We are five anglers in an old SUV heading out South from Jaipur. It is a March morning some years ago, and our destination is a Dam on a major seasonal river a few hours away. The trip has been cobbled together at short notice and our hosts are only indirectly known to us, but they are local bigwigs and we hope we can depend on them to get us to the right spots on the river and host us for the night. None of us have actually fished in this area before so our chances are uncertain. Which is actually one way of doing such a trip, and we end up having great fun !
Our target naturally is the Mahseer (Barbus tor), but there should also be Silund (Silonia silondia) and Sowal (Ophicephalus striatus) – all of which do take artificial lures likes spinners, spoons and plugs. These rivers also harbour enormous Goonch (Bagarius bagarius) down in the bottom of deep pools. Tales of fish caught over the years are traded as the beer starts flowing by 11 am. D christens me ‘Kalbeliya’ for the trip, I presume for the printed black shirt I have on. I dare not complain. D is the biggest of our Party. He is a very big gentleman and surely double my size and can whack the golf ball 300 yards with a 3-iron. My miseries are compounded when cigarette smoke fills the car – I don’t smoke but all my companions do. Traffic is fairly heavy and we make slow progress. We are stuck behind a truck which sports a colourful painting of a buxom young lady, and printed beneath is ‘ZALIM JATNI’. This prompts someone to jump out at the next village to buy a CD with Rajasthani folk songs. One particular ditty with a decidedly bucolic and bawdy flavour is the favorite. Now we are really in the groove.
We arrive at the RV point and are met by our hosts, two brothers. Excellent, they have lunch packed in a big tiffin box and are keen to move straight on to the river. The younger brother is driving their car, a brand new sedan made by the Americans in India. We follow in his wake as he blasts through the traffic in town. Soon the tarmac disappears and we are on a rough track as we approach the river. Stones and mud are effortlessly negotiated at high speed by our Rally Driver, and we are soon left far behind. Anyway we can’t get lost since the track leads straight down to the water. We cross the river over an old stone bridge built on arches which is often fully submerged in the monsoon.
Our hosts have commandeered a boat and we tuck into lunch sitting by the rough jetty. Fiery mutton curry and rotis. Additional hot green chillies for some. A group of Cormorants are beating for fish in the shallows. They flap their wings splashing the surface and draw a semi-circle closer to the bank. Small fish thus herded are then quickly scooped up when the circle closes.
We start to get our fishing tackle together. Light rods and spinning reels. The boatman has to be cajoled to get going - I suspect he wants more money. Once we are actually cruising over the placid surface we realize that the banks are now moving further and further away as the river fans out. The dammed river has created a huge lake and all around is water. Ducks are common, but the waders on the sandbanks are already too far away to identify.
We start casting from the boat, careful not to impale the spectators with the steel barbs on the lures. No luck. I change lures. We cut the outboard motor, thinking this could be disturbing fish around the boat. Still not a single bite. One rod tries running the lure deep. We try trolling as the boat is rowed forward.
Our Rally Driver has been observing all this quite patiently. He now decides to break out a fresh bottle of whisky ! Steel mugs are passed around. Our boatman has a resigned look on his face.
As we drift closer to the dam, which is still several miles away, we pass the first of the fishing boats. These are similar to our own, flat-bottomed and sturdy. The fishing teams are all Bengalis. Loincloths and vests are standard attire. Our hosts hail one over. They approach reluctantly. The Fishing Contractor’s name is bandied about and a few fish are demanded to be handed over. Quite clearly fish is on the menu for dinner and our hosts appear not to have any faith in our ability to catch any today. Soon we have a few choice specimens drawn forth from the hold of the fishing boat and deposited flapping into ours. But the Captain of the unlucky boat wants some assurance that he will be compensated. So an IOU is signed on the wrapper of a Bidi packet.
As we return to the bridge we notice that several of the stone piers have youngsters perched on ledges jutting over the water. They all have lines dangling using some kind of bait on single hooks. On the bank an Army officer is calmly pulling out fish after fish – he already has a sackful of small ones !
