Phundar Valley Punial Gilgit

I chanced to go to Phundar by pure chance. While returning after seeing the exciting annual Summer Polo match at Shandur in Chitral, I decided to go by a somewhat less-used jeep track to Ghizzer, the nearest road, and thence to Gilgit. From there, I hoped to get a plane back to Karachi. But I was forced to wait a day and a night at Phundar, until the rickety old jeep that plies on the next 35 miles to Ghizzer every other day, was available. As it happened, I blessed my lucky stars for the delay.If you wish to enjoy a fishing holiday ‘far from the madding crowd’ and beyond places like Murree, amidst breath-taking beautiful scenery, go to Phundar. You will be amidst majestic mountains some of whose lofty peaks retain gleaming crowns of ice throughout the year. While cooling my heels there, I learnt about a lake about five kilometres up the valley. It was not only worth seeing for its beauty, the lake was also teemed with the trout. Since mountain lakes have always been a fascination for me, I set out to trek there.It was a delightful walk between rows of tall, straight Poplars that separated flowering fields of grain and vegetables. The track was rough and boulder-strewn and I had to leap over several small water courses that brought icy water down from the mountains to the fields below. After climbing several hundred feet up a ridge, I saw spread-out in the valley below the deep blue expanse of the lake. Not a ripple disturbed its surface that mirrored the mountains beside it.The ridge was crowned by a grove of trees that almost concealed a small rest house. Its watchman said it belonged to the PWD and a permit from the deputy commissioner was needed to use it. However, he informed me that just beyond the trees was a privately-owned hotel, where accommodation was also available. Sure enough, situated on a small rise on the further side of the track, I saw a long building with a spacious verandah. It had some comfortable looking chairs, and since the long climb with my cameras had made me both tired and hungry, I sank into one with a sigh of relief.Within a minute or so, a tall and smiling man came up to welcome me. “I am Sher Khan, the owner of this hotel,” he announced with a touch of pride in his voice and added: “I hope you will stay for a day or two to enjoy fishing.”

“I wish I had known about your hotel earlier,” I replied, looking at a large signboards on which both his name and the word lake were misspelt. I did not have the heart to hurt his pride by pointing the mistake out. Instead, I said: “I would have come with my things which I left in the village down below. Nor do I have any fishing gear. But just now, I would like a hot cup of tea and biscuits.”

“I can arrange for a fishing rod if you wish. But I’ll get the tea first.”

While waiting for the tea I got up to walk round and take some snaps of the scenery. At the back of the hotel there was another valley through which ran a small river. I saw a jeep and a tent beside it. A couple of men were fishing in pools along the river, and even I looked that one of them pulled out a fair-sized, wriggling fish which he dropped into a basket.

When I returned to the verandah, Sher Khan had brought the steaming hot tea and a plate of crisp biscuits. He served it in a well-trained waiter’s manner.

“From where did you learn to serve like this Sher Khan?” I asked by way of a compliment.

“I worked for 10 years in a large hotel in Dubai, and saved enough to build this,” he declared with a proud sweep of his hand. “It cost me Rs300,000.”

“I hope it succeeds.”

“It will,” he declared with confidence,”if the government builds an all-weather road up to here. We have petitioned many times for this.”

Some children came out of a small school at a little distance from the rest house. The school was established under the Aga Khan Rural Uplift Programme. Seeing a stranger one of the students, a boy of about 10 or 11, bolder than the rest, came up to me.

“Have you come to fish?” he asked.

“Not this time,” I answered. “But if the fishing is good I may come again.” “The lake is full of fish,” he said. “Only the other day I saw a man fill a big basket with them. One fish was this long,” he said, spreading both his arms wide in the usual exaggerating fishermen’s style.

“Brown trout don’t grow that big,” I replied with a doubting smile. Trouts from the hatcheries nearby were usually released into the local lakes and rivers.

“It was not brown, but black on top,” he replied. “There are all kinds of fishes in this big lake. Are you going away today?”

“Yes.”

“Then can you give me your pen? It’s not easy to get a pen here.” And when I gave him my last ball point, he skipped and ran joyfully away towards his companions. I was glad that he did not asked for money. It showed that he commanded some pride and self-respect.

The people there, I learnt, were Ismailies. Their polite manners, clean faces and well-washed clothes showed that their standard and style of living had been raised. The boy’s request for a pen also showed that education had given him a thirst for a three-rupee pen. Certainly, he knew what he could do with it. I wished I had brought a dozen ball points, which are so cheap in Karachi.

Sher Khan asked if I needed anything more.

I ignored his question and asked him: “What is it like in the winter here? Can people still fish?”

“The mountains are dazzling white with snow. But the lake does not freeze. You can still catch all the fish you want. In fact, they bite better in winter due to hunger.”

Summer or winter, it seems Phundar is a paradise for anglers and holiday makers.

Phundar Valley Punial Gilgit