Springfield Resort Gilgit, Gilgit Baltistan

05/10/2026

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27/09/2026

27/09/2026

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K2 Base Camp: A Journey Through the Heart of the Karakoram

From Wilderness and Adventure to Eco-Tourism and Conservation

By Ahmed Wali Khan
Development Entrepreneur & Tourism Advocate, Gilgit-Baltistan

There are journeys that remain in our memory because of the places we visit, and there are journeys that remain because they change the way we understand a place. My journey to K2 Base Camp in the summer of 2011 was one of the latter.

At that time, the idea of trekking to Concordia and K2 Base Camp came from Ayaz Asif, who had previously travelled on the route with his father, Dr. Asif, a well-known personality in the Gallain community. For most of us, however, it was our first serious expedition-style trek into the high mountains. The group included Ali Ahmed Jan, Mukhtar Sahib, Zeeshan, Kashif Noon and Khawja Asif from Sialkot.

I had travelled through the mountains before, but this was different. A trek towards K2 Base Camp demanded both physical preparation and mental strength. We knew that the journey would take us far beyond ordinary tourism, into a landscape where distance, altitude, weather and remoteness would all become part of the experience.

From Islamabad to the High Mountains

Ayaz Asif led the group and arranged the trekking company and logistics. Kashif Noon, Zeeshan and I travelled by road from Islamabad through Babusar Top and Chilas. From there, we continued towards Astore, where we spent a night at the PWD Rest House at Rama.

The next morning, we walked towards Rama Lake. At that time, Rama was remarkably quiet. There were no campsites around the lake, very few visitors, and even the PTDC facility appeared almost empty. Today, when tourism development is changing many parts of northern Pakistan, remembering Rama as it was in 2011 provides an important reference point for understanding how rapidly tourism landscapes can transform.

From Rama we continued towards Chilam and entered Deosai National Park. The landscape was completely different—wide, green and open. At Bara Pani, we crossed a stream. Kashif Noon was driving and managed the crossing confidently, while Zeeshan remained understandably nervous. It was one of those small moments during a journey that become memorable precisely because of the uncertainty involved.

We later reached Satpara Lake and stopped for a while. By evening, a sandstorm developed. Skardu’s dry and windy evenings can quickly change the atmosphere of the landscape. That night we stayed at a PWD Rest House.

The following morning, the rest of our team arrived from Islamabad by air. Everyone was excited. We completed our final shopping in Skardu before meeting our guide, Ali Musa Sadpara.

Musa was a highly experienced high-altitude guide from Sadpara village. He spoke Shina, which immediately created a connection between him, Ali Ahmed Jan and me. Before we left, he carefully inspected our backpacks, shoes, water bottles and trekking sticks and shared practical advice from his experience in the mountains. At that moment, I realised that a successful expedition was not simply about enthusiasm; preparation and local knowledge were equally important.

Askole: Where the Wilderness Begins

The next morning we travelled towards Askole. The road beyond Shigar was difficult in those days, but it was part of the adventure. At a police check post, we provided our details and identification before continuing.

Askole marked an important psychological transition. Beyond this settlement, the character of the journey changed. We were leaving behind conventional road travel and entering a wilderness where supplies, porters, guides, weather and physical endurance became essential parts of daily life. My notes from the journey describe Askole as the last human settlement before the wilderness and the place where trekkers organise their final supplies and porter arrangements.

The following morning, Musa simply came from the other side and said, “Chlo sir”—let’s go.

And we walked.

Walking Into the Karakoram

We began through green fields before joining the trekking trail. The weather was cloudy and comfortable for walking. Our first major campsite was Jhola, at approximately 3,200 metres.

Jhola was basic, but even then some improvements were visible. There was access to water, and toilets had been established through international organisations working in the area. We reached the camp relatively easily on our first day, and the afternoon was spent resting under the shade.

From Jhola onwards, the landscape gradually changed.

At Paiju, around 3,450 metres, trekkers normally spend additional time acclimatising. It is also one of the last places where vegetation remains visible. From there, the landscape becomes increasingly dominated by rock, ice and enormous mountain walls.

