Fishing for Mahseer on the River Cauvery in Southern India
An Indian Adventure | Specialist World
An Indian Adventure
A distant screech woke me, and through the leafy branches above me I caught sight of a huge brahminy kite as it soared high over the treetops in the bright afternoon sun. I was lying on a rope hammock in the shade of a huge tree, above me on a climbing net attached to the higher branches a pair of macaque monkeys were fighting. The forest floor sloped downward below the hammock, and at the base of the slope I could see the smooth rocks lining the banks of the River Cauvery. The surface of the water beyond the rocks shimmered in reflected sunlight and I had to remind myself in the heat that it was the middle of December.
I sat up in the hammock, checking my watch as I did so. It was a quarter to four and at four o’clock I was due to start my evening fishing session. I carefully swung my legs from the hammock and got to my feet, heading toward the log cabin that sat on stilts a few yards away. This straw roofed building was my accommodation during my stay at Bheemeshwari Jungle Camp in Karnataka, Southern India. I had made the long trip to India to fish for mahseer, a member of the carp family and a legendary catch to anglers, the River Cauvery being the most famous river in mahseer angling history. In bygone years these fish had been pursued by Maharajas, Indian noblemen and high ranking British officers of the Raj.
The river is swollen and high during the monsoon months, the time to fish here being between November and February as the river drops, and during these months anglers from all over the world are found here. There are three types of mahseer; silver mahseer (the biggest) followed by the rarer golden mahseer and black mahseer, and they have a reputation for being the hardest fighting fish in the world.
A short while later, I was sitting with a couple of fellow English anglers and Indian ghillies ( fishing guides ) in a jeep which bounced heavily along a forest track high above the river. On a trailer behind us were three white coracles, round, bowl-shaped boats made from bamboo and covered in tarpaulin. Our driver raced along the bumpy route, trailer or no trailer, and the short distance we were from the edge of the rocky slopes along the river valley made the journey a real white-knuckle ride!
I was relieved when we pulled up on the stony beach from which we'd be launching our coracles. A small group of macaques sat watching as we took our gear to the edge of the river, the ghillies carrying the coracles like tortoises wearing their shells. These local Indian guides row these coracles amazingly, steering them with a single oar through fierce rapids with ease. The coracles are surprisingly sturdy too. The river is a series of pools and rapids, each pool and stretch having its own name, some with Indian names others named in English like 'Monkey Pool' and 'Leopard Pool' named after the animals of the surrounding forest.
I had seen so much wildlife since I arrived here, including eagles, wild boar, jackals, turtles, giant squirrels, mongoose and chameleons. As we drifted down the river through the forest, Dasaiah (my ghillie) stopped at a rock poking from the water's surface and pulled the coracle half way onto the tiny island. We fished in the rapid flow below, because mahseer are known to love fast water. A small group of grey hornbills flew past while we were sitting there, then a fish eagle passed by, but with no bites we moved on at pace through the rapids.
As we passed through a wide, deep stretch, Dasaiah pointed to a distant island “Crocodile, Sir!" he said and I looked over to see a croc of about 15 feet in length lying on top of the small island. At this point I remembered we were sitting in a small bowl in the middle of a big river with darkness approaching fast. My guide just shook his head and said “Many ,many crocodiles in Cauvery!”
Further downstream we tied up on some reeds on a slow, deep stretch above another set of rapids and the sun disappeared. Below us along the river valley there was not a single light to be seen. The dark shadow of the forest was visible against the clear night sky, which seemed to be crammed with more stars than I had ever seen. The air was full of the constant chirping of crickets and frogs, over the sound of the faster flowing water in the distance.
At first, we got small 'tappy' bites, probably from the many small catfish in the river, but these stopped all of a sudden. Dasaiah was pleased and he whispered to me “catfish go, mahseer come. Maybe elephant mahseer" which was his term for the bigger specimens. I had heard this a few times and hoped he was right. So we sat in the pitch dark, the sound of the river and the jungle engulfing us.
I held my fishing rod, the end of which I could not see in the blackness, and after checking the tension of the reel I waited for a bite. After about 20 minutes it happened. I felt the rod wrench over and line tore from the spool. I set the reel and struck, the fish taking line and heading downstream. I gained a bit of line, the fish took some back and this continued for a few minutes until the fish splashed alongside the coracle. The light of my head torch cut through the dark, shining on the scales of a lovely silver mahseer. It weighed just short of 20lbs and after a few quick attempts to take photographs of my prize in the dark, I held the mahseer in the flow of the river. It kicked its tail and was off into the depths.
We re-baited our rods and recast. I felt sure there were more fish to come and we had a bit of extra time tonight as our group was camping out on a large beach just upstream of where we were fishing. Several minutes had passed when my reel screamed into life again. This fish tore line as went absolutely belting off. I pulled into the fish but it carried on downstream. I managed to halt its run and started to bring it back up river. However, I could feel the line grating on the rocks in the water as I reeled in. Suddenly the fish surged off again. I managed to halt the run but could still feel the line grating and as the fish took off again the line went slack and I knew the fish was gone.
As Dasaiah rowed slowly upstream to the distant lights of the camp, we hardly spoke. We were both gutted because we knew I had probably just lost the biggest fish of my trip. Eventually we reached the beach, the rest of our group already sitting round a large fire. We beached the coracle on the shore alongside the others which lay upside down on the sand. “Elephant mahseer tomorrow maybe,eh Dasaiah?", I said with a laugh. “Elephant mahseer tomorrow!" he echoed, grinning, and we made our way to the campfire, the crickets chirping all around us .
Simon J .Dunbar January 2009
A Mahseer of just under 20 lbs caught at night
AN 18 lbs Silver Mahseer from the Cauvery
Dasaish and I with my 24 lbs Silver Mahseer
Think I will give the swimming a miss
The River Cauvery, Southern India
A Golden Mahseer of around 12 lbs
A Silver Mahseer on my first night in India
Setting off down the Cauvery ,early in the morning
The deep pool by the camp ,home to a few crocodiles
