Thursday 4 February 2010

16th/17th November – Guwahati to Delhi and Finally Home…

Everyone woke early and we walked down to the riverfront to view a fish market that was in full swing since before dawn. Phil had been since before dawn and had been taking pictures of the weird fishes that lay glistening on the sand or in metal trays.
We walked from the fish market to another market nearby that was full of aromas and strange looking stuff amidst more recognizable produce. After taking photos and wandering about for a bit it was time to head back to the hotel for lunch and then our trip to the airport.
Chris and Rup were staying on an extra day as their flights didn’t leave until tomorrow but Phil, Bob and I were due to fly today. We hugged our goodbyes and were driven to the airport.
Check-in was straightforward and we took off on schedule. The flight to Delhi took us by the Himalayas again and we were treated again to a fabulous view of a low sun hitting the snowy mountains horizontally above and below the clouds.
We landed and said goodbye to Phil, who was due to fly shortly and then Bob and I were taken to another hotel for a night before flying early tomorrow. The taxi driver had no idea where the hotel was and Bob tried to give him directions in Hindi but failed. We eventually phoned the hotel on Bob’s mobile and let the driver speak to them directly. This didn’t seem to work either.
After searching the unmarked and teeming alleys of Karol Bagh for 20 minutes, I recognized the hotel where we had stayed the last time and asked the driver to stop. I told him to wait while I went into the hotel to see if they knew where the hotel we should be staying in was. They didn’t so I walked back out to find the taxi and Bob had gone.
I looked around me and realized I had absolutely no idea where I was. I walked to the end of the alley and still was completely lost. I considered my options: I had my passport and tickets and wallet so could probably find my way to the airport eventually. But I only had a couple of rupees and wasn’t able to use my cash card of visa as far as I knew. After about ten minutes of looking, thinking, panicking, calming down, thinking and then just looking, a horn sounded and I turned to see the taxi driver behind me. I spread my arms wide in a ”Where the fuck have you been?” gesture and glared at him as I got back in the taxi. Bob said that he’d told the man to stop but he’d just driven away and stopped about a block away for no reason and waited. Eventually he just decided to drive back to the hotel to find me. His actions were a complete mystery.
After more phone calls we eventually found the right hotel. After we had offloaded our bags the taxi driver looked at us for a tip and I felt like hitting him. Bob searched for his best Hindi - “No!”.
We had a late supper and slept for a while before another telephone alarm call dragged us and our bags down to the foyer. A waiting taxi drove us through a waking Delhi to the airport and we checked in for the early morning flight to the U.K.
An uneventful flight took us to Dubai where we killed time looking at various duty free offerings in the vast Emirates terminal. It really is too big for itself and takes forever to walk around. Another uneventful flight took us from Dubai to Gatwick where we landed in a cold November evening at 18:00.
I said goodbye to Bob at the train station and staggered under the weight of my rucksack onto the train bound for Clapham Junction and then Dorset. At Gillingham station, a taxi met me and took me the last few miles home where I slumped contentedly into my sofa. The house was freezing so I put the fire on to warm up.
I skyped Claudette and with a hot cup of tea chatted to her for ages. It was so good to hear her voice and to know that she would be with me in two days time.
I’d better tidy the house…

15th November – Back to Guwahati…

Today was supposed to be another day in the national park but we weren’t in the mood really and decided to leave early and head back to Guwahati.
After the usual hotel breakfast where toast arrives hours before the jam and butter and nothing is available on the vast menu, we set off to Guwahati, eight hours away. The drive took us back over the Brahmaputra and we arrived at our hotel by late afternoon. The hotel was comfortable and overlooked the river where fish kites circled endlessly looking for prey.
After dumping our bags in the room we headed into the centre to buy a few things and see the aftermath of the 18 bombs that tore the city apart a few weeks ago.
It was business as usual and the streets were full of traders and people going about their daily lives. So that’s the effect that terrorists have – nothing in the long run. On one street that had taken a direct hit, it was virtually impossible to see any signs of the bomb blast. A small notice of solidarity hung at the spot where the bomb went off but this was largely obscured by all the market traders’ goods and people milling about as normal.
We discovered another threat to the city too. Apparently there have been an increasing number of people being attacked at ATMs in the city by – leopards! I guess the leopards need cash too and haven’t figured out how to use the keypad yet.
The evening was spent drinking and having a lazy supper. We all made phone calls and repacked our bags for the flights tomorrow.