Khuburse, at approximately 4,000 metres, marked our movement into the harsher glacier environment. The great peaks began to dominate the horizon. Trango Cathedral and Uli Biaho appeared as dramatic reminders that we were entering one of the world’s great mountain landscapes.

Urdukas, around 4,050 metres, provided one of the most spectacular viewpoints on the Baltoro Glacier. At Goro I, around 4,150 metres, we were walking deeper into the high Karakoram. Goro II, approximately 4,300 metres, brought views towards Masherbrum, Gasherbrum IV and Mustagh Tower. The wind at these higher camps could be particularly severe at night.

Then came Concordia.

Concordia — The Throne Room of the Karakoram

At approximately 4,600 metres, Concordia is where several major trekking routes meet. From here, trekkers can continue towards K2 and Broad Peak Base Camps, as well as other destinations in the high Karakoram.

Standing at Concordia is difficult to describe to someone who has never experienced it. The mountains do not simply appear in front of you; they surround you.

The landscape creates a sense of scale that is difficult to communicate through photographs. Human beings become very small against these immense walls of rock and ice.

From Concordia, we continued towards Broad Peak Base Camp, around 4,900 metres. After several hours of trekking, the mountains seemed even closer. Looking back towards Concordia through the Godwin Austin Glacier was one of the memorable views of the journey.

Finally, after approximately nine to ten days of trekking, we reached our ultimate destination: K2 Base Camp at about 5,150 metres.

To stand beneath the world’s second-highest mountain was a lifetime experience.

An Almost Empty Karakoram

What makes my 2011 journey particularly interesting today is the tourism context in which it took place.

At that time, tourism in the region was extremely limited. The effects of 9/11 and the conflict in Afghanistan had severely affected international tourism and mountaineering activity in northern Pakistan. The famous K2 trekking corridor, which today attracts considerable attention, felt almost empty.

During our journey, we encountered an Iranian expedition heading towards Broad Peak. At Paiju, we met another group from Russia travelling towards the Trango Towers. Apart from these groups, there were very few expeditions on the route.

It was remarkable to think that we were travelling on one of the world’s most famous mountain routes and yet could walk for long periods without seeing another expedition.

For someone interested in the future of tourism in Gilgit-Baltistan, this memory is important. Tourism numbers alone do not tell the whole story. The character of tourism—its scale, its environmental footprint, its relationship with local communities and its effect on fragile mountain ecosystems—also matters.

The Names Along the Trail

One of the most emotional experiences on the route was encountering memorial plaques dedicated to climbers who had lost their lives in the mountains.

I remember seeing a handmade plate fixed to a stone along the trail commemorating Vlado Plulík, the Slovak high-altitude mountaineer who disappeared during an attempt on Broad Peak in 2008.

Another name I encountered was Markus Kronthaler, the Austrian mountaineer who died on Broad Peak in 2006 after reaching its summit.

These names represent only a fraction of the human stories connected with the Karakoram. Behind every plaque is a family, a climbing partner, a dream and a story of extraordinary courage and loss.

For the local tourism industry, these stories are not merely historical details. They are part of the cultural heritage of the mountains and should be treated with dignity and respect.

A Changing Trail

Returning to the K2 region through the lens of eco-tourism also means recognising how much has changed.

The campsites have improved considerably. Access to drinking water and basic sanitation facilities has increased, and signs have been installed along sections of the route. These changes have addressed some of the problems described in older travel accounts, when high numbers of expeditions during the summer created serious pressure on sanitation and waste management.

My own 2011 observations recorded a significant difference between the conditions then and the accounts of earlier travellers. At some campsites, poor sanitation and accumulated garbage had created unpleasant conditions during the summer months. The improvements that followed demonstrate that tourism infrastructure, when properly planned and managed, can help protect fragile environments.

But infrastructure alone is not conservation.

The central question is: Can tourism grow without damaging the very landscape that attracts visitors?

K2 and the Challenge of Climate Change

The Karakoram is not isolated from climate change.

During my journey, I observed signs of environmental change that raised questions about the future of the region. River erosion, changing temperatures and visible glacier loss are reminders that these mountains are part of a rapidly changing climate system.

