On the trail with Iran's last nomadic shepherds

Nomadic life once shaped a large share of Iranian society, with estimates suggesting up to 40% lived on the move around the turn of the 20th century. Today, only around 1% to 2% remain nomads, including families like the Mokhtari Chaharbori, migrating with about 250 goats and 30 sheep on a two-week journey between lowland and highland pastures — one of few routes still completed entirely on foot.

Even during the Kooch, Setareh prepares noon bread, a traditional flatbread baked over an open fire and eaten with goat yogurt and simple staples. "After years of raising children on the move, I imagine a house in the city," she says, describing a future with more stability and fewer miles underfoot.

Water sources along the migration routes have become less reliable, with dried-up springs and erratic rainfall affecting both people and livestock. Ramezan, a shepherd, says he is concerned about the future, as mismanaged water systems and dam projects turn seasonal migration into an increasingly uncertain calculation.

The migration leads through valleys, riverbeds and passes rising toward 2,500 meters (8,200 feet), where summer pastures provide grazing. What appears remote and scenic to outsiders is a workplace defined by physical strain, isolation and constant risk for the Bakhtiari.

The demands of a wandering life push many young Bakhtiari toward cities in search of stability and basic comforts, even though herding can out‑earn many urban jobs. With inflation around 30% to 40% in recent years, uncertainty runs deep. "What you hope for today changes by tomorrow," says Ashkan. The eldest son still accompanies his family, but hopes to leave for a life with less movement.

Crossing rivers is a daily challenge, with children and adults guiding animals through fast-moving water or carrying them across.

When a goat falls ill, it is rushed toward the nearest village, often hours away, as veterinary care is not available along the route. Each animal represents income, making survival a direct economic necessity.

Azita, 9, helps gather firewood and care for newborn animals while attending school during the winter months in the lowlands. Asked about her future, she contrasts life in the mountains with the city: "They have cake — we don't have that here."

Ramezan, 44, manages both the migration and the family's livestock economy, balancing tradition with market demands. "It's like a volatile stock market," he explains, adjusting herd size each year depending on fluctuating prices and inflation.

Former nomads like Seyyed Abulghasem, 86, now live on the outskirts of Isfahan, a Bakhtiari hub on the fringes of the Zagros Mountains, trading mobility for access to health care and stability after raising 10 children during years of migration. Despite settling in the city, he says he still misses the Kooch, a life shaped by movement, autonomy and close ties to the land.

Villages such as Sar Agha Seyed, deep in the Zagros Mountains, serve as transitional hubs where nomadic families rest, sometimes settle and access schools, markets and basic infrastructure. Many reduce their herds and shift to shorter migrations before moving closer to cities, turning places like this into stepping stones between life on the move and permanent settlement.

Golbas, a weaver in her mid-30s, abandoned migration after her herd declined and family costs forced her to settle in Sar Agha Seyyed. There, she now supports her household by selling traditional Bakhtiari textiles through local traders.