I’d been photographing mountains for eight years before Pakistan. Alps, Andes, Rockies figured I’d seen what peaks could do. Then I landed in Islamabad, drove north for three days and realized I’d been shooting the minor leagues.
That’s not travel writer hyperbole. Pakistan has five of the world’s fourteen 8,000-meter peaks, more glaciers outside the polar regions than almost anywhere else and valleys that look like someone hit “randomize” on a landscape generator. The geography here doesn’t follow the rules I’d learned elsewhere.
My gear for this trip: a DJI Mavic 3, Sony A7R IV and a backpack that weighed exactly 23 kilos because that’s the domestic flight limit. I’d planned three weeks. Ended up staying seven. Then came back twice more.
This article covers the northern regions Gilgit-Baltistan and the Karakoram Range. We’ll save Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, Punjab and the rest for part two. Trust me, there’s enough in the north to fill a book.
Gilgit-Baltistan: Where Autumn Eats Reality
Hunza Valley: Not Your Average Tourist Trap
Flew into Gilgit, immediately got altitude-sick. Rookie mistake, didn’t account for jumping from sea level to 1,500 meters overnight. Spent a day drinking copious tea while my body figured out oxygen ratios, then headed north toward Hunza.
The drive from Gilgit follows the Karakoram Highway (KKH), which deserves its own section later. For now, just know that this road was built by Chinese and Pakistani workers between 1959-1979, cost between 810-1,000 lives (estimates vary) and gets called the “eighth wonder of the world” by people who clearly haven’t driven it during landslide season.
Hunza Valley sits at roughly 2,500 meters, stretching about 100 kilometers north-south. The Hunza River cuts through the center, glacier-fed and that specific shade of turquoise-grey that only happens when you’ve got massive amounts of rock flour suspended in water.
I arrived in October. Peak autumn.
The Poplar Situation
Every travel photo you’ve seen of Hunza? Probably taken in October. The poplar trees and we’re talking thousands of them turn this specific golden-yellow that’s almost aggressive. Combined with the grey mountains and blue water, it’s… I’m gonna say it borders on too much. Like nature got a bit drunk on the color wheel.
Based myself in Karimabad, the main town. The bazaar sells dried apricots (more on those in a second), hunza caps (the traditional rolled wool hats) and an alarming amount of knock-off North Face gear. My guesthouse had intermittent wifi and a bathroom situation best described as “rustic,” but the rooftop view included Rakaposhi (7,788m) framed perfectly between two buildings.
Met a guy there Abdul, runs a shop selling handicrafts, who told me Hunza was an independent state until 1974. Not a metaphor. Actually independent. The Mir of Hunza ruled autonomously until Pakistan’s government integrated the region, ending about 900 years of continuous rule by one family.
Baltit and Altit: 700 Years of Holding Up
Both forts sit on rocky outcrops overlooking the valley. Baltit’s the famous one, served as the Mir’s residence for centuries. But Altit caught my attention more.
Built around 1100 CE (yeah, over 900 years ago), Altit Fort’s restoration was handled by the Aga Khan Trust for Culture starting in 2004. They did something unusual, kept the decay visible. Original wooden beams still in place, some warped from centuries of weather. Rooms smell like old wood and smoke. You can see how the structure’s been patched and rebuilt dozens of times, different construction methods layered on top of each other.
The fort sits right at a cliff edge. I mean right at it. There’s a viewing platform that hangs out over the Hunza River gorge and standing there gave me that specific vertigo you get when your lizard brain realizes you’re trusting 900-year-old engineering.
Quick History Context:
- Baltit Fort: Built 8th century, expanded 16th century under Ayasho II.
- Served as Mir’s seat until 1945.
- Altit Fort: Older (1100 CE), original ruling center before Baltit.
- Both structures show Tibetan architectural influence.
- Restored without destroying historical character.
There’s a walking trail connecting the two forts. Takes about 45 minutes through apricot orchards. The trees were mostly bare when I walked it late October but locals were still harvesting the last of the dried fruit. Hunza’s famous for it’s apricots and after trying them, I get it. Not like grocery store apricots. These are intense, almost honey-sweet, with this tang that makes you immediately eat six more.
Eagles Nest Viewpoint: Worth the Terror
Eagles Nest (also called Duikar) sits about 1,000 meters above Karimabad. The road up there… let’s say it selects for people comfortable with mortality.
Single track. Carved into cliff face. No guardrails. The jeep I hired had a tendency to stall on inclines, which my driver found hilarious and I found extremely un-hilarious. We passed another vehicle at one point and I genuinely didn’t think both jeeps would fit. They did. Barely.