Glaciers are not simply beautiful features of the landscape. They are natural water towers. Their ice and snow contribute to the water systems on which downstream communities depend.

My original notes also record warnings attributed to renowned Italian mountaineer Reinhold Messner, who has expressed concern about rapid glacial melting in Pakistan’s high mountains and the need for stronger environmental management.

Such warnings should encourage us to look beyond tourism promotion.

If the glaciers, rivers and high-altitude ecosystems deteriorate, the tourism economy will ultimately suffer as well. The attraction of K2 is not only the mountain itself. It is the entire ecosystem around it—the glaciers, valleys, rivers, wildlife, landscapes and the human communities connected to them.

From Adventure Tourism to Responsible Tourism

The K2 Base Camp trek represents one of the strongest examples of adventure tourism in Gilgit-Baltistan. But adventure tourism should not mean uncontrolled tourism.

The future of the K2 corridor should be based on a responsible model that protects the environment while also creating benefits for local communities.

That means maintaining proper waste-management systems at campsites, improving sanitation without damaging natural water sources, encouraging trekkers and expedition companies to follow strict “leave no trace” principles, and ensuring that local guides, porters, cooks, transporters and communities receive meaningful economic benefits.

It also means recognising that the people of Baltistan are not simply service providers for international expeditions. They are custodians of a landscape that has cultural, environmental and historical significance.

Tourism should strengthen that relationship rather than weaken it.

What the Journey Taught Me

Looking back at my 2011 journey, I realise that K2 Base Camp was more than a trekking destination.

It was a lesson in human endurance.

It was a lesson in the importance of local knowledge.

It was a lesson in the economic potential of mountain tourism.

And, perhaps most importantly, it was an early lesson in environmental responsibility.

The Karakoram offers something that cannot easily be manufactured anywhere else. Its enormous mountains, glaciers and valleys create a landscape that attracts climbers, trekkers, photographers, researchers and travellers from around the world.

But the same popularity that creates economic opportunities can also create environmental pressure.

The challenge for Gilgit-Baltistan is therefore not simply to attract more tourists. The challenge is to develop better tourism—tourism that respects nature, benefits local communities, preserves cultural heritage and recognises the limits of fragile mountain ecosystems.

My journey to K2 Base Camp began with six or seven friends walking behind our experienced guide Musa Sadpara.

It ended with a much deeper appreciation of the mountains.

Today, whenever I think of that journey, I do not remember K2 only as a destination.

I remember the quietness of the trail.

The sound of the Braldu River.

The enormous Baltoro Glacier.

The names of climbers who never returned.

The small camps surrounded by gigantic mountains.

And the responsibility that comes with being allowed to experience such a remarkable part of the planet.

K2 should remain more than a destination on a tourism map. It should remain a living symbol of the Karakoram—and our responsibility to protect it for those who will walk this trail after us.

25/09/2026

Evening at Springfield Resort Gilgit

11/09/2026

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Deosai National Park: Where Tourism, Conservation and Climate Change Meet

By Ahmed Wali Khan

At more than 13,000 feet above sea level, Deosai National Park is not simply a tourist destination. For the people of Gilgit-Baltistan and for travellers from across Pakistan and around the world, visiting Deosai is often a dream. For many visitors to Skardu, a journey feels incomplete without experiencing this extraordinary high-altitude wilderness.

Deosai has a character that is difficult to describe in words. The vast open plains, changing landscapes, colourful summer wildflowers, cold winds and intense sunshine create an experience that remains in one's memory for a lifetime. Marmots can often be seen near the road or resting on rocks, while the sighting of the Himalayan brown bear remains one of the most exciting experiences for wildlife lovers.

There is a reason why Deosai is often associated with the legendary “Land of Giants.” The moment one enters its vast plateau, there is a strong sense of arrival into a world very different from the valleys and towns below.

Deosai is home to remarkable landscapes, wetlands, lakes and wildlife. Sheosar Lake, surrounded by the vast plateau and distant mountains, is among its most beautiful attractions. During summer, seasonal flowers spread across the plains in different colours, transforming the landscape into a natural garden.

