On a trek to a seldom-visited corner of the subcontinent, the landscape is as forbidding as the locals are welcoming.

Usually, a scenic plane ride involves watching the landscape unfold far below me, but all I can see out my window is a jagged line of snow-capped mountains rising up to eye level. Seemingly thousands of peaks stretch into the distance, the space between them cluttered with improbably narrow ridges, terrifyingly steep valleys and broad cirques hidden beneath permanent glaciers. So it’s a surprise to see these mighty towers of rock suddenly dwarfed by the appearance of Nanga Parbat. At 8126 metres, the planet’s ninth tallest point bursts from the clouds in a jaw-dropping mix of vertical cliffs, pure white slopes and dizzying rock spires.

The dramatic one-hour flight from Islamabad to Skardu ends with the pilot charting a course through a narrow pass and landing in a large valley encircled by a ring of forbidding peaks. Even locals who have taken this flight many times pause to take photos as they emerge from the plane, but a voice at my shoulder tells me that much better awaits. “These don’t have names; they are not even mountains," says Umer Latif, one of the guides on Intrepid Travel’s 10-day Trek Pakistan’s Karakoram Mountains tour. “You will see the real mountains soon."

Those mountains are the reason I’m visiting Gilgit-Baltistan. Once referred to as Little Tibet, this land of narrow valleys, seething rivers and vertigo-inducing peaks covers almost 10 per cent of Pakistan’s landmass but accounts for just 0.5 per cent of the population. Ringed by Afghanistan, China and the disputed India border, Pakistan’s northernmost territory is home to some of the largest glaciers outside the polar regions and boasts five summits above 8000 metres (including K2, the world’s second highest). And in a place that demands superlatives, the most eye-catching statistic of all might be the region’s average elevation of 3350 metres. Despite this abundance of natural riches, Gilgit-Baltistan sees few international visitors – in 2023, just over 10,000 foreign tourists visited the region.

The snow decorating many of the taller pinnacles belies the fact that “this is a desert – the second highest desert in the world," Umer tells me. Skardu is an oasis in this arid land, and it’s also the starting point for expeditions tackling some of the world’s highest peaks.

As a result, groups of wizened men clad in flowing salwar kameezes and traditional woven caps gather in a bazaar, where butchers and grocers are joined by stalls selling alpine sleeping bags, crampons and climbing axes.

Fortunately, our journey requires no such specialist equipment. A remote spot blessed with great natural beauty, the Nangma Valley also has the advantage of being accessible to anyone with a decent level of fitness.

From Skardu, a caravan of Toyota Prados transports our group of 10 along a narrow valley carved by the powerful Indus River. “Baltistan is like a time machine in terms of culture and landscape," Umer tells me as we pass through a village where troops of smiling kids run alongside our convoy. “When you visit this region, you will find a lot of people whose entire world is their valley."

We get a taste of this in the village of Yugo as we walk through painstakingly terraced fields of bright green barley and see the stone mill used to grind the grain.

After stopping in a lush orchard to feast on juicy cherries and sweet mulberries plucked from the surrounding trees, we navigate the labyrinthine passages between stone dwellings that provide housing for both people and livestock on our way to a traditional Balti lunch.

Our final stop before we set out on foot is the village of Kanday, where a rapturous reception awaits us. The local men, who have traditionally worked as porters on potentially hazardous K2 expeditions that last for up to three weeks, are thrilled at the prospect of a four-day trek in a destination they can see from their homes.

Once we enter the Nangma Valley, it rapidly narrows until only a few hundred metres separate the near vertical walls on either side. The occasional waterfalls that cascade down these sheer cliffs dissolve into mist long before they hit the ground and in many spots the trail is so steep that it blocks out the path ahead.

When it does flatten out, we’re treated to glimpses of jagged shards dusted in white, looming above immense rock faces that are so steep no snow can settle on them.

Occasionally we pass small clearings with mulberry trees whose broad boughs provide welcome shade and dry rock shelters that are still used by local shepherds. But it’s not until we reach our campsite that we find a flat spot broad enough to accommodate more than a few tents. Our local support team has also made note of the space; after a welcome cup of tea, a grinning porter appears with a cricket bat and a makeshift wicket.