What have we been doing wrong ? The sun is well set and light is fading as we decide to now fish along the bank. Suddenly my line is pulled heavily and I am on. I am careful playing the fish as I only have a 8 lbs. line. But after the first pull the fish allows itself to be reeled in relatively tamely. I know I do not have either a mahseer or silund as they are fierce fighters. But as soon as I drag it up the sandbank below the bridge, the length of the fish prompts someone watching to call out in the vernacular – that’s a big one! Music to any angler’s ears. It is a 12 lbs. Lanchi (Wallagonia attu) – almost 41/2 ft. long. This is the fresh-water shark. I am very careful removing the lure which it has swallowed deep. It has a huge flat mouth which is armed with small, thin razor-sharp teeth.
Soon the other rods are also into fish but only more Lanchi for today. I try to false-hook one of the bamn (eels) which curl through and around the vegetation in the shallows just off the bank but without success. We have fish, and so partly damaged egos now placated we decide to call it a day.
Our hosts are gracious in putting two rooms at their Haveli at our disposal. A bacchanalian evening is enlivened with many jokes and much conviviality. The freshly caught fish and the pirated fish are prepared into delicious dry kebabs and a passable curry. Just before dinner the lights in the village go out. It is a power cut. We may have to eat in the dark and then sleep without fans. Not when you have the Rally Driver around ! And he owns this place. When a few phone calls do not elicit the proper response from the Power Sub-Station, he is off again in the car muttering dire warnings. The lights come right back on in a few minutes.
Of course we had adjourned at night resolving to get to the river at dawn. No chance of that. Morning blues after all the fun the night before is inevitable. We are only able to get to another spot on the river downstream of the dam by 9 am. This area is quite interesting. Many pools line the bank of the original rivercourse. The limpid shallow water is clear enough for us to see fish swimming lazily. Reeds and bull rushes line the islands. A kingfisher flashes past to a perch overlooking the water. It is a Stork-billed Kingfisher, one of the rarest of our Kingfishers from these parts. A Bronze-winged Jacana steps gingerly over lily pads always staying close to cover.
We try a few casts here but there are too many places to get the lure snagged and the fish are not biting. So we head back to our spot near the Bridge from the evening before and manage to catch a few more Lanchi. Then it is time to bid our hosts goodbye and we head back to Jaipur
Our target naturally is the Mahseer (Barbus tor), but there should also be Silund (Silonia silondia) and Sowal (Ophicephalus striatus) – all of which do take artificial lures likes spinners, spoons and plugs. These rivers also harbour enormous Goonch (Bagarius bagarius) down in the bottom of deep pools. Tales of fish caught over the years are traded as the beer starts flowing by 11 am. D christens me ‘Kalbeliya’ for the trip, I presume for the printed black shirt I have on. I dare not complain. D is the biggest of our Party. He is a very big gentleman and surely double my size and can whack the golf ball 300 yards with a 3-iron. My miseries are compounded when cigarette smoke fills the car – I don’t smoke but all my companions do. Traffic is fairly heavy and we make slow progress. We are stuck behind a truck which sports a colourful painting of a buxom young lady, and printed beneath is ‘ZALIM JATNI’. This prompts someone to jump out at the next village to buy a CD with Rajasthani folk songs. One particular ditty with a decidedly bucolic and bawdy flavour is the favorite. Now we are really in the groove.
We arrive at the RV point and are met by our hosts, two brothers. Excellent, they have lunch packed in a big tiffin box and are keen to move straight on to the river. The younger brother is driving their car, a brand new sedan made by the Americans in India. We follow in his wake as he blasts through the traffic in town. Soon the tarmac disappears and we are on a rough track as we approach the river. Stones and mud are effortlessly negotiated at high speed by our Rally Driver, and we are soon left far behind. Anyway we can’t get lost since the track leads straight down to the water. We cross the river over an old stone bridge built on arches which is often fully submerged in the monsoon.
Our hosts have commandeered a boat and we tuck into lunch sitting by the rough jetty. Fiery mutton curry and rotis. Additional hot green chillies for some. A group of Cormorants are beating for fish in the shallows. They flap their wings splashing the surface and draw a semi-circle closer to the bank. Small fish thus herded are then quickly scooped up when the circle closes.