The Deosai of the Past

Visiting Deosai was once a serious adventure. It required careful planning, proper equipment and, most importantly, an experienced driver. The roads were narrow, rough and often dangerous. Only skilled local 4x4 drivers were familiar with many of these difficult routes.

Crossing Bara Pani was once an important part of the Deosai adventure. Before the construction of the RCC bridge, the river crossing could be extremely challenging, particularly during summer when water levels increased. For drivers, it was a technical test of skill, while for tourists it was the real experience of a jeep safari.

Those who travelled through Deosai during those days still remember the adventure with joy and laughter. The journey itself was part of the experience.

Today, things have changed considerably. Improved roads and infrastructure have made Deosai more accessible. The bridge over Bara Pani has made travel safer and easier, while roads through the park provide easier access to different parts of the plateau and towards Sheosar Lake.

Accessibility has brought benefits, but it has also created a new challenge: increasing tourist pressure on a fragile ecosystem.

My First Journey to Deosai

My first visit to Deosai was in 2003. I travelled with my cousin Karim, his wife and his son from Gilgit towards Astore and then Deosai in his old Willys Jeep.

Those were very different days. The roads were narrow, dangerous and challenging. Travelling towards Doyan, the steep climbs and deep valleys below could be frightening. However, the journey itself was an unforgettable adventure.

I still remember reaching the higher areas where forests and flowing water surrounded us. Karim pointed towards a small wooden structure and told me that it had been established by my grandfather, Mehboob Wali, who had served as a Forest Officer during the British period in the region.

There were no mobile phones, no digital cameras and no modern gadgets in our pockets. We carried a film camera and a few basic belongings. After reaching Rama Meadows, we spent the night at PTDC. At that time, Rama was peaceful, open and largely untouched. The meadows were almost empty, with only a few cows grazing in the distance.

The following morning, we travelled towards Deosai through Chilim. Tourism was almost completely inactive during those years, particularly after the events of 9/11. We did not come across domestic or foreign tourists on the way.

After having tea at Chilim, we reached the forest check post and entered Deosai. I still remember the excitement of entering this legendary landscape for the first time. Karim removed the top of the Jeep, giving us a completely open view of the surroundings.

Then, after taking a turn, Sheosar Lake slowly appeared before us. It was a view of a lifetime.

Karim drove towards the lake, where we saw two people windsurfing. There was a camp near the lake, and after some time we met Wajahat Malik, the well-known documentary filmmaker. We had tea at the camp before continuing our journey towards Skardu.

At that time, crossing Bara Pani and travelling down towards Skardu was still a challenging adventure.

Deosai Through Different Years

My second major experience of Deosai came when I had the opportunity to camp there with a team of around thirty to forty people connected with the Pakistan Wetlands Programme. At that time, I was working with the socio-economic team, and along with my colleagues, we conducted field activities with communities living around the Deosai region.

This experience helped me understand that Deosai is not only a tourist destination. It is also connected to local communities, grazing practices, livelihoods, wetlands and the wider ecosystem of the region.

I crossed Deosai again in 2012 while travelling towards the Concordia trek. Even during summer, the area was quiet, and I remember seeing very few visitors.

Then, in 2020, before the Gilgit-Baltistan elections, I again travelled across Deosai. It was November, and the landscape had completely changed. The green plains of summer had turned yellow and brown. As we reached Bara Pani, snowfall began.

That is the beauty of Deosai: every visit offers a different experience.

Conservation: A Success That Must Continue

One of the most encouraging aspects of Deosai National Park is the visible presence of wildlife. The conservation efforts carried out over the years, particularly for the protection of the Himalayan brown bear and other species, demonstrate the importance of protected areas.

The credit for this progress goes to the concerned departments, conservation organisations, local communities and the Wildlife Department. Their efforts have helped protect wildlife and maintain the ecological importance of this remarkable landscape.

However, conservation can never be considered a completed task.

As tourism increases, the pressure on Deosai will also increase. More vehicles, more visitors, temporary camps, waste, noise and human activity can gradually affect wildlife and damage the fragile alpine environment.

A national park cannot survive only through rules on paper. It requires proper management, monitoring, trained staff, responsible tourists and the participation of local communities.

