Lockdown diary - fishing at Nagda

 

There is a sudden heavy tug on the line. The tip of my fishing rod is yanked sideways. But within seconds the line goes slack. Judging from the viciousness of the strike this must have been a large fish. How did it get off?

 I retrieve the line and examine the lure. It is a minnow-shaped hard-bait armed with two treble hooks. The trailing hook has been wrenched sideways from the body of the lure. It is swinging free but for the internal wire trace linking the two treble hooks. For all practical purposes the lure has been destroyed.

 Immediately I try and run the strike through my mind. Did I make any mistake: was the drag set too tight? Or could I have set the hook by pulling back harder on the rod? No, it had happened too quickly. There had been no time to react. It had got away, whatever it was. Damn!

 We have been fishing for two full days on the river Kalisindh. We are at Nagda, a small village, a few miles downstream from Palaitha. My maternal relatives are from Palaitha, and we have spent many childhood holidays in these areas.

The river is a seasonal one, as are most rivers flowing through Rajasthan. Yet, the Kalisindh (which flows into the Chambal) maintains a perennial flow of water in these parts even outside the monsoon months. The now exposed riverbed is what is known locally as a pathaar - a mile-wide expanse of flat rocky terrain. A small dam has created an expansive backwater which completely encircles an island on which we are camped. When the river is in spate the campsite would be partly submerged. The camp is idyllic. Our tents open onto a strip of turf which slopes down to flat rocks abutting the edge of the river. During the hottest part of the day we have rested in the shade while simple, hearty dishes have been cooked over wood-fired stoves.

 Earlier in the day a solitary cheetal and a herd of nilgai have emerged cautiously from the surrounding forest to drink from the river. They are skittish near the water’s edge. They are wary, no doubt having observed one of the resident mugger crocodiles basking nearby on a sun-drenched sandbank over the past few days.

 Now it is our last evening on the river. Our catch has been limited to several small fish: a few silund, the largest weighing about 4 lbs each, a laanchi and a sanwal. All three of these species are types of catfish. The laanchi (Wallagonia attu) and the snakehead or sanwal (Ophicephalus striatus) are indeed quite catfish-like in appearance, with barbels and long tapered bodies. But the silund (Silonia silondia) looks quite different: the silvery, scale-less body is streamlined, the upturned mouth is small, and the large, powerful tail has a reddish tinge.

 There is a strict ‘catch-and-release’ policy at the fishing camp. Hence each of the fish which were caught were handled carefully, and have been released unharmed back into the river.

 We have not hooked any mahseer on this trip, despite trying out all the different types of lures in the tackle box: spinners, metal spoons and balsa-wood hard-baits. Over the years we have caught many humpback mahseer (Tor mussullah) on both the rivers - the Kalisindh and the Chambal. However, in recent years the mahseer caught here sport uncharacteristically bright silvery scales. It would be interesting to have a closer look at one of them in the flesh.

 The sun is already low on the horizon, lengthening our shadows over the pathaar. We are now fishing at a spot where the river rushes through a series of rapids which taper off into a deep pool. River terns patrol the length of the river in buoyant, effortless flight. A pied kingfisher hovers motionless in the air, before diving with folded wings arrow-straight into the water. A small fish glitters in its bill as it emerges, with droplets showering from its feathers in the golden light.

 It appears that we will have to call it a day and start heading back to camp in a short while. I signal Abhiviraj over, and ask him to gather our gear. Jokingly I comment that the best fish is often caught at the very end of day’s play - as often happens in fishing documentaries. And that is exactly what unfolds!

 After casting I have just about reset the bail arm on the spinning reel when there is a strike. There is a deep sustained pull on the line, strong enough to jerk me forward to the edge of the water. I am using light tackle: a 15 lbs. monofilament line spooled on an old Abu Garcia reel, paired with an even older 7 ft. rod. The first run of the fish is irresistible. Several yards of line are stripped off the reel in a matter of seconds. However, there is something unusual this time round- the fish has dived down deep instead of using the flow of the rapids to move away from the bank. Immediately I know from this telltale behaviour that it can only be one of two species: either a goonch (Bagarius bagarius) or a silund.