But then you’re at the viewpoint and the entire Hunza Valley is laid out below. Rakaposhi dominates the north, Lady Finger Peak (6,000m) does it’s distinctive spire thing to the west and you can trace the Hunza River winding through the valley floor. At sunrise, the light hits the peaks while the valley’s still in shadow, creating this layered depth that photographs can’t really capture.
I spent three mornings up there. First morning, nailed the drone shots. Second morning, crashed my drone into a tree (retrieved it). Third morning, just sat there with coffee watching the light change. Sometimes you gotta stop documenting and just… be there.
Attabad Lake: When Disaster Makes Scenery
This lake shouldn’t exist. In January 2010, a massive landslide buried the village of Attabad, killed 20 people and completely blocked the Hunza River. Water backed up for months, submerging villages, sections of the KKH and creating a 21-kilometer lake where there used to be a valley.
The color’s unreal. That supernatural turquoise you see in photos? That’s actually what it looks like. Glacial silt suspension. Same physics as Lake Louise in Canada but somehow more intense.
I took a boat across the new highway bridges the lake but boats run for tourists and locals who lost access to their land. Our captain pointed out where his family’s apricot orchard used to be. Now it’s 100 meters underwater. He said this without apparent emotion, but his hand stayed on that side of the boat the whole crossing.
Parts of the old KKH are visible just under the surface when water’s clear. Drove me nuts trying to photograph it properly. The depth perception’s all wrong what looks like three meters down is actually ten.
Winter changes everything. Came back in January and the lake was partially frozen, ice chunks floating, mountains reflected in the calm sections. Zero tourists. Completely different place.
Attabad Lake Facts:
| Detail | Information |
| Created | January 4, 2010 |
| Cause | Massive landslide |
| Length | ~21 kilometers |
| Max Depth | 100+ meters (estimated) |
| Villages Submerged | Multiple (including Attabad) |
| Old KKH Submerged | ~19 kilometers |
Skardu: High Altitude Contradictions
Three-hour drive from Gilgit to Skardu, though “three hours” in Pakistan means “three hours if nothing goes wrong” which it inevitably does. Rock on the road. Tea stop that becomes a two-hour conversation. Flat tire. Weather. Something.
Skardu sits in this weird basin at 2,228 meters, surrounded by peaks but itself relatively flat. It’s the jumping-off point for K2 and the other big Karakoram climbs, so there’s this constant flow of expedition teams, porters and people with that specific look mountaineers get simultaneously excited and terrified.
Katpana: The Desert That Makes No Sense
Okay, so there’s a desert. At 2,226 meters elevation. Next to glaciers. With snow-capped peaks as a backdrop. Sand dunes that look ripped from Sahara, except you’re in the Karakoram.
The Katpana Desert (officially called Cold Desert) covers about 100 square kilometers. The sand’s this rust-red color, dunes shift constantly from the weird wind patterns the surrounding peaks create. You can ride Bactrian camels here the two-humped kind which is surreal. I felt ridiculous on a camel in a down jacket, but the absurdity is kind of the point.
Went at dawn when mist was still in the valley. The dunes had this otherworldly quality, like Mars if Mars had decent scenery. My local guide (arranged through contacts in Skardu, logistics matter at this altitude) said the desert’s expanding because of changing weather patterns, which is depressing but also tracks with what’s happening to glaciers throughout the region.
Shangrila Resort: Aircraft Restaurant by a Heart-Shaped Lake
Lower Kachura Lake gets called Shangrila because of the resort on it’s shore. From above (drone shot, obviously), the lake’s heart-shaped. It’s become one of those Instagram spots, which normally would make me avoid it, but I went anyway and… yeah, it’s actually gorgeous.
The resort’s built around a grounded aircraft PIA Fokker F27 that got converted into a restaurant. Weird concept, works surprisingly well. Had lunch in the plane (BBQ trout, fresh from the lake, legitimately good) while watching kayakers drift around the water.
The poplar trees surrounding the lake were peak autumn when I visited. That same golden color from Hunza, but denser here. The whole scene had this saturated quality that made my camera’s sensor work overtime.
Pro tip: Summer (June-August) gets crowded. If you want it quiet, late April or September-October. Early morning before day-trippers arrive is worth the 5 AM wake-up.
Upper Kachura Lake: The Quieter Cousin
Less famous, harder to access, zero infrastructure. Which made it better for my purposes.
Hired a local with a 4×4 to get there. Road’s rough took 90 minutes for what would be 30 minutes on pavement. The lake’s surrounded by poplar groves that turn gold in autumn and because nobody’s there, you get the place to yourself.