Tourism Brings Opportunity—and Pressure

During the summer season, Deosai now receives a large number of visitors. Temporary camps and rest areas are established, and tourists travelling long distances stop to enjoy the landscape, have tea and continue their journey.

This tourism creates economic opportunities for local people. It supports drivers, guides, hotels, camps, restaurants and other tourism-related businesses.

But Deosai is not an ordinary destination.

It is a fragile high-altitude ecosystem. Its short summer season, wetlands, grasslands, wildlife habitats and natural vegetation can be easily disturbed.

The question, therefore, should not be how to stop tourism. Tourism is important for the economy of Gilgit-Baltistan. The real question is:

How can we manage tourism without destroying the very environment that attracts tourists?

We need a system that creates a win-win situation for both Deosai National Park and its visitors.

This may include controlling the number of vehicles entering sensitive areas, regulating temporary camps, improving waste management, ensuring proper toilet facilities, restricting off-road driving and educating visitors about responsible behaviour.

Tourism should support conservation, and part of the revenue generated from visitors should directly contribute to the protection and management of the park.

A Visitor's Experience

While discussing Deosai with Zartaj Subhani, a social worker based in Karachi and a regular traveller to the northern areas, she spoke highly of her experience in the park.

She was particularly impressed by the natural beauty of Deosai, the changing colours of the landscape and the purple flowers that dominated parts of the plains during her visit. She also enjoyed watching marmots moving freely in their natural habitat.

She appreciated the development of improved camping facilities near the lake, particularly the availability of clean toilets and running water. Such facilities are important because responsible tourism does not mean denying visitors basic comfort. Instead, it means providing facilities in a way that reduces environmental damage.

Climate Change: The Challenge Ahead

While Deosai continues to attract visitors because of its natural beauty, climate change presents a serious long-term challenge.

Gilgit-Baltistan is already experiencing changing weather patterns, glacier melt, extreme rainfall, flash floods and other climate-related events. High-altitude ecosystems such as Deosai are particularly sensitive to changes in temperature and precipitation.

Changes in snowfall, the timing of seasonal melting, water availability and the short growing season can affect the wetlands, vegetation and wildlife of the plateau. These changes may not always be immediately visible to tourists, but their long-term impact could be significant.

This makes scientific monitoring and long-term research extremely important.

Deosai should not only be promoted as a tourist destination. It should also be treated as an important natural laboratory where scientists, conservationists and government departments can study the effects of climate change on high-altitude ecosystems.

Eco-Tourism Is the Way Forward

The future of tourism in Deosai must be based on eco-tourism rather than uncontrolled mass tourism.

Visitors should come to enjoy the beauty of the park, but they should also understand its ecological importance. Tourism operators and drivers should be trained in responsible tourism practices. Visitors should be encouraged to take their waste back, avoid disturbing wildlife and remain within designated routes.

There should also be greater involvement of local communities in tourism and conservation. When local people benefit from protecting nature, conservation becomes more sustainable.

Deosai has given us an incredible natural treasure. The challenge now is to ensure that development and tourism do not destroy its wilderness.

I have travelled across Deosai in different years and during different seasons—from the quiet and almost untouched Deosai of 2003 to the increasingly busy landscape of recent years. Every journey has been different, but the feeling of entering those vast plains has remained the same.

Deosai is more than a road to Sheosar Lake. It is more than a place for photographs and social media videos. It is a living landscape of wetlands, wildlife, flowers, mountains, rivers and stories. The roads may have changed. The bridges may have made the journey easier. Tourism may continue to grow. But one thing must remain unchanged: our responsibility to protect Deosai.

If we manage tourism responsibly, strengthen conservation and take climate change seriously, future generations will also have the opportunity to experience the same sense of wonder when they enter the vast plains of the legendary Land of Giants.

Deosai does not need fewer visitors—it needs more responsible visitors, better management and a stronger commitment to conservation.
--------
Ahmed Wali Khan
Development Entrepreneur | Climate Change, Eco-Tourism & Conservation Advocate
Based in Gilgit

05/09/2026

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Shandur: Where Polo, Nature and Culture Meet at the Roof of the World

By Ahmed Wali Khan

For the people of Gilgit-Baltistan and Chitral, Shandur is more than a mountain pass. It is a name that carries memories, history, culture and a deep connection with one of the most remarkable landscapes in northern Pakistan.

