THEY are setting out, the shepherds. To the cities they go, trudging the winding road along the Kunhar River, its frothy torrent contained between sombre peaks. The flocks shift shape like amoeba as errant sheep and goats break with the herd, curiously nosing the grassy edges of the road.

It is only days before Eidul Azha and the road is long. As they make slow progress to the lowlands, shepherds plod past men packing potatoes in dusty sacks. Others are making green piles of corncobs, freshly culled from the terraced fields.

Like most dwellers of mountains, the locals in Naran — a popular mountain resort in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa — follow a seasonal cycle shuttling between here and the highlands. Busy beavers, they work hard during the summer to sustain themselves in the winter, when the land freezes over.

When the snows thaw in the summer, they return to the valley in anticipation of tourists and farming. Shutters go up on hotels and shops that stay closed through the freezing winter. The town teems with tourists that look to the mountains to escape the heat of the plains. Trekkers pitch camps, on their way to explore peaks and passes in the Himalayan, Karakoram and Hindu Kush mountain ranges. The town market comes alive as folks flow in from cities in the “tourist season” that begins around June 1, peaks in August and ends in September. Something unusual happened this season though.

“The tourist traffic in Naran peaks around Aug 14 because of the holiday,” says Sadaqat Ali Khan, assistant manager at the hotel run by the Pakistan Tourism Development Corporation (PTDC). “We usually have 90 to 100 per cent occupancy around the time. It is like a fairground here. This year, the place was sunsaan (abandoned).”

The season started sluggishly, what with Ramazan keeping people away between June and July. Tourists trickled in after Eidul Fitr but then the Pakistan Awami Tehreek and the Pakistan Tehreek-i-Insaf announced sit-ins in Islamabad, causing panic among people who left in a hurry, afraid the roads would close down.

“Within days, the occupancy fell from 100pc to nothing,” says Khan. “There were no new reservations. The existing ones were cancelled when people changed their plans due to political unrest. Those who were already here left and others didn’t come. We lost between four and five million rupees to the dharnas in Islamabad.”

Came August and even Ayubia and Nathia Gali — hill resorts that are more accessible compared to the remote Kaghan and Naran valleys — lost tourists. The Galliat draws day trippers throughout the week but far fewer people turned up this summer, according to Khan. “In Ayubia, the hotels start filling up around Aug 8,” he says. “This year, the occupancy registered a sharp decline around those dates.”

The walled PTDC compound, with 58 red-roofed log cabins and cottages among groves of walnut and pine trees, is one of the many hotels that crowd Naran. But it is not just hotels that stand to lose if tourists don’t turn up. All over the northern areas, where the literacy rate is low and jobs non-existent, the seasonal spurt in the tourism and hospitality industry throws up employment opportunities for the local youth and households.

“For most people here, the only source of income is tourism,” says Haji Umer Din who manages the Batakundi Hotel in a valley that goes by the same name, 14km further up the road. “We have to pay salaries to staff and workers. This year we couldn’t cover our costs, leave alone make a profit. We only did business for five days after Eid and nothing since.”

Standing atop a green hill, with a view of the emerald waters of the Kunhar snaking through the valley, the Batakundi Hotel is surrounded by grassy land where campers and trekkers pitch tents. Around August, when the tourist rush peaks, the hotel falls short of space. Visitors have to sleep in vehicles. It is a bit like an adventure festival, with hundreds of people arriving and leaving for mountain safaris.

“The landscape turned desolate this year, the roads empty,” says Umer Din, a lone figure haunting the verdant spaces around the hotel. With not a single guest in sight, there is nothing much for him or his staff to do.

With September ends the tourist season in Naran. In the town market, jeeps stand in a long line, waiting for tourists to go up to Saiful Maluk Lake. Shopkeepers sit waiting in shops stocked with fruit and vegetables. But along the Karakoram Highway that connects Pakistan and China more people are leaving than arriving as winter approaches.

Already, in places where clouds coagulate over empty valleys, the world turns medieval. The mountains, dark sentinels, loom over the Kunhar River, a gushing streak of silver tearing through the shadows. Their pine-laden heads, quiet and mysterious, echo with the forlorn caws of ravens.

Published in Dawn, September 28th , 2014