Spent an afternoon just flying the drone and taking too many photos. Sometimes the best travel experiences are the ones nobody else is having.
Deosai Plains: Above Everything
This is where altitude becomes serious. Deosai National Park sits at an average of 4,114 meters that’s 13,497 feet. For context, that’s higher than most Colorado ski resorts. Nothing grows taller than your knee up here. No trees, minimal shrubs, just endless rolling plateau.
Deosai is the second-highest plateau in the world after Tibet’s Changtang. About 3,000 square kilometers of tundra that’s completely cut off November through May because of snow. Summer (June-September) is your only window.
I spent three days camping there. Well, “camping” my guide had proper cold-weather gear and knew what he was doing. I mostly tried not to get altitude sick and failed partially. Headache day one, nausea day two, finally adjusted day three.
What lives at 4,000+ meters:
- Himalayan brown bears (200+ in the park, saw exactly zero).
- Himalayan marmots (saw dozens, photographed many).
- Golden eagles (spotted three).
- Ibex (herd of maybe 30 at dawn on day two).
- Himalayan wolf (guide claimed he saw tracks, I saw nothing).
The lakes up there defy logic. Sheosar Lake sits at 4,142 meters, surrounded by brown plateau and it’s this impossible blue-green. Water’s so cold it hurts to touch. Fish survive in it somehow watched locals catch brown trout.
Sunrise on Deosai is something else. The light’s different at that altitude sharper, cleaner, like someone adjusted the clarity slider too far. The plateau rolls on forever, these gentle brown waves and the only sounds are wind and occasionally a marmot screaming at another marmot.
Got weathered in on day three. Clouds rolled in, temperature dropped, visibility went to maybe 50 meters. We just stayed in the tents drinking tea until it cleared six hours later. That’s altitude camping you’re a guest, nature makes the rules.
The Karakoram Range: Where Mountains Build Their Own Rules
The Karakoram Highway: Not Just a Road, a Survival Exercise
Before we get into the 8,000-meter peaks, need to talk about how you actually move through this region. The Karakoram Highway isn’t just infrastructure it’s a 1,300-kilometer argument between human ambition and geological reality.
Construction started in 1959, took twenty years and the casualty numbers are disputed. Official count says 810 workers died. Unofficial estimates go over 1,000. Most deaths came from landslides, rockfalls and avalanches the mountains actively fighting back against the road being carved through them.
The highway connects Pakistan to China through Khunjerab Pass (4,693m), following ancient Silk Road routes that traders used for 2,000+ years. You’ll see remnants of the old paths sometimes these impossibly narrow tracks carved into cliff faces where merchants somehow moved loaded yaks.
I’ve driven about 800 kilometers of the KKH total, across multiple trips. Some sections are genuinely pleasant paved, wide, guardrails even. Other sections made me question every decision that led to that moment.
KKH Reality Check:
The stretch between Raikot and Gilgit: single-lane road cut into vertical rock face, sheer drops on one side, no barriers. Our driver was chain-smoking and blasting Punjabi pop music, which did not inspire confidence. But then you round a corner and Nanga Parbat just fills the entire windshield and suddenly the risk calculates differently.
Landslides are constant. Got stuck for six hours near Hunza when rockfall blocked both lanes. You just wait. Watch the dozers work. Hope nothing else comes down. The locals barely react to them, this is Tuesday.
Met a truck driver at one of these roadblocks who’d been running the KKH for fifteen years. He said the road is never the same twice. What’s passable one week is blocked the next. He showed me photos on his phone of sections that had completely vanished just gone, tumbled into the gorge below.
Fun fact: The KKH holds the record for highest paved international border crossing in the world. Not sure “fun” is the right word, but there it is.
Passu: Where Geology Got Creative
Passu sits right on the KKH in Upper Hunza and the first time you see the Passu Cones (also called Cathedral Ridge), your brain takes a second to process what it’s looking at.
These aren’t normal peaks. They’re identical jagged spires lined up like someone took a massive saw to the ridgeline. Perfectly symmetrical. Almost artificial-looking except they’re very much not.
The Cones are part of the Batura Muztagh range, tallest hitting around 6,106 meters. Climbers mostly avoid them unstable rock, unpredictable weather and bigger targets nearby. But for photography? They’re absurd. Sunset turns the rock orange-red while valleys below fall into blue shadow. I shot probably 600 frames over three evenings trying to capture the tonal range properly.
Passu Glacier: Ice You Can Walk On
Right next to the village is Passu Glacier, one of the most accessible glaciers I’ve encountered anywhere. You literally park, walk 20 minutes through some rocky terrain and you’re standing on ice that’s been there longer than recorded history.