For generations, people from different walks of life have travelled towards Shandur to witness the famous polo festival, meet friends and relatives, camp in the open landscape and experience the extraordinary beauty of this high-altitude region.

Located at an elevation of around 3,700 metres (12,200 feet), Shandur is internationally known for hosting one of the world's highest polo grounds. Every summer, usually in July, the Shandur Polo Festival brings together polo teams and spectators from Gilgit-Baltistan, Chitral and other parts of Pakistan, while also attracting tourists and lovers of mountain culture.

The annual festival is traditionally centred on competitive polo between teams representing the two regions. But Shandur itself is much bigger than the few days of polo. It is a vast and environmentally sensitive high-altitude landscape of mountains, pastures, streams, lakes and wetlands.

A Journey Through Shandur

I have crossed Shandur Pass many times during my lifetime. Every journey has been different. From changing weather to difficult roads and the vast open landscape, travelling across Shandur has always been an experience as well as a challenge.

I attended the Shandur Polo Festival only once, during my school days in the early 1990s. At that time, the journey itself was a major part of the adventure. The roads were narrow and rough, facilities were limited, and travelling between Gilgit and Chitral was long and tiring.

Yet, despite the lack of infrastructure, the enthusiasm of the people was remarkable.

Today, Shandur is much easier to access from both sides. Improved roads, media coverage and the growth of domestic tourism have transformed the festival into one of Pakistan's most important cultural and tourism events. Thousands of people now travel to this remote high-altitude landscape, and for several days, Shandur almost becomes a temporary town.

This development has created economic opportunities, but it has also created new challenges.

A Fragile High-Altitude Ecosystem

Shandur and its surrounding valleys are not simply tourist destinations. They are environmentally important landscapes containing high-altitude pastures, streams, lakes and wetlands.

The wider Shandur-Hundrap landscape is protected as a national park and contains important high-altitude habitats. These ecosystems support biodiversity and play an important role in water systems that sustain communities downstream.

The approaches to Shandur pass through some of the most beautiful valleys of Ghizer, including areas known for trout fishing, camping, rivers and spectacular mountain scenery. The landscape offers enormous potential for eco-tourism, but tourism in such fragile environments must be carefully managed.

High-altitude ecosystems recover slowly from environmental damage. A small amount of waste, vehicle movement or disturbance that may appear temporary can remain visible for years.

During the polo festival, the arrival of thousands of visitors places enormous pressure on the area. Temporary camp villages are established, vehicle movement increases dramatically and large quantities of food waste, plastic and other waste are generated.

The lakes and wetlands near the polo ground deserve particular attention.

If tourism continues to grow without a proper environmental management system, the very landscape that attracts visitors could gradually be damaged.

Tourism Must Not Leave a Permanent Footprint

Eco-tourism should not simply mean bringing more tourists to a beautiful location. True eco-tourism means ensuring that tourism contributes to conservation, benefits local communities and supports the long-term protection of natural resources.

The Shandur Polo Festival can become a model for responsible tourism.

This year, according to the observations of Mr. Sikander Wali, a corporate executive and regular participant who travels from other parts of Pakistan to attend the festival, a significantly higher number of public toilets were established compared with previous years. This was an important and positive step.

However, toilets alone are not enough.

A comprehensive environmental management plan should be implemented before, during and after the festival. This should include:

Strict waste collection and removal from the festival area.

A ban or significant reduction in single-use plastics.

Clearly designated camping areas.

Protection of wetlands and sensitive areas from vehicle movement.

Proper sewage and sanitation management.

Awareness campaigns for visitors.

A strict “leave no trace” policy for all camps and participants.

Environmental monitoring after the festival.

The responsibility should not rest only with the government. Visitors, event organisers, tourism departments, local businesses, security institutions and the media must all play their role.

After the last tent is removed and the visitors have returned home, Shandur should look as clean and natural as it did before the festival began.

