Attabad Lake: The stunning legacy of a natural disaster

BBC News

26-06-2025

When a massive landslide dammed the Hunza River, it destroyed villages – and created one of the most breathtaking lakes in Pakistan.
When Lauren Winslow-Llewellyn saw a photo of Attabad Lake in Pakistan's Hunza Valley pop up on her social media feed, she immediately went into planning mode.
"[It] was taken from up high, not from a drone but a hiking trail... someone was precariously sitting on the edge of a cliff above vibrant blue water," she said.
Based in south-east England, Winslow-Llewellyn and partner Craig Hubbard, known online as the Non Stop Travelling couple, work seasonal hospitality jobs between their trips to save up for their next adventure. After studying foreign travel advisory sites, mapping safe paths and scouring Google Earth, all that was left was to reach Hunza's capital, Karimabad, as their base camp and hitch a ride to the trailhead.
Perched atop an open truck piled high with rugs and appliances, the couple and a local family barrelled through tunnels, wind whipping their faces and laughter spilling into the air – until, suddenly, Attabad Lake burst into view, majestically blue and breathtaking, ringed by arid peaks jutting straight out of glacial water. "It's probably my favourite memory of our time in Pakistan," said Winslow-Llewellyn. "It felt like we were on a crazy rollercoaster ride."
Pakistan was their 88th country, but even for seasoned travellers, the drama of the Gilgit-Baltistan region stood out. "We've become a little spoilt to say the least," Winslow-Llewellyn smiled. But, "the views in Gilgit-Baltistan were dramatic, even before the hikes began".
A landscape shaped by extremes
"The Karakoram ranges are [one of] the highest, steepest mountains on Earth – greater even than the Himalaya," said Professor Mike Searle, Professor of Earth Sciences at the University of Oxford. From riverbed to mountaintop, Hunza Valley doesn't rise; it lunges from 1,850m to 7,788m. The 6km vertical gain is a stretch of earth and stone so steep it turns roads into legends. Chief among them is the Karakoram Highway, the highest paved road on Earth, often called the world's eighth wonder.
But such epic terrain comes with danger stitched into every slope. Along the Karakoram Highway, hand-built barricades and hours-long delays due to landslides are routine. Winslow-Llewellyn recalls a harrowing encounter with a fresh mudslide – a crushed car hundreds of metres below and locals casually making their way across shifting ground. "It was eye-opening… to see how fragile life is and how vulnerable people are in this setting," she says.
Amid this restless landscape, Attabad Lake is a striking case of beauty born from disaster, and a vivid reminder of nature's force and fallout.
The lake that wasn't supposed to exist
On 4 January 2010, a massive landslide dammed the Hunza River for five months. By late January, water levels were rising by 1.1m per day, according to Nasa data. Users on Earth and Space Science blogs spoke about the cataclysmic event with a kind of reverent thrill – how a formation that usually takes geologic ages was unfolding within a single human lifespan, shaped by rupture and growing in real time.
By June, the newly formed lake stretched 21km long and more than 100m deep, swallowing Shishkat village and partially flooding the town of Gulmit. Twenty people died, 6,000 were displaced and a 25km stretch of the Karakoram Highway was destroyed, along with six bridges.
In 2012, blasting lowered the lake's level by 10m, and a $275m (£202m) project rerouted the highway, adding five tunnels to restore the road to Xinjiang, China, and making the region more accessible.
Today, Attabad Lake has become "a must-visit destination", known for its piercing, cobalt-blue waters and stark mountain backdrop, says Misa Talpur, one of Pakistan's pioneering solo female travellers. But the past still lingers below the surface, with remnants of submerged orchards and rooftops frozen in time.
A new lifeline for locals
Despite its tragic origins, the lake has become a rare source of economic opportunity. "Attabad Lake is fully served by local Shisket families directly impacted by the landslide," said Talpur, who is now a licensed tour manager. Dozens of food kiosks, handicraft shops and boating facility providers have sprung up around the lake, bringing income to the affected families, while larger hotels lease land from local families, generating further revenue.
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Sania Malik, a training officer at AKAH (Aga Khan Agency for Habitat) notes there is a robust system of female entrepreneurs selling handicrafts and food items, and the community is rebuilding stronger than ever. In the village of Shisket, which has a population of just 3,000, Malik recently trained 75 locals in emergency response. "We predominantly try to empower women to become first responders," she said, "They're the ones managing on a homestead level."
Talpur leads at least five to six tours to Attabad Lake in peak tourist season from June to September, and says that local tourists love to boat, jetski and zipline over the lake. They can also walk along the lakeside promenade and enjoy local cuisine at the lake-edge tea stalls. However, she recommends hiking up to Baskochi Meadows for the best vantage point. "It gives you an incredible bird's eye view," Talpur says – especially at sunset for breathtaking photography opportunities as the mountains shimmer golden. The lake also hosts frequent bonfire nights and musical events in the summer.
Many travellers also visit the legendary Hussaini Suspension Bridge and the cathedral-esque, often-photographed craggy spires of the Passu Cones – both just around a 30-minute drive from the lake. The lake's central location also means travellers can explore the Hopper Glacier, roughly a two-and-a-half-hour drive away. With its black ice and surrounding peaks, it is another dramatic example of the shapeshifting landscape of Gilgit-Baltistan. Alternatively, many plan day trips to the ancient Altit and Baltit Forts – more than 900- and 700-year-old vestiges of ancient royal architecture – to get a glimpse of the region's royal past.
An uncertain future
Yet there's no guarantee this popular travel destination will last. "Everything depends on how well-cemented the landslide debris [is]," said Searle. A sudden breach – triggered by something like a major earthquake – could drain the entire lake and "cause disastrous flood damage all the way down to Gilgit and beyond", he adds. Studies of silt deposits indicate that the lake is shrinking over time.
Ephemeral as it may be, Attabad Lake leaves a lasting impression. In the meadows above the lake, Winslow-Llewellyn and Hubbard met a family and asked to purchase fresh apricots, and were, of course, invited in. Over tea and bread, a young nephew revealed two of his siblings died in the landslide. "The kindness and smiles were contagious," Winslow-Llewellyn said, "Somehow it feels more real when you meet people directly affected by the disaster."
And it's those people, not just the landscapes, that stay with you. "Pakistan didn't just wow us with its huge snow-capped mountains and jaw dropping lakes," she said, "the people [were] the most genuinely friendly and hospitable people we've ever come across."
For a lake that was never meant to exist, now, it's difficult to imagine a trip to Hunza, Pakistan, without it. To Talpur, Attabad Lake is testament that tragedy can be beautiful. "We often think a tragedy is the end," she says, "But when something is broken and rebuilt, it's much stronger."
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