The glacier surface is chaos. Deep crevasses, towering seracs, pools of meltwater that are this impossible blue. My guide (hired in Passu don’t attempt this without someone who knows the safe routes) kept me away from the dangerous sections, but we still got close enough to hear the ice shifting. There’s this deep groaning sound, like the glacier’s complaining about existing.
Standing on a glacier hits different. You’re on top of frozen time. That ice under your boots fell as snow centuries ago, got compressed and has been slowly flowing downhill ever since.
Climate Reality:
These glaciers are losing mass fast. According to ICIMOD data, Pakistan’s glaciers have lost significant volume over the past four decades. Passu Glacier has retreated about 1.5 kilometers since the 1960s. My guide pointed out markers showing where the glacier edge used to be now it’s bare rock and moraine deposits where ice used to stand 30 meters thick.
It’s happening everywhere up here. The smaller glaciers are disappearing entirely. Which matters because these glaciers feed the rivers that millions of people downstream depend on.
Hussaini Suspension Bridge: Engineered Anxiety
There’s this bridge near Passu. Crosses the Hunza River. It’s made of planks, cables and what appears to be hope.
The Hussaini Bridge is famous for being terrifying. Massive gaps between planks. Cables at different tensions so the bridge twists as you walk. About 600 feet long, suspended maybe 100 feet above fast-moving glacial water.
I crossed it. Once. That was enough.
The thing sways constantly. Wind catches it. Every step requires attention because the gaps between planks aren’t uniform some are six inches, some are two feet. I watched my guide basically jog across while I’m doing this careful shuffle, gripping the cables, trying not to look down.
Got to the other side and a local kid maybe ten years old ran past me going back across. Not walked. Ran. These kids cross this bridge daily to get to school.
Khunjerab Pass: The Roof of the Road
The northern terminus of the KKH crosses into China at Khunjerab Pass (4,693m). This is where altitude stops being an interesting challenge and becomes a physical problem.
Doesn’t matter how fit you are. At 4,600+ meters, there’s about 40% less oxygen than sea level. Your body notices. Mine definitely noticed.
The pass is open May through November, weather permitting. I went late September, trying to catch it before winter closure. The landscape up there is alien nothing but brown and grey rock, patches of snow, sky that’s deeper blue than seems natural because you’re above so much atmosphere.
There’s a gate marking the Pakistan-China border. You can walk right up to it if you’ve got the proper permits (don’t try without documentation Chinese and Pakistani border guards don’t mess around). There’s this weird moment standing at the gate where you’re technically in two countries at once or neither, depending on how you define borders.
Watched the guards share tea while tourists took photos. They seemed to have this easy rapport, despite the whole “international border” thing.
Altitude symptoms I experienced at Khunjerab:
- Immediate headache
- Shortness of breath from minimal activity
- Mild nausea
- That weird lightheaded feeling
- Constant urge to sit down
Spent maybe two hours up there total. Could’ve stayed longer but my body was voting strongly for lower elevation.
Shandur Pass: Polo at 3,700 Meters
Shandur Pass connects Gilgit-Baltistan to Chitral, sitting at 3,738 meters. The pass itself is beautiful rolling green plateau, wildflowers in summer but it’s famous for something specific: the Shandur Polo Festival.
Every July, thousands of people make the journey to watch polo played on the highest polo ground in the world. This isn’t British polo with manicured grass and fancy hats. This is freestyle mountain polo six players per side, games lasting hours, rules that seem somewhat negotiable.
I timed one trip for the festival. Terrible decision for logistics accommodation was basically impossible, ended up in a tent that smelled like diesel and old socks. Great decision for the experience.
The polo ground sits at 3,738 meters. Just walking around had me breathing hard. The players? Sprinting on horses, swinging mallets, totally unfazed. The matches pit Gilgit-Baltistan against Chitral teams and the rivalry is legitimate. People in the stands were invested shouting, arguing calls, celebrating goals like their lives depended on it.
The game’s different up here. More physical, faster, fewer rules stopping play. Horses and riders crash into each other regularly. It’s violent and beautiful and completely unlike any sport I’ve watched elsewhere.
Shandur Festival Logistics:
- Book everything 6+ months ahead.
- Bring cold-weather gear (altitude = cold, even in July).
- Expect minimal amenities.
- Prepare for altitude effects.
- Roads can be rough 4×4 recommended.
- Permits required (arrange in advance).
