By Matt George in Neelum Valley, Pakistani-controlled Kashmir

Matt George (R) during the mission to bring shelter to Chogali

Matt George of the International Organisation for Migration (IOM) reports on the battle to provide shelter for earthquake victims in remote mountain villages.

With just a few weeks left before winter snows cut off earthquake-affected villagers living at high altitude in Pakistani-administered Kashmir, and not enough time to get winterised tents to them, the IOM has begun Operation Winter Race.

The operation involves providing shelter materials and tools to 70,000 villagers to enable them to salvage and build warm shelters to carry them through the Himalayan winter.

I am sitting alone above the camp on the side of a mountain in Chogali. Below is the majestic upper Neelum Valley.

I am 2,400 metres up but I can see the winking lights of the small cooking fires more than 1,000 metres below. Closer to me, just 200 metres away, is another fire, but this one is ours.

Perched on a precipitous terrace are the five shelters the villagers built today with our help.

They are crude shelters, lined with new army blankets against the cold. The temperature is dropping quickly.

Families are bundling up, the women and children disappearing into the shelters. The men surround the fire, tired from the day, but strangely happy. Their drawn faces wrinkle into the occasional smile.

Today, they were empowered. And that is as good as a hot meal at this altitude.

Beating blades

We arrived at dawn. A team of five, including staff from IOM, the NGO Islamic Relief and a volunteer.

Aid staff prioritise - first are the women who have lost men

As promised in response to a message we sent up the mountainside by mule a few days earlier, the headmen had used the entire village to clear just enough space for a makeshift landing zone for our helicopter.

It is an ungainly Ukrainian M-18 chopper, piloted by what has to be either the bravest or craziest pilot in the world.

In windy conditions and thin air, he lands it on a dime with great billows of dust and snow. There is zero visibility for the last few feet of touchdown.

Under the beating blades we unload our cargo of tarpaulins, picks and wire bundles. A simple kit for a simple mission.

We walk up to the village, find the most vulnerable - inevitably these are women who have lost their men - and begin building them warm and safe shelters out of the rubble of their ruined homes.

A shard of bone protrudes from her shin and half her calf is torn away. It is a miracle she has lasted this long

We are constantly improvising and adapting the materials to the situation.

The villagers gather around, keen and curious. A few of our team drift away with them and start building other simple shelters out of what they find on the ground.

The hope and the activity are infectious. Soon the entire village is involved. Hammers are heard, tarpaulins go up, blankets are lined and the women begin cooking for the new workforce.

Even the children are involved. We found them shivering and huddled, now they caper about, helping to build smaller structures to house the animals and the maize that will help to see them through the winter.

Soon, this forgotten windswept slope begins to evolve. Laughter is heard. For a moment, it is a defence against the approaching enemy - winter.

The cold bites deep into your bones if you stop work for a moment.

Moving on

Abintah, our translator, a Pakistani schoolteacher who volunteered for this hazardous duty, has been talking with the women.

About 300 metres below, there is a woman, they say. It seems she has injured her leg and has not had any help since the earthquake more than a month ago.

Men build simple shelters out of what they find on the ground.

I put down my hammer, grab my medical kit and hike down with our translator and a little boy, who is as agile as a goat.

About 45 minutes later, I am removing a home-made bandage, stiff and rusty with blood. A shard of bone protrudes from her shin and half her calf is torn away. It is a miracle she has lasted this long.

The injured woman's husband wrings his hands. I clean, brace and bandage the injury as best I can and ask for a saw.

I use it to cut off the legs of her bed. It is now a stretcher. The husband and her brothers hoist her onto their backs and we climb.

It is 1430. Too late for a chopper to come. We arrive back at camp. Four shelters are already up. We make her comfortable in one and she waits.

She is still waiting as I sit on the mountainside for a few quiet moments.

The chopper will arrive tomorrow with more IOM building supplies and she will be taken to the hospital in Muzaffarabad.

We will go back with her. The villagers have what they need to build safe and warm shelters for the winter. We can let them get on with it and move on to reach others who need help fast.

You can hear the chopper before you see it. It lands in a snowy whirl. The blades do not stop churning. The supplies are emptied and the villagers keep working.

As the chopper lifts off with the woman, her husband and us, her frail hand slips from underneath her dirty blanket and grips my hand like a vice.

I look to her husband. This sort of contact is taboo in these regions. He nods the OK.

I can feel her heart racing through her palm. With each lurch of the chopper, she squeezes my hand, her strength far beyond what seems possible for such a small woman.