What begins as a friendly hit soon acquires a competitive edge as lead guide Muneer Alam shows how he acquired the unlikely nickname of Courtney Walsh. The 48-year-old from the nearby Hunza Valley is prone to endearing fits of giggling and flashes a broad grin as he addresses us over dinner. “You did a great job today," he encourages us. “But this is just the starter; you still have the main course and dessert to come."

The second day of hiking takes us around a slight bend in the valley until the mountains surrounding us seem less like a collection of individual peaks than an unbroken wall of jagged stone. Muneer identifies one especially forbidding sheet of rock as Amanat Brakk, a 5400-metre monster that was climbed for the first time in 2022. Our path follows a powerful glacial stream and after ascending through boulder fields of white granite we reach our main campsite, which doubles as the starting point for the final climb to Amin Brakk base camp at 4500 metres.

That day-long walk begins with a steep climb that provides a lesson in perspective, our tents rapidly receding into red and green dots that are dwarfed by the monumental peaks on every side. When Muneer stops and announces, “This is a good photo spot," it’s hard to see what sets it apart from any other point on the trail. There’s barely a bad view on the entire hike, which is just three kilometres each way but ascends 570 lung-busting metres.

An enormous bag of local scroggin stuffed with tart apricots, sweet dried mulberries and walnuts helps keep my energy levels up as we walk between magnificent pointed peaks dusted in snow and cross sloping meadows split by a stream that thunders down to the valley. “This is the best picnic spot I’ve ever seen," declares a fellow trekker named Erica when we stop for lunch. Ben, an avid hiker from the UK, goes one step further. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy!"

My highlight comes further up the trail, after a steep climb reveals our final destination. A stupendous granite column stretches more than 1500 metres into the sky, dwarfing us with its sheer size. Though it looks impossible to climb, Umer tells me that several groups have succeeded – after spending up to a month on the rock face.

For me, it’s enough to have made it to the base of this formidable cliff, which looks across to another equally intimidating wall of rock. Between them lies an even taller summit buried beneath a large glacier, while in the other direction, a string of pointed crags resembling serrated incisors directs my view back to the mountains that have kept me company for the past few days. It’s an utterly wild vista, and in my decades of hiking, I’ve never seen anything approaching this agglomeration of magnificent peaks.

After almost a week in this wild, seemingly untouched landscape, it’s a shock to return to Islamabad. Pakistan’s capital is a planned city with grids of wide boulevards and a surprising amount of greenery, but there’s also a lively side to the city of 1 million people.

A celebratory mood overtakes our group as we feast on street food such as spice-laden papri chaat and visit museums that explain how local civilisations were shaped by Persian, Indian, Chinese, Central Asian and even Greek influences.

In nearby Taxila, we see a more contemporary expression of Pakistani culture at a workshop, where artisans turn trucks into works of art by covering every available surface (down to the fuel caps) in brightly coloured paintings, stickers and mosaics.

After watching the moon rise from the vast courtyard of the world’s fifth-largest mosque, we head to an Afghan restaurant and tear into lamb skewers glistening with fat, bowls of decadently soft braised eggplant and rice flecked with carrots and sultanas.

In a rare break between bites, Umer turns to me and exclaims, “I’m 35 and I have never been to a function where all the food is finished. We Pakistanis are so afraid of seeing an empty plate!".

A traveller’s checklist

Getting there

It’s possible to fly from most Australian cities to Islamabad with a single stopover on Qatar Airways, Etihad or Emirates.

Playing there

Intrepid’s 10-day Trek Pakistan’s Karakoram Mountains tour runs once a month between May and September. It includes six nights’ accommodation in a hotel and three nights’ camping, all meals, guided hikes and other various activities such as a Yugo village cultural walk and a live music and dance show by local Balti people. From $4770 per person.

Need to know

Intrepid can provide the Letter of Introduction you’ll need when you apply for an e-visa, which can be obtained online for $90.