A Photographer's Ride Through Gilgit-Baltistan
There’s a certain kind of trip you take that doesn’t just live on your phone or your camera roll — it sticks to your bones.
That’s exactly what happened when I packed my gear, left the West Midlands behind, and landed in Islamabad, Pakistan — ready for a 10-day trek straight up to the China border.
No filters, no fancy plan. Just the road, my camera, and the wild north of Pakistan ahead of me.
Meeting Gilgit
A few days into the journey, somewhere between worn-out boots and dust in my teeth, I found myself standing on a ridge in Gilgit. That’s where I met him — an older gentleman dressed in a wool blazer, traditional shalwar kameez, and a pakol hat tilted just so.
The guy had that kind of presence you can’t fake — proper proud, properly part of the land around him.
Behind him, the mountains just went on forever. Raw rock faces, sharp air, a few stubborn trees clinging on.
I asked if I could take his photo. He didn’t say much — just nodded, straightened up, and gave me this look like he’s seen a hundred lives pass by.
I took the shot.
It’s the kind of picture you don’t get to plan — you just recognise it when it happens.
Why Photograph Pakistan?
Gilgit-Baltistan isn’t Instagram-perfect. It’s real. Big, messy, staggering beauty. Crumbling cliff roads, markets full of dust and colour, rivers fighting their way through stone.
The landscapes are unreal — no two ways about it. But it’s the people who pull you in.
Everywhere we stopped — from little roadside chai stalls to high mountain villages — we got smiles, handshakes, sometimes full-on invites to sit and eat. People wanted to share their story, and a lot of them were more than happy to let you take their photo. Not posed, not cheesy — just proud, honest faces.
Lessons From The Road
Shooting up here isn’t like strolling around Birmingham or London with a coffee in one hand and your Fuji in the other.
Here’s what I learned (the hard way):
Pack Light, Stay Fast: Half the time, the shot’s gone if you’re faffing around changing lenses.
Respect Comes First: Always ask before you raise the camera. Always. It’s not just polite — it’s human.
Embrace Chaos: Roads get blocked. Plans change. Weather turns. Some of the best frames happen when everything else goes sideways.
Shoot With Heart: Pakistan’s not a checklist. Don’t just take pictures. Tell the story you’re seeing — the people, the dust, the stubborn trees, the feeling.
Hitting the China Border
Getting up to Khunjerab Pass felt like stepping into another planet. One minute you’re dodging goats on mountain bends, the next you’re staring at a frozen, thin-air moonscape at 4,700 metres.
The air bites your face. Marmots pop out of holes. The Chinese border post stands there, cold and still, like something from a sci-fi film.
You feel tiny up there.
And you realise — that’s the point.
Final Thought
Pakistan isn’t what you think it is from the outside looking in. It's deeper, harder, richer.
Through my lens, and through the dusty boots and tired smiles of the road, I found a place that challenged me, welcomed me, and reminded me why I picked up a camera in the first place.
If you’re lucky enough to go, go slow. Meet people. Listen more than you shoot.
And when the time’s right — when the mountain breathes, when the old man nods, when the light’s just barely right — take the shot.
Not for the likes.
For the story.
