It’s 6:30 in the morning, and the valley is bathed in the soft golden hue of dawn. The crisp air smells of pine and damp soil. The sound of the Neelum River flows faintly in the distance, reminding me where I am — deep in the heart of Azad Kashmir, surrounded by mountains that still hold their morning mist like a secret.
I’m all set to begin my day. Today’s plan is ambitious — a motorcycle trek to Shounter Valley and eventually a hike to the ethereal Chitta Katha Lake. Locals and travelers alike have called it one of the most beautiful treks in the region. Though the path ahead is known to be challenging and rough, the call of the unknown is too strong to resist.
The Plan
The Shounter Valley trek isn’t an easy one — it’s off-road, steep, and often unpredictable. But since it didn’t rain yesterday, I’m optimistic. The roads might be in a relatively better condition.
If at any point the terrain becomes too difficult for my motorcycle, I’ve decided to park it aside, just like I did during my Ratti Gali trip. A jeep would then take me further up.
Since riding with heavy luggage makes off-road travel trickier, I’ve arranged for a local jeep driver to carry my main bag. I’ll only be keeping my camera and related equipment with me — can’t compromise on capturing the beauty of this land.
The plan is simple:
Ride till Dumail — the base point. From there, hike to Chitta Katha Lake, which should take around four to five hours depending on stops for photography. I’ll camp there for the night, and the next day, descend back and try to reach Sharda by evening.
So yes, it’s going to be a two-day adventure — filled with mountains, rivers, treks, and prayers for safety.
Before I start, I whisper a short prayer for a safe and blessed journey.
The First Stretch
The off-road section ahead makes me a bit nervous. I can already feel the subtle fear creeping in — that tingling anxiety that comes before an uncertain ride. It’s not my first off-road experience, but Kashmir has its own kind of wilderness — beautiful and brutal at once.
“This will be my last off-road section in Kashmir,” I remind myself, almost as a promise. After this, I’ll be heading towards KPK through Noori Top — another mighty challenge.
As I kickstart the motorcycle, the engine coughs to life. “What happened to the bike?” I mutter. “Guess it’s still warming up.”
Along the roadside, a few locals wave as I pass by. They tell me, smiling, “Bhai, your headlight is on!”
I laugh. “Can’t turn it off! There’s no button for that.”
A small diesel shop appears on the roadside — closed for now. I remember a local who gave me his number last night, telling me to call when I reach the Shounter station. I stop, take out my phone, and dial him up.
“Assalam Alekum, I’m on my way to Shounter,” I say.
“Wa Alekum Salam,” he replies warmly. “Note down the jeep number. The driver will meet you at Dumail where the trek starts. You can wait for him there if you reach early.”
“Got it,” I respond. “JazakAllah.”
The Road to Shounter
“Assalam Alekum, brother, which way is Shounter Valley?”
A man standing by the road points ahead. “Go this way. One road leads to Taobat and the other to Shounter. But brother, are you taking the motorcycle all the way?”
“Yes,” I reply. “Is it very tough?”
He smiles wryly. “You can go. Your motorcycle looks fine. But the road… not so much. It’s much worse than the road to Taobat.”
I nod, thanking him, though his words stir a little doubt in me. One person says the road is fine, the next says it’s dangerous. Who to believe? That’s the nature of travel in these remote places — half the adventure lies in finding out for yourself.
The road soon turns rocky. Loose gravel and deep pits start to test my balance. The motorcycle wobbles. My heart races a little faster. But the scenery—oh, the scenery—compensates for every jolt.
The valley opens up, revealing lush meadows cradled between towering peaks. Streams of silver water snake through the green fields. The sunlight seeps through the morning clouds, creating patches of gold that dance over the landscape.
“This,” I whisper to myself, “is why I travel.”
Through the Valleys
The breeze grows colder as I ride along a gushing stream. My hands are numb, and I realize that my only jacket for the night is in the jeep behind me. So are my rain covers. I silently pray that the weather stays clear.
The motorcycle slips a bit on a loose patch, and I tighten my grip on the handle. “Ya Allah, please keep me safe.”
A village appears on my left — small wooden houses with tin roofs reflecting sunlight. Children wave at me from the roadside. Their laughter lightens the fatigue. Every few kilometers, another settlement emerges. It gives me comfort knowing I’m not entirely cut off from civilization.
Soon, I reach a water crossing — fast-flowing, icy, and deep. I stop, step down, and analyze the path. The wrong move could easily drown the motorcycle.
“Careful,” I tell myself, inhaling deeply. Then, with a roar, I push through. Water splashes, the bike trembles, but by Allah’s grace, I make it across.
I exhale in relief. “That was deep.”
No doubt — this is one of the most beautiful yet challenging tracks I’ve seen in Kashmir.
Tea at Bela One
After a long climb, I finally stop at a place called Bela One. It’s a small cluster of roadside shacks where tea is brewing on wood-fired stoves. Steam rises in the cold air. The aroma of fresh parathas fills the atmosphere.