We start to get our fishing tackle together. Light rods and spinning reels. The boatman has to be cajoled to get going - I suspect he wants more money. Once we are actually cruising over the placid surface we realize that the banks are now moving further and further away as the river fans out. The dammed river has created a huge lake and all around is water. Ducks are common, but the waders on the sandbanks are already too far away to identify.
We start casting from the boat, careful not to impale the spectators with the steel barbs on the lures. No luck. I change lures. We cut the outboard motor, thinking this could be disturbing fish around the boat. Still not a single bite. One rod tries running the lure deep. We try trolling as the boat is rowed forward.
Our Rally Driver has been observing all this quite patiently. He now decides to break out a fresh bottle of whisky ! Steel mugs are passed around. Our boatman has a resigned look on his face.
As we drift closer to the dam, which is still several miles away, we pass the first of the fishing boats. These are similar to our own, flat-bottomed and sturdy. The fishing teams are all Bengalis. Loincloths and vests are standard attire. Our hosts hail one over. They approach reluctantly. The Fishing Contractor’s name is bandied about and a few fish are demanded to be handed over. Quite clearly fish is on the menu for dinner and our hosts appear not to have any faith in our ability to catch any today. Soon we have a few choice specimens drawn forth from the hold of the fishing boat and deposited flapping into ours. But the Captain of the unlucky boat wants some assurance that he will be compensated. So an IOU is signed on the wrapper of a Bidi packet.
As we return to the bridge we notice that several of the stone piers have youngsters perched on ledges jutting over the water. They all have lines dangling using some kind of bait on single hooks. On the bank an Army officer is calmly pulling out fish after fish – he already has a sackful of small ones !
What have we been doing wrong ? The sun is well set and light is fading as we decide to now fish along the bank. Suddenly my line is pulled heavily and I am on. I am careful playing the fish as I only have a 8 lbs. line. But after the first pull the fish allows itself to be reeled in relatively tamely. I know I do not have either a mahseer or silund as they are fierce fighters. But as soon as I drag it up the sandbank below the bridge, the length of the fish prompts someone watching to call out in the vernacular – that’s a big one! Music to any angler’s ears. It is a 12 lbs. Lanchi (Wallagonia attu) – almost 41/2 ft. long. This is the fresh-water shark. I am very careful removing the lure which it has swallowed deep. It has a huge flat mouth which is armed with small, thin razor-sharp teeth.
Soon the other rods are also into fish but only more Lanchi for today. I try to false-hook one of the bamn (eels) which curl through and around the vegetation in the shallows just off the bank but without success. We have fish, and so partly damaged egos now placated we decide to call it a day.
Our hosts are gracious in putting two rooms at their Haveli at our disposal. A bacchanalian evening is enlivened with many jokes and much conviviality. The freshly caught fish and the pirated fish are prepared into delicious dry kebabs and a passable curry. Just before dinner the lights in the village go out. It is a power cut. We may have to eat in the dark and then sleep without fans. Not when you have the Rally Driver around ! And he owns this place. When a few phone calls do not elicit the proper response from the Power Sub-Station, he is off again in the car muttering dire warnings. The lights come right back on in a few minutes.
Of course we had adjourned at night resolving to get to the river at dawn. No chance of that. Morning blues after all the fun the night before is inevitable. We are only able to get to another spot on the river downstream of the dam by 9 am. This area is quite interesting. Many pools line the bank of the original rivercourse. The limpid shallow water is clear enough for us to see fish swimming lazily. Reeds and bull rushes line the islands. A kingfisher flashes past to a perch overlooking the water. It is a Stork-billed Kingfisher, one of the rarest of our Kingfishers from these parts. A Bronze-winged Jacana steps gingerly over lily pads always staying close to cover.
We try a few casts here but there are too many places to get the lure snagged and the fish are not biting. So we head back to our spot near the Bridge from the evening before and manage to catch a few more Lanchi. Then it is time to bid our hosts goodbye and we head back to Jaipur
Bisalpur beckons again , though I nearly had my finger bitten by the lanchi trying to withdraw the lure . Great going .
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