The Yak-Skin Boat: A Soul Dancing on the Upper Lhasa River
Today, a visit to Quxu County in Lhasa—once renowned for its yak-skin boat ferries and river transport—reveals no such boats on the water. In the past, yak-skin boats were found mainly in the middle section of the Yarlung Tsangpo River, spanning from Lhaze to Shigatse and from Quxu to Zedang, as well as along the Nyangchu River and Lhasa River, especially at traditional ferry crossings. As the Tibetan Yak-Skin Boat Song goes: "The boat rows toward the river's heart, Pray the Dragon King withhold his wrath; I live as I please, Unbound by fate's decree.
According to legend, the yak-skin boat was invented very early, appearing on the blue waves of the Yarlung Tsangpo River at least two thousand years ago. Reinforced concrete overpasses now span the Lhasa River, its sparse currents murmuring untold stories. The centuries-old image of crossing the river by yak-skin boat can now be seen only in faded black-and-white photographs, and such boats are depicted in the murals of the Potala Palace. In the villages, freight trucks are parked, and many of Quxu's young people have become truck drivers.
During the reign of the ninth Tibetan king, Pude Gungyal (circa 2nd century BCE), Yarlung tribe subjects built river boats by stretching yak hide over willow wood frames. Early images of such boats are found in the murals of the Potala Palace and Samye Monastery. From that point on, the yak-skin boat joined the yak—the "ship of the plateau"—as a cornerstone of transportation across water and land in the snow-covered realm of Tibet.
Modern yak-skin boats are trapezoidal in shape—narrower at the top and wider at the base—and have a considerably larger bottom surface area than their ancient counterparts. They are also more versatile, since multiple boats can be tied together to form a larger vessel, boosting cargo and passenger capacity during river crossings. The yak-skin boats of the Tibetan Empire period, by contrast, were round with a circular bottom, roughly half the size of modern ones, and could accommodate no more than three or four people.
For crafting a yak-skin boat, four hides from male yaks are required. A single boat, no larger than five or six square meters, can carry up to ten people. Its weight is about 50 jin (25 kg), so a boatman can easily lift it onto his back and walk with it. Even though it is light, the boat is exceptionally buoyant. However, these vessels must be kept dry: they should not stay in water for long, and after each use they need to be set upright in the sun to dry.
Before assembly, the wooden frame is soaked; it must be crafted from flexible, resilient wood. The thread is hand-twisted from the hair of a yak's tail. The fresh hides are left in water for several days so that their hair can be removed. Then, during construction, four softened hides are sewn together. This stitching demands both care and speed, since faulty sewing reduces the boat's lifespan, while excessive slowness allows the drying hide to harden beyond the point where a needle can penetrate.
The trapezoidal shape of the yak-skin boat only appears after the hides have been pulled tight over the assembled frame. A "keel" is then placed inside—this wooden framework is typically built from willow wood, known for its flexibility and resistance to moisture. In total, each boat needs eleven keel pieces: three long and eight short. The keel's dimensions must align exactly with the four hides, as it largely determines the boat's overall quality. If the keel is too long, it will puncture the hide; if too short, the boat becomes loose.
For a yak-skin boat, longevity hinges on maintenance; with proper care, it can last three to five years. The key is to dry it thoroughly after each use and to periodically coat the seams with rapeseed oil, which preserves the hide's flexibility and durability. Once the keel is in place, the final production step is applying rapeseed oil to the interior, a treatment that waterproofs and preserves the hide. The finished boat is then set on a prepared metal drum and left in the sun to dry.
With its shallow draft and a hide that turns soft and elastic once soaked, the yak-skin boat is well suited to Tibet's rivers, withstanding impacts and scraping against submerged rocks. After the boat has fully dried, a pair of wooden oars is attached, and it becomes ready to carry passengers. In earlier times, ferrymen who operated such boats would often take goats along as cargo companions. Over long journeys, the goats became dependable partners, and on the return trip they could help carry the ferrymen's belongings.
Striking a reef amid the rapids would not likely cause damage to a yak-skin boat. Because the Yarlung Tsangpo River features numerous shoals, fast-moving currents, and steep elevation changes, these vessels are limited to drifting in one direction—downstream only—with no ability to head back upriver. After arriving at their destination, boatmen leave the boats to dry under the sun, then lift them onto their shoulders and walk back to the point of departure. Along the waterways stretching from Maizhokunggar County in eastern Lhasa to Lhasa itself or Woka in Shannan, skilled yak-skin boatmen can be seen navigating distances of 200–300 kilometers.
The boatmen would drift along the river for years on end. In addition to a goat as company, they found other diversions, including boat songs. Singing these songs brought essential joy to their trips, and also helped coordinate their rowing and reduce the solitude of the long journey. Boat songs came in two varieties: the first was slow and tuneful, evoking the river's far-off current or clouds adrift, full of lyric grace.