Wildlife and Water Need Protection

The streams and rivers around Shandur have historically supported trout, and conservation efforts have contributed to improving fish populations in some areas. The surrounding landscape also provides habitat for important wildlife. During winter, brown bear sightings have occasionally been reported in the wider area.

These are reminders that Shandur is not an empty playground for human activities. It is a living ecosystem.

Climate change adds another layer of concern.

Across Gilgit-Baltistan and Chitral, glaciers, snowfall patterns, water systems and mountain ecosystems are changing. High-altitude wetlands and lakes are particularly sensitive to changes in temperature and precipitation.

Wetlands are often underestimated, yet they play an important role in storing water, supporting biodiversity and maintaining ecological balance. The high-altitude lake and wetland systems around Shandur deserve scientific study and stronger conservation attention.

The potential for recognition and protection of important wetlands, including consideration under international conservation frameworks where scientifically justified, should be explored through proper environmental assessment.

Remembering the Original Spirit of Shandur

To understand the future of Shandur, it is important to listen to those who remember what it was like before roads improved, before large crowds arrived and before the festival became a major tourism event.

While speaking with Mr. Ali Ahmed Jan, a senior conservationist and consultant, he shared his memories of learning about the Shandur Polo Festival as early as 1980 while studying in Gahkuch.

According to his recollection, he came across a handwritten public announcement regarding a Shandur polo tournament. The announcement had been given to his father by his friend Amir Ullah Khan, himself a polo player and associated with the Chitral District Council. Mr. Ali Ahmed Jan reproduced the announcement and displayed it in Gahkuch Bazaar.

Those early matches and competitions between communities from Upper Ghizer and Upper Chitral helped strengthen what would later develop into the annual Shandur Polo Festival.

Mr. Jan attended the festival in 1994, when travelling to Shandur was far more difficult than it is today. Roads were rough and narrow, and the journey between Gilgit and Chitral could take around twelve exhausting hours.

Yet the number of spectators was remarkable.

There were no large camp villages, limited infrastructure and few basic facilities. There were no major corporate sponsors and far less commercial activity. But the festival had something powerful: its original community spirit.

The people came for polo.

They came to support their teams, meet friends, celebrate their culture and enjoy the rivalry between the two regions. The event was rooted in local identity and the ancient love for the game.

Memories of an Earlier Shandur

An even earlier perspective comes from Major (Retd.) Ahsan Wali, who has visited Shandur on several occasions over more than four decades. His memories provide a remarkable account of how access, infrastructure, tourism and the overall environment of Shandur have changed with time.

Major Ahsan Wali first visited Shandur with his father, affectionately known as Baba, around 1967 or 1968. At that time, his father was serving as the APA Gilgit. Ghizer District had not yet been established, and the entire area, including Punial and Yasin valleys up to Shandur, was administratively part of Gilgit District.

He recalls that the family spent a night in Gupis with the late Raja Sahib before continuing their journey towards Shandur the following day. The road was narrow, and travelling through the mountains was a true adventure. On the way, they stopped for lunch at a rest house in one of the villages before continuing towards Shandur Pass.

What he remembers most clearly, however, is the Shandur landscape itself.

> “I remember Shandur as a lush green, bowl-shaped open area, with a lake on one side. Cattle were grazing, and there was no construction in sight.”

It was a Shandur almost untouched by commercial tourism. There were no temporary markets, no large camp villages and no crowds of thousands of visitors. The landscape was dominated by open pastures, grazing animals, water and mountains.

He also remembers his father spending time angling in the lake, although he was unable to catch any fish.

Major Ahsan Wali's second visit came in 2003, when he travelled with the late Shafqat Wali Khan to attend the Shandur Polo Festival. Brigadier Inayat Wali Khan, who was then serving as a Colonel and posted at FC Headquarters Peshawar, had also travelled with his family to witness the finals.

By this time, Shandur had already begun to change. The roads were still kacha and difficult, although somewhat wider than before. The Chitral Scouts had constructed accommodation near the polo ground, representing the beginning of more permanent infrastructure in the area.

His third journey came in 2007, during a fifteen-day family road trip. The family travelled from Dir through Lowari Top—at a time when the Lowari Tunnel was still under construction—before travelling across Chitral Valley towards Damas, Gupis, Gilgit and eventually Rawalpindi.