 The river here is several meters deep and both banks are lined with vertical rocky walls. If a goonch were to wedge itself into a crack in the rocks underwater I would not be able to budge it. Luckily the fish is still active on the line, still running deep, but now making for the middle of the river where the flow is stronger. I need to get it out of the current and into the calmer water further downstream. Of course, there is really no way of knowing the size of the fish as yet - it has not shown itself so far. So I have to be careful to keep the drag as light as possible as I scramble over the boulders along the riverbank. But the fish is not quite following the script. It makes a series of runs down into the depths and then swims back upstream. I have to be patient. This is not a small fish and it will not be bullied, especially not with the light tackle I am using.

  Several minutes have passed and the light is now fading quickly. The reflection of a  gibbous moon ripples on the surface of the water, and lights can now be seen twinkling at the camp. An Indian nightjar calls in the distance, the notes fading into an accelerating diminuendo.

 And then a deeply forked tail cleaves the surface of the water and we have our first glimpse of the fish. It is a good one! The muffled roar of the river fades to the background. I have ears only for the sounds of that tail and that streamlined body as it twists and turns in the still water it finds itself in now. It sounds not unlike the splash and gurgle of a heavy oar. The runs are shallower and shorter now, obviously the fish is tiring. Where are we going to land it? Over here the bank is steeply shelved and there are large boulders submerged at the water’s edge. There is every danger of snagging the line and the fish getting away. Then in the gloaming I can see a tiny spit of sand where the river begins to curve towards the camp. That will have to do. And then, as much by accident as by design, the fish is drawn up onto that 10 ft. wide sandy beach. Just the head is out of the water, the exhausted body now motionless in the shallows.

  Now comes the most crucial part of this business! I have seen so many fish lost at this very juncture in the past.

 ‘Abhiviraj, can you get the fish-gripper out of my pocket?’ As he does so, I quickly hand over the rod to him, saying ‘just hold on, don’t yank the line’. It is quite dark now as I bend over the beached fish. It should be a simple matter to insert the plastic fish-gripper into the mouth and secure it. The mouth, I know, is lined with small sharp teeth. It is indeed a silund and one has also to be careful to stay clear of the stiff needle-like spine on its dorsal fin. I get a good grip with the fishing tool and gently start to pull the fish out of the water. Suddenly the gripper slips and at that very same moment the line snaps! The fish has bitten through the monofilament. It is only now I realize that I hadn't attached a wire leader to the lure - which could have prevented this from happening. A big mistake! The lure, I can see, is still dangling from the lower lip - and that too has been chewed through almost completely. The fish is free!

 At this moment pure instinct takes over. Without any hesitation, placing my legs in the water astride the fish, I grab the body in both arms. There is a brief flurry of action - of churning water and flying sand. But the grip holds true and I manage to half-drag, half-carry the fish on to a large flat-topped boulder well away from the water’s edge. We finally have our fish.

 Now we move quickly to measure the silund - it weighs in at 21 lbs. I fetch a capful of river water to rinse sand off the fish so we can take a few photographs. Carefully we support the fish in the shallows preparatory to releasing it. Within a short while the tail movements become stronger, and then with a powerful swish it is gone.

Soon we are back in camp. There is some curiosity over how we were able to land the fish in near darkness. As we recount the sequence of events someone says that a few months earlier a mugger had snatched a hooked fish at that very same spot... where I'd been standing in knee-deep water just moments earlier!

Sahdev Singh

Jaipur, March 2021

Bhainsrorgarh - Part 1

It is late May 2012 and Rajasthan is baking.

 We are in Bhainsrorgarh, a short distance upstream of Kota along the Chambal river in Rajasthan. Rajvir and Hemendra have invited us for the weekend, and the boys have brought their fishing rods.

Bhainsrorgarh

In the dry summer months, the Chambal still has plenty of water making it one of the few perennial rivers of Rajsthan. Of course now, there are a succession of dams which have created these large lakes swamping the original boulder-strewn watercourse.  Fish are plentiful, though the apex predator the Gharial is now relatively rare, most having moved further downstream. Yet, Mugger Crocodiles abound.

By daybreak, many Muggers are already active. One of the largest is patrolling the deep waters just below the Fort as we gaze down the cliff. Appendages held motionless by its sides, the powerful tail propels it forward effortlessly.

