Where the mountains answered our question

“Why Rush Lake?”

It was the last question we expected to hear.

The night before our trek, after driving from Hunza to Hopper Valley and settling into our guesthouse, one of my friends, who had never been entirely convinced about the adventure, looked at us and asked, “Why Rush Lake?” We exchanged amused, slightly horrified glances. We laughed it off, unaware that over the coming days, the mountains themselves would answer the question.

Our decision to trek to Rush Lake had been inspired by travel vlogs made by local and foreign trekkers. At an altitude of 4,694 metres, Rush Lake is Pakistan’s highest alpine lake, located in Nagar Valley, Gilgit-Baltistan.

It looked wild, untouched and demanding. We wanted more than a holiday; we wanted a challenge. Rush Lake promised glaciers, steep ascents, unpredictable weather and breathtaking scenery. It seemed like the perfect adventure.

The next morning, our journey began with a descent onto the Hopper Glacier before we climbed towards our first campsite, Berichokor. The day took about six and a half hours. We stopped often to admire the views and take photographs, much to the frustration of our guide, who quickly concluded that we were too slow and quietly doubted whether we would complete the trek. His scepticism became an unspoken motivation.

That evening, we were welcomed with steaming bowls of instant noodles. I have never eaten as much noodles in my life as I did during those five days. Somehow, after hours of trekking, it tasted better than any gourmet meal.

If day one eased us into the mountains, day two revealed their true nature.

The climb was relentless. Every time we thought we had reached the top, another steep ascent appeared. Our legs burned, our breathing grew heavier and the trail seemed endless. Yet every difficult step was rewarded with magnificent views of the Miar Glacier stretching below us, reminding us why people travel from across the world to experience these mountains.

By the time we reached Chidin-Harai, our second campsite, exhaustion had caught up with us. We had gained 1,000 metres of elevation in one go and some of us were close to tears. The altitude had begun to take its toll, bringing pounding headaches and overwhelming fatigue. As if the mountains wanted to test us further, snow began to fall, making every step slower and more difficult.

Rush Lake was supposedly only forty-five minutes away. Our guide insisted.

By then, however, we had learned that mountain travel estimates could not always be trusted. We decided that rest was wiser than forcing ourselves higher.

That night, sleep came in short intervals, interrupted by headaches and strange sounds outside our tents. In the middle of the night, we woke to heavy footsteps, snorting and moving shadows. For a few nervous moments, our sleep-deprived minds imagined every possible mountain creature before we discovered that our mysterious visitors were simply a group of yaks wandering through the campsite.

Morning brought clear minds, a hearty breakfast and renewed determination. We finally made our way to Rush Lake. Unfortunately, the weather had other plans. Thick clouds rolled in, hiding the spectacular panorama we had dreamed of seeing. On clear days, trekkers can admire Spantik (Golden Peak), Malubiting, Ultar Sar and Miar Peak, with views extending as far as K2 and Broad Peak. We saw only fleeting glimpses through the clouds.

Yet, disappointment never truly lingered. Instead, we laughed, played in the fresh snow and appreciated the experience for what it was rather than what we had hoped it would be.

By then, my body had begun to refuse every uphill step. The altitude and fatigue had drained whatever energy remained. While I struggled to continue, my friend Humair decided to push on and climb Rush Peak. Watching him complete his first summit filled us with pride. We celebrated his achievement while quietly wishing we had enough strength to join him. Convinced that the hardest part of the trek was behind us, we rested that afternoon.

The mountains, however, had saved their greatest lesson for the journey back. After a steep descent from Chidin-Harai, we approached the Bharpu and Miar glaciers. Every footstep was a hit or miss as we crossed the glaciers until we noticed our guides gathered together, studying the route with worried expressions. The glaciers had melted significantly since the previous season, leaving the familiar crossing nearly nine feet lower than expected. There was no obvious path. The only option was to climb across exposed rock.

What followed became the most challenging part of the entire expedition. We found ourselves climbing up an almost eighty-degree incline while loose stones shifted beneath our boots. Halfway through the climb, meltwater burst through the glacier and cascaded alongside us like a waterfall. Every foothold demanded complete focus. Every movement required trust - not only in ourselves, but also in the teammates climbing beside us. Fear had little room to exist because concentration occupied our every thought.

When we finally reached Hamdar Meadow, relief washed over us. The meadow was peaceful and green, surrounded by towering mountains. After hours of tension, it felt like stepping into another world. By then, we had found a family in our tour guides and porters. We played cards with them and teased them about their favourite phrase, “Phazool hai,” which they used whenever they disapproved of something.

That evening, we celebrated with a freshly prepared lamb meal, sharing stories and laughing about moments that had terrified us only hours earlier. It was remarkable how quickly fear had transformed into memories we could smile about.

Our final day took us through the beautiful Hapakun Meadows on our way back to Hopper Valley. Along the route, locals offered us fresh goat’s yogurt. We appreciated their hospitality, although none of us could honestly say we enjoyed the taste.

The last challenge was crossing Hopper Glacier once more. Surprisingly, it wasn’t my body that struggled. It was my mind. Physically, I still had enough strength to finish, but mentally, I had already convinced myself that the trek was over. As I crossed the glacier, my focus disappeared. My footing became uncertain and for the first time during the expedition, I genuinely felt as though I might slip. That moment taught me something I had not expected to learn.

Mountains demand physical endurance, but they are conquered through mental resilience. The body often follows where the mind chooses to go.

Now we all know the WHY: because it is far more than Pakistan’s highest alpine lake. It is a place where glaciers teach patience, steep climbs teach perseverance, snowfall teaches acceptance and uncertainty teaches courage.

One of the most striking parts of the journey was meeting trekkers from across the world who had travelled thousands of miles simply to experience Pakistan’s mountains. Watching them admire landscapes that many Pakistanis have never seen made me appreciate our country even more. We often search for adventure abroad, while some of the world’s most extraordinary wilderness exists within our own borders.

Rush Lake challenged every one of us differently. It tested our fitness, patience, courage and teamwork. Personally, it reaffirmed my faith in myself and reminded me that I can do hard things!

Anoshay Barakzai is an educator and teacher trainer by profession and hiking is her passion.She can be reached at [email protected]