One class of these songs, sung while the boat moved smoothly over the vast currents, filled listeners with wonder and a longing for life. The other was a work chant—short, intense, and bursting from the boatmen's hearts as they struggled against wind and waves. Some were wordless melodies that rose and fell in perfect time with the waves, even merging with them. Such songs are
Sometimes, after pulling their boats onto the shore at dusk, the boatmen would build a bonfire, brew tea, and cook up fresh fish or mutton. The upturned vessels, propped on the sand, gave them a rough shelter for the night. Well-fed and warm, they would gather around the flames—talking, swapping stories, and singing about snow-capped peaks, eagles riding the wind, great rivers, golden fish, and water spirits. These were the hours they valued most. In the Go-ze dance, "A-re" takes the leading role.
The "Go-ze," also referred to as the "Go-ze Dance" or "Yak-Skin Boat Dance," is a distinctive folk dance that originated in Group 2 of Junba Village, Chabalang, Quxu County, Tibet Autonomous Region. During the performance, "A-re" sings and dances while carrying a "Ta-ta," a colorful flagpole. In 2008, the fishing village of Junba was recognized as a national intangible cultural heritage.
With its roots in the "Zhong-ze" (Yak Dance), the Go-ze dance incorporates many movements that represent the nature of yaks, also referred to as the "ships of the plateau." In the performance, dancers lean forward, carry yak-skin boats on their backs, and joyfully move to the boats' sound while striking the boat sides with their hips in a steady rhythm. The dance as a whole is forceful, daring, and rustic in tone. The individual who leads the Go-ze dance is termed "A-re.
A fascinating legend surrounds the Yak-Skin Boat Dance. On the far bank of the lower Lhasa River sit two neighboring villages, Xirong Village and Junba Village. During the performance, "A-re" grasps a "Ta-ta"—a colorful flagpole—while singing and dancing. Behind this figure, typically four to six other performers follow the movements of "A-re," each shouldering a yak-skin boat that weighs roughly 30 to 40 kilograms. Acting as one, they use oars to beat the vessels' sides, producing a deep and steady "dong-dong" cadence that feels equally lively and dignified.
According to the story, the Fifth Dalai Lama was once traveling back to Lhasa from Palden Lhamo Palace. As he passed a sand dune near Xirong Village, a violent storm suddenly broke out, with fierce winds and blowing sand. He promptly lit juniper incense and performed rites to pacify the weather. Just then, two enormous wild yaks—one male and one female—came down from the mountains and carried him off.
A dream came to him after he returned to Lhasa: he was riding yaks through clouds and mist, soaring over icy peaks and snow-capped mountains—an awe-inspiring sight. On waking, he described the dream to the headman of Xirong Village and asked for it to be transformed into a dance. Consequently, the "Xirong Zongze" (Wild Yak Dance) became an indispensable performance at Lhasa's annual Shoton Festival, bringing renown to Xirong Village.
No music accompanied the Yak-Skin Boat Dance; instead, the rhythm came from the dancers' hip movements, which drove the oars to strike the boats with deep, resonant beats. Envious of the Wild Yak Dance's popularity, the villagers of Junba Village mimicked it, yet carried yak-skin boats on their backs rather than yaks. Because the boats were so bulky, their steps proved less agile than those of the Wild Yak Dance.
On auspicious occasions such as the Harvest Festival and the third day of the Tibetan New Year, the boatmen perform the Yak-Skin Boat Dance. Through their tireless and courageous labor in carrying yak-skin boats, the boatmen of old gave rise to this unique artistic expression, which captures the very spirit of the plateau. When numerous boats moved in harmony, the resulting spectacle surpassed even the grandeur that the Wild Yak Dance could ever attain.
The Soul-Gathering Jar on the Lhasa River In earlier times, the crossing on the Lhasa River was exceptional. Alongside ferrying travelers, the boatmen had a somber task: conveying soul-gathering jars for mourning households. Resting oars on their shoulders and hips, they hit the boat sides in unison, dancing and singing to the deep *dong-dong* echoes—an act both festive and grave. That display radiated cheerful energy and the dynamic splendor of boats navigating the waters, rich in appeal and vitality.
A custom among Tibetans involves hanging an earthen jar outside the home after a death. Inside it, juniper incense burns continuously, since the jar is thought to hold the soul of the deceased. Roughly one week later, a grand ceremony is held to send off the soul. On the day of the ritual, the body-disposer (sky burial master) heads the procession, carrying the soul jar, with mourning relatives following behind. The procession must not halt along the way (in old Lhasa, funeral processions were even free from traffic light stops at intersections).
After they arrive at the riverbank, juniper branches are burned in an incense burner. Rowing his yak-skin boat to the river’s center, the sky burial master gently sets the jar on the water and allows the current to carry it away. Meanwhile, the mourners, who have lined up onshore holding tsampa (roasted barley flour), watch the jar until it vanishes, then shout “Sok! Sok! Sok!” and fling the flour into the air—praying that their loved one’s soul will rise and undergo reincarnation.
Yak-skin boats, whose deep roots in Tibetan history embody the resourcefulness of its people, were once indispensable to life along the Lhasa River. It is certain that these farewell ceremonies for the departed were closely connected to them, even though the origins of the soul-sending ritual remain unrecorded. Those rituals vanished from these waters only after bridges crossed the river and yak-skin boats disappeared from daily use. In the distance now, a wisp of white smoke hangs over the water, slowly dissolving from view.
The yak-skin boat once embodied the spirit of the Lhasa River, just as the black tent gave voice to the nomads. Its disappearance now signals the end of a heritage handed down through generations.