Sultana Nasab never planned to climb the world's second-tallest mountain while pregnant.
But when the opportunity arose, she couldn't refuse.
"There was a selection process for the first-ever sponsored women climbers from Pakistan to summit K2," she said.
"It had always been my dream to climb, so it was a golden opportunity."
The peak, rising 8,611 metres on the China and Pakistan border, is known as "Savage Mountain".
Many mountaineers consider it more dangerous than Everest, notorious for its unrelenting steepness and the technical skill required to navigate ice and rock.
For Ms Nasab, who grew up in Shimshal Valley — a high-altitude valley in northern Pakistan — her training for such extremes was embedded in daily life.
She collected water from high rivers and herded livestock across alpine pastures.
"For many women, working during pregnancy is not a choice but a necessity," she said.
"[Some people] say women can't go, that women don't have awareness about climbing, but women can do this.
"It is important to adapt — it is never too late."
The hardest part of the 45-day expedition came before Camp 3, she said.
"At the bottleneck, my two climbing partners had gone up to retrieve a dead body, so I went ahead alone," she said.
On this steep section, she encountered black ice — dangerous ice covering dark rock faces.
Ms Nasab was the only climber in her expedition to reach the summit, among six women.
"I was just so happy to be there at the top, with my baby inside me, doing it together," she said.
"I didn't feel any altitude, I just felt at peace," said Ms Nasab, who was five months pregnant at the time.
The first Pakistani woman to climb K2 was Samina Baig in 2022.
Ms Nasab is the third, and hopes more Pakistani women will follow.
A new wave of women on Pakistan's peaks
Ms Nasab said the biggest barrier keeping women off Pakistan's tallest mountains was financial: professional expeditions require sponsorship of up to $25,000 for gear, logistics and trained support teams.
While elite summits remain inaccessible for most women, the number of women working as guides is slowly growing alongside Pakistan's expanding adventure tourism.
In Skardu, the gateway city to K2, Naila Parveen is training to become a hiking and rock-climbing guide.
Before stepping into a harness, she worked as a nurse in the UK during the pandemic.
She said she applied the logic she learnt during those years — being exposed to the virus on a daily basis — to climbing mountains.
"You minimise risk by taking precautions," she said.
"In the hospital, it's protective equipment. In the mountains, it's training and knowing what could be risky."
Rock climbing was not part of her upbringing.
But her grandmother reminded her that women have long climbed mountains to collect firewood and carry supplies across hills where roads don't exist.
When Ms Parveen enrolled in a mountaineering course run by an NGO, Accelerate, her family hesitated.
"My mother said, 'You left a respectable, noble profession of nursing, and now you're climbing mountains where you can fall anytime?'"
Even now, Ms Parveen's mother urges her to return, insisting it's "not for women".
But the course — and the landscape — have offered unexpected joy.
"I feel my body stretching — my legs, my hamstrings, and getting stronger," she said.
"The feeling you get, it's so rewarding."
Navigating Pakistan's unpredictable terrain
It's not just women in Pakistan's northern villages who are gravitating towards outdoor exploration, but also women from cities.
For years, 30-year-old Javeria Anwar felt stuck — working in a call centre, answering about 150 calls a day.
"I was from a middle-class family in the city of Lahore, just an ordinary girl, and I knew I should be happy because I was making good money," she said.
"But it didn't satisfy my soul."
She dreamed of being a photographer and wanted to save for her first professional camera lens when friends urged her to take a trip north to the mountains.
At the Baltoro glacier, near the China and Pakistan border, surrounded by an amphitheatre of high mountain peaks, something shifted.
"The beauty of Pakistan is the mountains are so vulnerable, so raw and so wise that you feel helpless," said Ms Anwar, who goes by the name Jojo.
Seven years later, she is now a mountain guide.
Flexibility, she said, was essential in Pakistan's rugged terrain.
Landslides, border tensions and the monsoon season require constant communication.
During the July and August monsoon season, floods often shut down roads.
"If people see videos of floods on social media, they often cancel their trips," she said.
"They don't see what happens next — locals immediately start building to divert traffic."
Liz Norman, an Australian who runs Karakoram Bikers tour company with her Pakistani partner, agreed.
"You can tell who's open to slower travel and who's not," she said.
"Some hear the challenges and stay, talking and planning their trip. Others say, 'Not for me'," Ms Norman said.
"If they see a [structure] washed away online, I explain to them, 'That bridge is gone, but there's a detour, you can get through.
"Many communities are resilient."
In reality, locals often begin clearing debris from landslides within hours.
India-Pakistan tensions can also flare and affect travel plans.
Given all the variables, every tour usually includes a buffer day.
Ms Norman and Jojo said one of their biggest frustrations was the narrow — and often inaccurate — portrayal of Pakistani women.
"People think Pakistan is like Afghanistan, which is not true," Jojo said.
"When clients tell friends they're going to Pakistan, everyone says it's a bad idea.
"But once they're here and they experience the hospitality, they understand.
"Women go to university. They work everywhere. They're highly educated. This isn't under the Taliban," Ms Norman explained.
Hospitality, Jojo added, is deeply ingrained.
"We believe the more we share, the more blessings we receive. It comes from the heart."