During this journey, the family stopped at Shandur Top and had tea at the Chitral Scouts' hut. However, after leaving Shandur, they could not find a single place to stop for a cup of tea until reaching Gupis.

This small memory reflects just how remote and isolated Shandur and its surrounding areas still were only two decades ago.

His fourth and most recent visit was in 2009, when he travelled from Damas to Shandur with his sons, cousins and nephews to watch the finals.

But by then, he observed a very different Shandur.

The once quiet and open landscape was overcrowded. Large numbers of visitors had arrived for the festival, and temporary shops and commercial stalls had appeared to serve them.

> “Shandur was overcrowded and had become dirtier and dustier, with lots of temporary shops open for visitors.”

His memories provide an important timeline of change.

From the lush green and largely untouched Shandur of the late 1960s, to the remote and difficult-to-access Shandur of the early 2000s, and eventually to the increasingly crowded festival of 2009, the transformation has been dramatic.

This transformation has brought opportunities for local communities and has introduced Shandur's unique polo tradition to a wider national and international audience.

But the memories of those who witnessed the Shandur of the 1960s also raise an important question:

Can Shandur continue to grow as a tourism destination without losing the natural beauty and environmental balance that made it special in the first place?

When the Festival Becomes Bigger Than the Game

There is no doubt that the Shandur Polo Festival has brought positive attention to the region. It has introduced Pakistan's mountain culture to a national and international audience and created opportunities for tourism and local businesses.

However, growth also brings the risk of losing authenticity.

Today, the event involves tourism departments, government administrations, security forces, scouts and many other institutions responsible for managing an event attended by thousands of people. Security and public safety are clearly important in such a large gathering.

But as the festival grows, an important question must be asked:

Are we protecting and promoting the spirit of Shandur, or are we slowly turning it into a heavily managed spectacle?

Many visitors feel that the actual polo match and local culture should remain at the centre of the festival. Long official protocols, excessive waiting, unnecessary ceremonies and activities with little connection to the history of Shandur can sometimes overshadow the real purpose of the gathering.

The original strength of Shandur was its people.

It was a meeting point between communities. It was about rivalry without hatred, competition with respect and the shared love of horses and polo. The festival should not lose this identity.

Security arrangements are necessary, but they should facilitate the event rather than overwhelm it. Government institutions should support local culture rather than dominate it.

The heroes of Shandur should remain the polo players, horses, local communities and the extraordinary landscape itself.

The Future of Shandur

The future of Shandur must be built around a balance between culture, tourism and conservation.

The festival can continue to grow, but growth should be sustainable. More visitors should not automatically mean more environmental damage, more commercialisation or the loss of cultural authenticity.

Shandur has the potential to become one of Pakistan's strongest examples of community-based eco-tourism.

Imagine a festival where every visitor is informed about the fragile environment before entering the area; where plastic waste is strictly controlled; where local communities benefit directly from tourism; where wetlands are protected; where camping follows environmental standards; and where the cultural history of polo receives more attention than unnecessary displays.

Such a model would protect both the environment and the identity of the festival.

Shandur belongs to the people of Gilgit-Baltistan and Chitral, but its ecological and cultural importance goes far beyond regional boundaries.

It is a landscape of water, wildlife, mountains and memories.

It is also a reminder that tourism comes with responsibility.

As climate change continues to affect our mountains and as tourism reaches even the most remote corners of Gilgit-Baltistan and Chitral, we must learn from places like Shandur.

We cannot continue to celebrate nature while leaving it polluted behind us.

We cannot promote eco-tourism while ignoring wetlands, wildlife and waste.

And we cannot preserve culture by turning every cultural tradition into a commercial or official spectacle.

The real beauty of Shandur is not only the world's famous high-altitude polo ground. It is the landscape surrounding it, the history carried by the people, the rivers and wetlands, the wildlife, the horses and the generations who kept the spirit of polo alive.

The challenge now is simple: let Shandur grow, but do not let it lose its soul.
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Ahmed Wali Khan
Development Entrepreneur | Eco-Tourism, Climate Change & Conservation Advocate