Alex Circumvents the Mahseer, Pt.1

As a member of Leland's far-flung and illustrious network of copy writers, I'm currently based in southern India, where I'm following an internship in rural health and development finance. In addition to that commitment, I am trying to steal away to explore the fly fishing opportunities in India, a country where the sport is pretty much unknown. Two weeks ago I returned from a stay at the camp of The Himalayan Outback, on the Western Ramganga River in Uttarakhand, a state in northern India just west of Nepal. Here’s a brief, fairly factual synopsis, which I hope to follow up with some more vivid anecdotes in the days and weeks ahead:

The Himalayan Outback (THO) is an Indian outfitter with their background in rafting expeditions and spin-fishing for mahseer, now moving into the pursuit of mahseer with a fly. There are a few different types of mahseer (pronounced “MaH(a)-seer”, like it almost has three syllables), all distant relatives of carp, apparently inhabiting watersheds large and small throughout the greater Subcontinent. In the north, in the rivers that drain the Himalayas, mahseer have taken on an unusual golden color (thus, Himalayan Golden Mahseer) and seem to have developed into a sort of apex predator. Alongside the Nile Perch, the Golden Mahseer is a species whose admirers find that it must be “the hardest-fighting freshwater fish in the world.”

The Himalayan Outback’s lodge, which they’re currently putting the final touches on, features four single-occupancy mud brick cottages with thatched roofs, running water, and flush toilets. Foundations are laid for two additional, double-occupancy cottages, to be completed later this year. 

Fantastic meals and cocktails (the visiting Russian clients took full advantage) are served on an open-air, covered veranda, or can be taken by the adjacent fire pit, lit nightly. The staff is a hard-working, fun-loving, and incredibly friendly group of guys who get a huge kick out of foreigners who try to express themselves in Hindi. The camp is perched on a breezy plateau with a commanding view of one of the river’s broad, arcing stretches. Situated in the territory where Jim Corbett once hunted man-eating leopards and tigers, it bears a slightly colonial aesthetic. This feeling is brought into sharper focus upon perusing the camp's small library, which features the work of several British officers-sportsmen from the late 19th and early 20th centuries: titles like "The Rod in India" and the better-known "Circumventing the Mahseer". 

The river, for its part, is crystal clear, with a visibility of about three meters, or ten feet. It is warm, and, in the bottom of its immense riverbed, is obviously running at a small fraction of its floodstage. For most of its mileage (kilometrage?), the Ramganga tends toward shallow pocket water. Some mahseer will hang in this stuff, out of view, under roils and foam, behind rocks and in rapids. Periodically the river slides into pools, some deep, some shallow -- this is where the fish appear to be concentrated, at least at this time of year. From trees and cliffs above these near-slack pools, I was able to see hundreds of fish in the 5-10kg, or 11-22lb, range. One morning I saw a pair of fish waltz down the center of a pool that each had to have been approaching 20kg.

With the clarity and stillness of the water in these pools, presenting a fly without spooking the fish proved difficult despite meticulous planning, patience, and painstaking attempts at stealth. Enticing a strike from the many fish in the pools proved impossible in full light conditions. For their part, the group of four Russians had limited success swinging flies in rapids during the day. They didn’t fish at night as much as they might have. 

While known to be omnivorous and opportunistic, the mahseer of the Ramganga seem right now to be focused mostly, maybe exclusively, on the nocturnal hunt of baitfish. They feed by suction and, after dark, thunderous implosions can be heard occasionally in the shallows. In all the time I spent watching the fish during the day, they seemed to only be playing – never hunting, foraging, or keying in on insects. 

Using a crease minnow, I caught my only fish, a 7-or-so pounder, at 5am one morning before dawn.

Thanks for reading, and more on mahseer to follow!