with around 1,500 participants across a 7 km run, half marathon, full marathon and the Khardung La Challenge.

The Khardung La Challenge had just 11 runners. Most participants were local schoolchildren, young people and Ladakhis, while around 50 came from outside the region and a small number of international tourists participated.

The infrastructure was basic. Timing was handled manually, radio networks connected checkpoints and volunteers helped manage the course. But the response gave Motup another insight.

Ladakh did not merely have an extraordinary backdrop for endurance sport. It had people who were physically adapted to the environment. Local runners, many without formal coaching or expensive equipment, performed strongly. Their familiarity with altitude and rugged terrain could become an athletic advantage if combined with professional training.

That led to bigger challenges, including the 72 km Khardung La Challenge and eventually the 122 km Silk Route Ultra.

The economics of the Ladakh Marathon

Today, Motup estimates that the Ladakh Marathon generates $4.2 million-$4.9 million, or roughly ₹40-47 crore, in direct and indirect economic activity per edition.

These figures are estimates provided by Motup and are not independently audited economic-impact figures. The more revealing metric, he argues, is not the size of the race itself but the amount of economic activity created around it.

High-altitude acclimatisation requires visitors to stay longer. Motup estimates that outstation participants generally spend eight to 10 days in Ladakh, while ultra-endurance runners can stay 12 to 15 days or more. He estimates that the event generates 70,000-80,000 paid bed-nights in September.

INR 1,00,00,000. A landmark prize pool for the 13th Ladakh Marathon! 🏆

The enhanced prize purse would not have been possible without the support of the UT Administration of Ladakh and the Hon’ble Lieutenant Governor, to whom we extend our sincere gratitude. 🏔️ pic.twitter.com/JOPbt11tCq

— Ladakh Marathon (@Ladakh_Marathon) August 30, 2026

At an estimated average daily spend of $60-$70, or approximately ₹5,000-6,000, across accommodation, food, transport and shopping, the economic impact extends well beyond race registration.

That makes the marathon particularly useful to a region where tourism has traditionally been concentrated into a relatively short window.

Hotels, guesthouses and homestays

The September race helps accommodation providers capture business after the peak summer tourism period begins to decline. Participants also spread their stays beyond Leh, creating opportunities for guesthouses and homestays in surrounding areas.

The longer stay is particularly important because runners need time to acclimatise before undertaking strenuous activity at high altitude.

Taxi and transport operators

The acclimatisation period also creates demand for local transport. Visitors travel to places such as Nubra, Pangong, Hemis, Sham Valley and Khardung La, while the race itself requires vehicles for participants, equipment, medical teams, volunteers and course logistics.

The event therefore creates both tourist transport demand and race-specific demand.

Restaurants and local food businesses

Endurance athletes also have different consumption patterns from conventional tourists.

Thousands of runners require regular meals and nutrition during their stay, creating demand for restaurants, cafes, bakeries and food suppliers.

The economic activity also reaches local producers, with demand for products such as potatoes, vegetables, barley-based foods, apples and sea buckthorn.

Guides and outdoor workers

The marathon also draws on the skills developed through Ladakh’s adventure-tourism industry. Mountain guides, outdoor professionals, cooks and wilderness first responders can work in race logistics, aid stations, safety and medical support.

That creates another link between the region’s adventure and sporting economies.

Local retail and tourism businesses

Participants do not spend only on the race. Families and runners have several days in the region, during which they buy local food, clothing, handicrafts and other products. That creates additional spending across the wider tourism economy.

The result is a multiplier effect in which the marathon becomes an entry point for spending across multiple local businesses.

Motup’s bigger calculation: Value, not just volume

The economic logic behind Motup’s approach is different from simply trying to increase tourist numbers. A visitor who stays for several days, uses local accommodation, hires local transport, eats at local restaurants and employs local guides has a broader economic impact than someone who spends a short period in the region.

That is particularly relevant for Ladakh because the region’s natural environment imposes limits on how much tourism it can absorb. For Motup, responsible tourism therefore has an economic dimension as well as an environmental one.

Rimo’s approach to waste management, worker safety, load limits and single-use plastics initially made operations more expensive. Waste had to be carried out, drinking water required filtration and boiling systems rather than disposable bottles, and workers needed proper equipment and compensation.

But those standards also helped create a premium proposition for clients who valued safety and environmental responsibility. The same principle now sits behind the sporting events Motup has helped develop.

The objective is not simply to bring more people into Ladakh. It is to make each visitor’s presence economically meaningful while limiting the damage to the environment.

The mountain is also becoming the biggest risk

But the model also faces a growing challenge: the environment on which it depends is changing. When Motup returned to the Siachen region during the 2002 Indo-Japanese expedition, he saw a landscape that was markedly different from the one he had known in 1986.

In 1986, he had been able to put on skis soon after leaving base camp, travelling across continuous snow and glacial ice. By 2002, large sections of the lower approach had become exposed moraine, mud and rock.

For someone who had spent his life reading the mountains, the change was impossible to dismiss as an abstract environmental trend.

A route he remembered skiing had become terrain that had to be crossed on foot.

The 2010 floods added another dimension to the warning. Ladakh’s communities and economy had historically adapted to a cold desert environment where snowmelt played a central role in the water cycle. Sudden extreme rainfall and flash floods introduced a different kind of vulnerability.

Climate change, therefore, is not only an environmental issue for the sporting economy Motup helped build. It is a business risk. The more Ladakh depends on its mountains for tourism, adventure and sport, the more important it becomes to protect the natural systems that make those activities possible.

That is why Motup’s emphasis on leave-no-trace practices has become increasingly central to his work.

From a remote valley to a sporting destination

Motup’s career has followed an unusual arc. As a child, he knew the mountains as barriers surrounding his home. As a teenager, he began crossing them. As a young man, he ventured into some of the world’s most demanding high-altitude environments and learned that successful expeditions depended as much on preparation and logistics as physical courage.

When he started Rimo Expeditions, he began applying those lessons commercially. Later, he looked at winter and saw an opportunity to put proper sporting equipment into the hands of young people who were already using frozen ponds as their playground. After the 2010 floods, he looked at a damaged tourism economy and saw that endurance sport could provide a way to demonstrate resilience while extending the tourism season.

None of those ideas required Ladakh to become something it was not. He did not import a sporting economy into the mountains. He started with assets that were already there: altitude, endurance, extreme terrain, winter, local knowledge and a population accustomed to working in difficult conditions.

The business was then built around those assets. Adventure tourism created professional jobs. Ice hockey gave winter a new sporting identity. The marathon turned September into an increasingly valuable period for tourism. Ultra-endurance events transformed some of Ladakh’s toughest terrain into destinations for a global community of athletes.

Motup estimates that the broader outdoor and adventure ecosystem now supports 25,000-30,000 livelihoods directly and indirectly, while the Ladakh Marathon alone generates an estimated ₹40-47 crore of direct and indirect economic activity per edition. Those numbers need independent verification, but they point to a larger change that is easier to see.

Ladakh’s mountains are no longer simply a backdrop to the economy. They are becoming part of its infrastructure. And Motup’s own journey explains why. The boy who once crossed Khardung La alone to get home to his mother eventually built a career around helping other people cross mountains, experience them and increasingly, spend money in the communities that live among them.

The challenge now is to make sure that economy can grow without consuming the very landscape on which it depends.