It was World War One Centenary and I decided to explore a village in the Potohar Stretch with a prized possession, a 19th Century Scottish Cannon
Just beyond the village the landscape gets tricky. Perfectly cut out ridges in the Potohar Plateau form a giant cup with vertical, almost hanging rocks on one side and the gradually sloping thickly vegetated landmass on the other. Mother Nature has crafted a place where water from a source deep within the mountains falls from vertical cliffs, flows out accumulating in the square crevices extending down below forming a series of terraced ponds with shiny blue waters.
Legend had it that on the fringes of Salt Range, in the wilderness of Potohar Stretch, there lies a reservoir surrounded by vertical cliffs on one side and the thick forest on the other. Springs ooze out from the mountain cracks, making a ring of waterfalls that fall below shaping up into a lake.
Legend had it that the emerald waters while glow under sun reveal the underwater delights, the stones and pebbles, the reef patterned ridges and fish and crabs.
Legend had it that a few stranded Pakistan Air Force Commandos discovered the lake once they got lost during a survival exercise and named it SWIKE…