The Giants: K2 and the 8,000-Meter Club
Getting to K2 Base Camp: This Isn’t Casual
Need to be direct about this: K2 Base Camp isn’t a trek. It’s a serious expedition requiring technical skills, proper equipment, experienced guides and minimum 8-10 days. You’re walking on glaciers, crossing icefalls, sleeping at altitudes where your body’s actively deteriorating.
But if you can handle it? It’s the most spectacular mountain scenery on Earth.
K2 Base Camp Trek Reality:
| Detail | Information |
| Duration | 8-10 days minimum |
| Starting Point | Askole village |
| Distance to Base Camp | 79 kilometers |
| Base Camp Elevation | 5,150 meters |
| Highest Point | ~5,200 meters |
| Glacier Walking | Extensive (Baltoro, primarily) |
| Technical Difficulty | Moderate to challenging |
| Required Permits | Multiple (arrange through outfitter) |
The trek starts in Askole, last village with any infrastructure. From there, it’s 79 kilometers to K2 Base Camp through some of the most dramatic glacier scenery on the planet. You’re walking on the Baltoro Glacier for days62 kilometers long, surrounded by peaks that make your brain hurt trying to comprehend the scale.
K2 (8,611m) is the world’s second-highest peak and statistically far more dangerous than Everest. The fatality rate hovers around 20-25% roughly one death for every four successful summit attempts. It’s earned the nickname “Savage Mountain” and every mountaineer I talked to spoke about it with this mix of reverence and fear.
The Baltoro Glacier Highway
The Baltoro Glacier is 62 kilometers long. You’re walking on ice for days. The surface is covered in rock and debris, creating this moonscape terrain that’s somehow both monotonous and spectacular.
Concordia is where the Baltoro, Godwin-Austen and several smaller glaciers meet. It’s called the “Throne Room of the Mountain Gods,” and when you’re standing there with K2 in front of you, Broad Peak (8,051m) to the right and Gasherbrum I and II (both over 8,000m) behind you yeah, the name fits.
The scale breaks your brain. These mountains are so massive they create their own weather systems. You’ll watch clouds form on one peak, move across a valley and dissipate on another peak micro-weather happening in real-time.
I spent three nights at K2 Base Camp (5,150m). Didn’t sleep more than two hours any night. Altitude does that your body’s working overtime just to maintain basic functions. Heart rate stays elevated, breathing’s shallow, every small task feels exhausting.
But watching sunrise hit K2’s summit pyramid? The snow plume streaming off the peak in the jet stream winds? That makes the suffering calculate differently.
Broad Peak and the Gasherbrums
K2 gets the attention, but Concordia puts you in striking distance of five 8,000-meter peaks. Broad Peak (8,051m) is right there, this massive wall that looks climbable until you actually see it up close. The Gasherbrums (I at 8,080m, II at 8,035m) sit further back but dominate the eastern skyline.
Walking among these peaks is surreal. They’re so big that distance becomes impossible to judge. A peak that looks maybe two hours away is actually six hours. The scale is just… wrong. Your brain can’t process it because humans didn’t evolve to comprehend geology on this level.
The 8,000-Meter Peaks of Pakistan:
- K2 (8,611m) – Second highest in world
- Nanga Parbat (8,126m) – Ninth highest
- Gasherbrum I / Hidden Peak (8,080m) – Eleventh highest
- Broad Peak (8,051m) – Twelfth highest
- Gasherbrum II (8,035m) – Thirteenth highest
Nanga Parbat: The Killer Mountain
If K2 is savage, Nanga Parbat (8,126m) is downright murderous. The ninth-highest mountain in the world has one of the worst fatality rates in mountaineering history, particularly on the Rupal Face 4,600 meters of nearly vertical ice and rock, the highest mountain face on Earth.
But you don’t need to climb it to appreciate it.
Fairy Meadows: Best Bad Road in Pakistan
Fairy Meadows sits at 3,300 meters, directly facing Nanga Parbat’s north face. Getting there involves a jeep ride that makes the KKH look like a highway.
The “road” from the main highway up to the meadow is 16 kilometers of pure terror. One lane wide. Carved into cliff. Rocks constantly falling. No barriers. The jeep I hired had bald tires and a door that didn’t fully close. My driver seemed completely relaxed while I was calculating whether my travel insurance covered “vehicular plunge into Himalayan gorge.”
Made it to the roadhead, then it’s a 3-hour hike to the meadow itself. Path’s decent actual trail, not technical but the altitude hits. I had to stop every 20 minutes just to let my heart rate come down.
Fairy Meadows is worth it. The meadow’s dotted with basic camps wooden huts, canvas tents, solar panels for minimal electricity. No wifi. Food cooked on gas burners. Just you, the mountain and whatever you brought to read.