I park the bike and sit with a few locals. Their hospitality, as always, is heartwarming. We talk about life in the mountains, about winters when the valley is sealed off by snow, and about travelers who come seeking beauty but often underestimate the terrain.
Time flies as we talk.
“There’s Bela Two after this,” one of them tells me. “Then Upper Dumail. That’s where the trek starts.”
I thank them, sip the last of my chai, and get back on the road.
Lessons on the Road
As I ride further, I notice something disturbing — empty plastic bottles scattered near the stream. It pains me.
I pause and record a message for my vlog, “To everyone coming here, please don’t litter. These bottles end up in the rivers. Drink from the streams instead — the water’s purer than any packaged drink. Be responsible tourists. Leave nothing but footprints.”
The road turns rough again. Loose rocks demand full focus. The key is to carefully pick the right line; one wrong move could throw you off balance. I see a rider ahead on a small 125cc bike. For a moment, I think he’s gliding smoothly — but as I get closer, I realize he’s struggling just like me.
“This road,” I mutter, “is a test of patience and prayer.”
Finally, after what feels like hours, the terrain smoothens. I sigh in relief. “Maybe that was the last tough patch,” I hope.
Upper Dumail: The Base Camp
At 12:30 PM, I reach Upper Dumail — a small village surrounded by tall pines and roaring streams. I can feel my hunger gnawing at me. There’s a humble roadside hotel — wooden benches, a fire pit, and the smell of lentils cooking.
I order a simple meal — dal, roti, and chai — and it feels like the best food in the world.
Here, I also find a porter who agrees to accompany me to Chitta Katha Lake for Rs 4000, covering both ascent and descent.
It’s 1 PM now. I tighten my laces, grab my camera bag, and start the trek. The sun is high but kind. The air is cool, and the mountains rise like giants on all sides.
The Trek Begins
The porter, Ansar, walks effortlessly, while I try to match his pace. “If we keep steady,” he says, “we’ll reach the lake before 6 PM.”
The trail starts gently — a dirt path along a river. Then it moves through green fields, and soon, we enter a dense forest. The air smells of wet earth and wildflowers.
After about an hour and a half, we reach Dock 1 — the first checkpoint. It has small tea shops and camping areas. I take a short break and look around. The scenery keeps changing — from riverbanks to fields to forests — every turn feels like a new world.
“This trek,” I tell my camera, “isn’t easy. But it’s one of the most beautiful day treks I’ve done — not just in Pakistan, but anywhere.”
Ansar nods. “We’re halfway there.”
“Halfway,” I repeat, smiling. “Let’s make the next half count.”
The next section is steep and demanding. My legs ache, my breath grows heavier, but the view keeps pulling me upward. Snow-capped peaks start to appear in the distance, shimmering under the afternoon sun.
Arrival at Chitta Katha Lake
By the time I reach the lake, the sun is kissing the horizon. The world glows in golden-orange light. My legs feel like stone, but the sight before me takes all exhaustion away.
Chitta Katha Lake — nestled in the lap of the mountains, its surface reflects the sky like a mirror. The water is a surreal shade of turquoise, surrounded by ridges that look painted by the hand of God.
I quickly set up my tent while there’s still light, fetch water from the lake, and cook a simple meal.
But exhaustion hits me hard. I realize my mistake — I didn’t carry enough snacks during the trek. My energy drops. I eat quietly and crawl into my sleeping bag.
The night is freezing. I wake up several times shivering, despite wearing every layer I have. But as the stars appear — thousands of them scattered across the clear sky — I forget the cold.
It’s moments like this that make every hardship worth it.
Morning by the Lake
The first rays of sunlight creep over the peaks, turning the lake’s surface into liquid gold. I step out of the tent, stretch, and feel the chill bite through my gloves.
My tent is damp — the base is partially frozen. I wait for the sunlight to dry it up before packing. In the meantime, I make myself some coffee and just sit there, watching the mountains wake up.
This — this peace — is beyond words.
Before leaving, I ensure I pack all my trash carefully. “Leave no trace,” I remind myself again. “Let it look like no one camped here last night.”
It’s something every traveler must do. We owe it to these pristine places.
The Descent
The descent feels lighter, easier — maybe because I’ve seen what I came for. By the time we reach Dock 1, it’s around noon. I have breakfast there — a simple omelet and tea — and thank Ansar for his help.
From Dock 1 to Dumail, it takes about an hour and a half. My body aches, but my heart feels full.
Back at Dumail, I meet a fellow traveler I had seen near the lake. He’s heading to Sharda as well. I offer him a ride and load the luggage onto his jeep.
“I’ll meet you in Kel,” I say. “And then again in Sharda.”
We part ways, each taking the mountain road at our own pace.
Reflections on the Road Back
As I ride back through Shounter Valley, the same roads look different now — gentler, friendlier. The fear I felt before is replaced by gratitude.
Travel does that to you — it humbles you, reshapes you, teaches you patience and respect for nature.
By the time I reach Kel, the sun has begun to dip again. I’m exhausted, dusty, and hungry. But inside, I feel a deep contentment — the kind that only comes from walking the hard road and returning safely.