Anxious to get our lines wet, we clamber down the bridle-path to the Chhatris and the reedy shore below the Fort. Quickly, several baits are cast from a narrow stony ledge below the cliff. Small fish follow the lures being reeled in, but no bites. From previous fishing expeditions on the Chambal Happy and I know that it is a bit of a hit-and-miss affair. We have had wonderful days when mahseer, silund, lanchi and other fish have been caught easily, and others when nothing happens. Looks like the first morning will be the latter. As the sun gets hotter, the youngsters' enthusiasm wanes. Just then someone notices a large mugger moving away from us, not 30 yards away ! It had been lying submerged in the dense reed-beds even closer to us at the water's edge all this while. That prompts a hasty retreat for the moment. I can hear someone recounting stories of how a mugger can launch itself out of the water to attack prey.

A group of Small Minivets listens attentively ...

Small Minivet

The movement of the Mugger has alerted a pair of Great Thick-knees. They are obviously protectings their eggs laid on the rocky ground. A few perfunctory raising of the wings in display and a couple of alarm calls are all that are merited in this case.

                                      

                                              Great Thick-knee

                   
 Later in the morning we have a chance to go boating on the river. The boat itself is a large, flat-bottomed affair made from sturdy timber. A couple of oarsmen have to row with much effort as we are fully laden and the craft itself is heavy. Our route skirts the true left bank of the river and then around 'The Island'.                    

The 'Island'.

   



As we glide closer and then slowly around, my appetite is whetted for another visit, perhaps even getting off the boat to explore it more fully. Because there are just so many birds here - and there is a continuous chorus of calls.

Hemendra says that Crocodiles lay eggs on the sandy banks of this island.
 And since it is summer, many species of birds are also nesting here. We rest the oars and spend a few minutes motionless, only yards away from a pair of courting Stork-billed Kingfishers on a tree overhanging the water. Paradise Flycatchers and Golden Orioles flash through the dense foliage. Large Cuckoo-Shrikes vie with Blue-cheeked Bee-Eaters for favoured perches. Amongst the relatively common Herons and Egrets, there are a few Little Herons and Indian Darters.

The tallest trees on the island feature roosting White-backed Vultures.

.

Of all the Vulture species, in my experience, this is the one which has been decimated the most over the past few decades, pushing it to the brink of extinction. But that is another story; we are just glad to see good numbers of them here.


In the evening, a dust storm is brewing in the West.



 Shafts of sunlight pierce the angry clouds, reflecting off the placid surface of the Brahminy river, which joins the Chambal just below the Fort. In this tricky light, an unfamiliar dragonfly perches on the tangly creeper just below the parapet pictured above. Excitedly I lean well over the low wall to click some pictures of this small yet brilliant insect just a few yards below me. Later we identify this dragonfly as Rhyothemis triangularis - and from what I have been told by some experts it is fairly rare in India - especially in Rajasthan

Rhyothemis triangularis

 Butterflies are relatively scarce at this time of the year. The dry heat proving a deterrent to most except a few species - Plain Tigers, Common Gulls, Orange Tips and Grass Yellows. But one fast-flying species flashing a superb purple-blue, gives me a run-around. When it does perch the wings are closed showing only drab colours and indifferent markings on the underwing. The Large Oakblue - a lifer for me. Frustratingly, the brilliant upperwing is only visible when it is on the wing.

Tomorrow our hosts have planned an elaborate picnic at 'Lohariya-ka-talab'. From an earlier visit many years before in winter I well remember this wonderful spot by a lake deep inside the forest, so we are all excited. ( this merits another blog posting by itself, so that will follow soon..)

 For the moment we just explore the Fort.

Disused stables happily retain their feudal charm.

Hidden amongst the cracks and crevices are several creatures of this shadowy undisturbed world. I surprise this lizard camouflaged just above an arch, and it uncoils to its full length reluctantly, peering at me in some surprise.

A view from the balcony of  one of the Guest Rooms across the river to the green orchards and the rolling dustplains beyond ....

This is the outer wall which encircles the Fort and the village. Several kms in length it is as many feet thick as it is metres tall.

Till the next post then....

Fishing in the Desert

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