I spent four days there. Partly by choice, partly because weather trapped me (classic mountains). Dawn at Fairy Meadows is spectacular. First light hits Nanga Parbat’s summit around 5:30 AM in summer and for maybe 20 minutes the entire face glows orange while everything else is blue shadow. Watched this happen four mornings and never got tired of it.
The meadow itself is beautiful wildflowers in summer, streams cutting through green grass, pine forests at the edges. But your eyes keep getting pulled to the mountain. It dominates everything. You can’t ignore it. That north face is just there, this wall of ice and rock that seems close enough to touch but is actually 10+ kilometers away.
Rupal Valley: The Other Side
Most people see Nanga Parbat from Fairy Meadows (north face). Fewer people see the Rupal Face (south face), which is a shame because it’s even more dramatic.
The Rupal Face rises 4,600 meters from base to summit in one continuous wall. That’s the tallest mountain face on Earth. For comparison, Yosemite’s El Capitan is about 900 meters. The Rupal Face is five times that.
I spent two days in Rupal Valley, based in a small village with maybe 30 houses. No tourism infrastructure. Stayed in someone’s guest room, ate meals with the family, paid about $5 a night.
The view from Rupal Valley is insane. You’re looking straight up at this impossible wall of rock and ice. The scale is so big that your brain gives up trying to process it. Just accepts that mountains can be this large.
The villagers have this casual relationship with the mountain. It’s just there. Always has been. Kids play soccer in fields with Nanga Parbat looming behind them. People farm with that face filling half the sky. To them, it’s normal.
The Glacier Situation
The Karakoram has more glacial ice than anywhere outside the polar regions over 15,000 square kilometers of glaciers. Some of these glaciers are huge. Biafo Glacier: 67 kilometers. Baltoro Glacier: 62 kilometers. Siachen Glacier: 76 kilometers (though that one’s in disputed territory and off-limits).
Walking on these glaciers is weird. The surface is covered in rock and debris looks like you’re walking on a rocky wasteland. But underneath, sometimes 100+ meters of ice.
The ice formations are spectacular. Seracs (ice towers) rise 10-20 meters high. Crevasses split the glacier surface, some narrow enough to step over, some wide enough to swallow a truck. The blue ice you see deep in crevasses is that specific shade that only happens with ancient compressed snow.
Climate Change Reality:
These glaciers are changing fast. Some are advancing (the “Karakoram Anomaly” certain glaciers are actually growing), but most are retreating. The smaller glaciers are disappearing entirely.
I talked to porters who’ve been running these routes for decades. They showed me photos from the 90s compared to now. The difference is stark. Glaciers that used to extend down valleys have retreated kilometers. Ice that used to be 50 meters thick is now 20 meters.
This matters. These glaciers feed the Indus River system. Millions of people downstream depend on that water. When the glaciers go, the water situation changes dramatically.
Ratti Gali Lake and Other Alpine Gems
Not everything in this region requires serious trekking. Some spots are accessible with moderate effort.
Ratti Gali Lake sits in Azad Kashmir at 3,700 meters. It’s this alpine lake surrounded by meadows that turn absolutely brilliant green in summer. The lake’s partially frozen even in July, with chunks of ice floating on turquoise water.
Got there via a 4×4 from Dawarian, then a 2-hour hike. The trail’s steep but not technical. Saw families making the trek kids, grandparents, everyone.
The lake sits in this bowl surrounded by peaks. Very Heidi-meets-the-Karakoram. Wildflowers everywhere in summer. Streams cutting through grass. The water’s so clear you can see the bottom even in the deep sections.
Other Notable Lakes:
Khalti Lake (also called Upper Kachura): Surrounded by autumn poplars, harder to access, zero crowds.
Rush Lake: One of the highest alpine lakes in the world at 4,694 meters, requires multi-day trek.
Satpara Lake: Near Skardu, easily accessible, good for day trips.
The Human Element: Culture, Food and Mountain Hospitality
The People Who Actually Live Here
Spent weeks photographing landscapes before I properly paid attention to the people living in them. That was a mistake. The human side of these regions is as compelling as the geography.
The population up here is diverse. Hunza Valley is predominantly Ismaili Muslim followers of the Aga Khan. Baltistan is mostly Shia. Chitral has a mix of Sunni and Ismaili communities. And scattered throughout are smaller groups like the Wakhi people in the upper valleys near the Chinese border.
What struck me most? The literacy rates. Hunza Valley has some of the highest literacy rates in Pakistan over 95% by some estimates, including women. Girls attend school regularly. Women work outside the home. This isn’t universal across Pakistan, but it’s the norm here.
