Ancient Wisdom and Modern Innovation: The Story of Artificial Glaciers in Gilgit-Baltistan

In the high mountains of Gilgit-Baltistan, where I live, water scarcity has long threatened agriculture and daily life—especially with changing weather patterns and shrinking natural glaciers. But here, we’ve turned to both ancient knowledge and modern innovation to secure our future.

One of the most fascinating practices we’ve revived is known as glacier grafting, a centuries-old method of creating artificial glaciers to store water high in the mountains. This tradition, rich with ritual and folklore, is something I grew up hearing stories about—and now, I’ve seen it in action.

We choose cold, shaded spots at high altitudes—places that stay below freezing all year. Then, with great care, we transport chunks of “male” and “female” glaciers to these sites. The male ice is slow-moving and full of rock and sediment, while the female ice is clean and shiny, believed to yield more water. These pieces are packed into willow baskets along with barley husk, charcoal, and other insulating materials, then buried in pits and sealed with a mix of mud and stones.

Locals call this a “glacier marriage,” believing that the union of the two glacier types will “give birth” to a new glacier in a few years. It may sound symbolic, but it works—these methods have helped restore water access to villages that used to struggle by late spring.

In recent years, we’ve also started building ice stupas, which are a modern take on the same idea. These cone-shaped ice structures are made by spraying water into sub-zero air during the winter. The water freezes layer by layer, forming a towering glacier that slowly melts during spring, just when we need it most.

This approach was inspired by the work of Sonam Wangchuk in Ladakh, and it’s changed lives here in Gilgit-Baltistan too. In fact, with the support of UNDP and the GLOF-II project, we’ve built over 20 ice stupas across different valleys. Each one can store up to 20 million litters of water, supporting farming for entire communities. Now, instead of waiting until May or June, many farmers start planting in March—and some are harvesting two to three crops a year, where there used to be just one.

These projects are not only helping us fight drought and crop failure, they’re also preserving a piece of our cultural heritage. As someone who’s seen both the old and the new methods up close, I can say with pride that we’re proving something important: when local wisdom meets innovation, real change is possible.

What’s happening in Gilgit-Baltistan is more than just climate adaptation—it’s a story of resilience, rooted in the land, carried forward by community.

By Amjad, our ISA fellow from Gilgit-Baltistan