Met a woman in Karimabad who runs a small guesthouse. She’d never left Hunza Valley but spoke four languages (Burushaski, Urdu, English and some Mandarin she’d picked up from Chinese tourists). She told me education was non-negotiable in her family her daughter was studying engineering in Islamabad.
The Hospitality Thing
Mountain hospitality isn’t a cliché up here. It’s a survival mechanism that became culture.
At high altitude, in harsh terrain, helping strangers isn’t optional it’s how communities survive. That tradition persists even now with better roads and infrastructure.
Got a flat tire on a remote section of the KKH. Within 10 minutes, a truck stopped. The driver and his assistant changed my tire, refused payment and insisted I drink tea with them before continuing. This happened multiple times throughout my trips.
In smaller villages, invitations to meals are constant. Turn them down and people get offended. I learned to always arrive slightly hungry because someone’s definitely feeding you.
Food That Makes Sense at Altitude
The food up here is designed for cold weather and high elevation. Lots of carbs, lots of fat, lots of salt. Your body needs all three at altitude.
What I Ate (Repeatedly):
Chapshuro: Meat-filled flatbread, fried in butter. Hunza specialty. Absolutely devastating to eat at sea level, perfect at 2,500 meters.
Harisa: Wheat and meat porridge, cooked for hours until it’s this thick paste. Served with butter melted on top. Tastes better than it sounds.
Mamtu: Dumplings. Central Asian influence. Usually filled with minced meat and onions. The ones I had in Skardu were some of the best dumplings I’ve had anywhere.
Apricot Everything: Hunza’s famous for apricots. Dried apricots, apricot jam, apricot oil, fresh apricots in season. They’re legitimately incredible sweeter and more flavorful than any apricot I’ve had elsewhere.
Butter Tea: Tibetan-style tea with butter and salt. Sounds horrible, tastes… actually still kind of horrible, but it works at altitude. The salt and fat help with acclimatization.
The bread is different up here. Baked fresh daily, usually in tandoor-style ovens. Has this crispy exterior and soft interior that makes store-bought bread seem pointless.
Spring Blossoms: The Other Season
Everyone talks about autumn in Hunza. Fewer people mention spring, which is a shame because the blossom season is spectacular.
Late March through mid-April, the fruit trees bloom. Cherry, apricot, apple all at once. The valleys turn white and pink with blossoms, with snow-capped peaks in the background. The color contrast is almost aggressive.
I came back in April specifically for this. The temperatures were perfect cool but not cold, clear skies, longer days. And barely any tourists. Everyone’s waiting for summer or coming in autumn. Spring is the secret season.
The locals celebrate blossom season. There are festivals in some villages, traditional music, dancing. The whole vibe shifts winter’s over, crops are coming, another year survived.
Practical Realities: What They Don’t Put in the Brochures
Altitude Sickness Is Real
I’m reasonably fit. Hike regularly, no health issues. Altitude still kicked my ass repeatedly.
My Symptoms:
- Headaches (constant at 3,500m+).
- Nausea (especially mornings).
- Insomnia (body won’t sleep properly above 4,000m).
- Shortness of breath from minimal exertion.
- Loss of appetite (which is bad because you need calories).
The standard advice works: ascend slowly, drink tons of water, avoid alcohol, listen to your body. But even following all that, altitude affects everyone differently. Some people adapt quickly. Some people suffer at 2,500 meters.
Met a Swiss guy at Fairy Meadows experienced mountaineer, multiple 6,000m+ climbs who had to evacuate because of altitude sickness. Meanwhile, local porters are running up trails at 4,500 meters carrying 30-kilo loads like it’s nothing.
Serious note: If you get High Altitude Pulmonary Edema (HAPE) or High Altitude Cerebral Edema (HACE) symptoms go down. Immediately. Don’t push it. People die from this.
Weather Changes Everything
Weather in the mountains is violent and unpredictable. A clear morning can turn into a whiteout by noon. Plans become suggestions.
I had a week blocked for K2 Base Camp trek. Weather delayed departure by three days. Then we got weathered in at Concordia for two extra days. Then rushed the exit because another storm was coming. The original plan became irrelevant.
This is normal. Build flexibility into your schedule. If you’ve got a flight to catch three days after your trek ends, that’s not enough buffer.
The Road Situation
Roads up here are suggestions. A landslide can close a route for days. A section that was fine last week is gone this week.
Always have backup plans. Multiple routes if possible. Extra food and water in the vehicle. Patience, lots of patience.
The locals handle this with impressive calm. Road’s blocked? Make tea, wait it out. Been stuck for six hours? Well, could be worse.
Communications Are Spotty
Cell service exists in main towns. Karimabad, Gilgit, Skardu you’ll get signal. But anywhere else? Good luck.
Satellite phones work if you’ve got one. I carried a Garmin InReach for emergencies. Used it twice once to update family that I was delayed, once to check weather forecasts while at K2 Base Camp.
Don’t expect wifi to work even when it’s supposedly available. Download maps, download entertainment, download anything you might need. Offline mode is your default state.
Best Times to Visit: A Regional Breakdown
Hunza Valley:
- Best: September-October (autumn colors).
- Alternative: March-April (spring blossoms).
- Avoid: December-February (too cold, limited access).
Skardu:
- Best: June-September (access to high-altitude areas).
- Alternative: April-May (fewer crowds, moderate weather).
- Avoid: November-March (heavy snow, many areas closed).
K2 Base Camp Trek:
- Only Option: June-September.
- Peak Season: July-August (crowded, but best weather odds).
Deosai Plains:
- Only Option: June-September (completely closed otherwise).
- Best: Late June-July (wildflowers, brown bears active).
Fairy Meadows:
- Best: June-September (access road open).
- Alternative: May or October (edges of season, risky but less crowded).
Logistics and Safety
Permits and Paperwork
Some areas require permits. K2 Base Camp definitely needs permits. Deosai National Park charges entrance fees. Border areas near China or India need special documentation.
Don’t try to navigate this yourself. Work with a local operator who handles permits. The bureaucracy is real and confusing.
What to Pack
Essential:
- Multiple layers (temperature swings are huge).
- Quality waterproof jacket.
- Solid hiking boots.
- Sunscreen and sunglasses (UV at altitude is intense).
- First aid kit including altitude sickness meds.
- Water purification (tablets or filter).
- Headlamp.
- Power bank (electricity is unreliable).
Photography Specific:
- Extra batteries (cold kills battery life).
- Lens cloths (dust everywhere).
- Polarizing filter (essential for the blue skies).
- Drone (if you’ve got one the aerials are incredible).
- Memory cards (you’ll shoot way more than you think).
Don’t Bother:
- Fancy clothes (everything gets dirty).
- Excessive toiletries (basic is fine).
- Hair dryer (power situation makes this optimistic).
- Expectations of comfort (this isn’t that kind of trip).
The Cost Reality
This isn’t budget backpacking. The distances are vast, the logistics are complex and getting to remote areas requires vehicles, guides and permits.
Rough Cost Breakdown (USD):
| Item | Budget Option | Mid-Range | Comfortable |
| Accommodation/night | $5-15 | $25-50 | $75-150+ |
| Meals/day | $8-15 | $20-35 | $50+ |
| Vehicle hire/day | $60-100 | $120-180 | $250+ |
| Guide/day | $25-40 | $50-75 | $100+ |
| K2 Base Camp Trek (full) | $1,800-2,500 | $3,000-4,000 | $5,000+ |
These are estimates. Actual costs vary by season, group size and how much luxury you need.
The most expensive part is vehicle hire. Distances are long, roads are rough and you need 4×4 vehicles with experienced drivers. You can’t just rent a sedan and drive yourself that’s not happening on these roads.
Why Work With Local Operators
I’m usually a DIY traveler. Research everything, book everything myself, maintain control. Pakistan changed that approach.
The logistics here are too complex. Roads close unexpectedly. Weather shifts fast. Local knowledge matters enormously. Having people who know the region, speak the languages and have relationships with locals in remote areas that’s not optional, it’s necessary.
I worked with local operators for all my major treks. They handled permits, porters, food, accommodation, emergency protocols. Cost more than going fully independent, but eliminated 90% of the stress and 100% of the serious risk.
What Good Operators Provide:
- Experienced guides who know routes and conditions.
- Proper emergency protocols and communication.
- Relationships with locals in remote areas.
- Real-time information on road and weather conditions.
- Cultural context and translation.
- Problem-solving when things go wrong (and things will go wrong).
Conclusion: This Is Just the Beginning
I’ve covered Gilgit-Baltistan and the Karakoram Range. That’s the northern crown. But Pakistan has so much more.
We haven’t touched Khyber Pakhtunkhwa properly Swat Valley, Chitral, the western ranges. We haven’t explored Punjab’s historical sites, Sindh’s deserts and coast, Balochistan’s impossible geology. Each region deserves it’s own deep dive.
This country surprised me constantly. Every time I thought I understood it, something would break my assumptions. Mountains higher than seemed possible. People more welcoming than made sense. Landscapes that combined elements that shouldn’t exist together.
The northern regions are spectacular. But they’re not all Pakistan has to offer.