14th November – from Tea to Kaziranga…

The factory sirens didn’t disturb me and I woke at 06:30 feeling good. Phil and I had the usual tea and coffee from the house servants whilst we washed and then wandered over to Sanjay’s bungalow for our 08:00 rendezvous. Today we would see the tea factory.
Green leaves picked from the plantation were spread over vast drying trays where huge fans blow air from various angles to dry them. When sufficiently dry, these were taken to the main factory for processing. The factory floor was covered with a host of machines and conveyor belts linking everything together. There were rollers, cutters, threshers, shakers, heaters, blowers and sifters. Detailed flow charts hung on the walls describing the Orthodox and CTC manufacturing processes (in case anyone forgot?). Sanjay took us through each stage of the process and let us examine the tea as workers eyed us from their machines. It was an amazing combination of highly controlled mechanization and intense manual labour. At one point in the process, women with metal sifting trays sorted the entire tea stock coming down the production line to manually remove stalks and other foreign objects. The tea would then be put back onto the production line for its final sorting and packaging. Tea ‘gurus’ (who had spent a lifetime with tea) wandered about the factory floor to oversee the entire process and make adjustments where necessary. At the final stage of bagging up, a very accurate weigh-scale was used to measure exact amounts of tea into each sack for onward shipment. This weigh-scale was used to settle a long-running argument that had raged for the entire trip on the river.
In some rapids, big stopper waves risk collapsing the front of the raft and hence, possibly swamp or flip it. The larger/heavier people are usually placed at the front of the raft to prevent this. The downside of this is that these people invariably end up drenched for most of the time. Bob had insisted for some time that he was not the heaviest in the group and had objected to being placed on the front of the raft to ‘stabilise’ it. He thought that Chris and/or Rup should take turns in front as they were equal, if not heavier than him. The scales would resolve this once and for all. Over the din of the factory I couldn’t quite hear the result but I think that Bob was judged to be the heaviest according to the scales which shut him up.
Sanjay led us from the factory to the tasting room where cups of amber tea were laid out for him to sample. Sanjay tasted upwards of 100 cups of tea a day and had such an attuned palate that he could now tell which part of the manufacturing process required adjustment in order to produce the correct quality of tea. We watched as he noisily sucked in a mouthful of each cup, swilled it around his mouth and then spat it out into a container nearby. He would make comments about each tea on a clipboard which was then fed back into the manufacturing process. Sanjay produced a kilo of vacuum-packed Assamese tea and generously handed a bag to each of us. The tea was Tippy Golden Flowering Orange Pekoe (I think) which is the best quality tea.
Back at the bungalow a jeep arrived to take us to the last place on our holiday, the Kaziranga National Park. We loaded our rucksacks, said our goodbyes to Sanjay and Devicar, Billy and Alka and then drove out of the tea plantation for another day’s bumpy ride.
We drove across the Assamese plains and arrived at our hotel in the Kaziranga National Park in the middle of the afternoon. After a freshen up, we drove into the park for a mini safari which we hoped would result in us seeing some Rhinos a tiger or two and lots of other big wild animals.
As it was, we saw a few distant grey rocks (which were Rhinos), a domestic elephant and its cub right by the entrance to the park and a few raptors in the trees. We stopped by the Brahmaputra for a break and a freshwater dolphin surfaced in the water by us. These mammals are blind and navigate in the murky water via sonar. Phil also found a cobra snakeskin in the sand. So our highlight of the park was a blind dolphin and an empty snakeskin. After our adventure on the river, this felt so wrong and pointless so we drove back out of the park to our hotel. The drive home was freezing and we huddled together in the open-backed the jeep to keep warm. We walked down to a local restaurant and had a great supper washed down with plenty of beer before retiring to bed.

13th November – More Tea Anyone?…

Sirens jolted me awake. I glanced at the time and noted it was 06:00 and still dark. Phil mumbled something about early morning alarm calls for workers at the factory next door and fell back asleep.
Sirens jolted me awake again. It was now 07:00 and light. “Oh, that’s to remind them that they really, really must start work now or else they’ll get fired” said Phil. We were both awake now.
The giant factory fans had been running all night to dry the tea and I could clearly hear them now. I’d been so used to sleeping with the sound of a rushing river in my ears that I hadn’t even noticed them last night.
I wandered into the living room and saw a man crumpled on the floor under a blanket. I startled him awake and he stood up blinking at me. “Sahib?” he said. I asked for tea and coffee and the man shuffled away into another room.
We showered and drank our tea/coffee and then strolled across to the bungalow to see if anyone else was up. An armed guard peered at us from a slit in his hut and then swung open the metal gate for us to enter the bungalow’s spacious and well manicured grounds.
Bungalow in the U.K. usually refers to a smallish single story residence in a modest plot of land. Sanjay’s bungalow was similar only inasmuch as it was a single story dwelling. The building itself looked beautiful in white wood and stone with a grand drive-in entrance porch and glass conservatory/greeting room. The bungalow stood in about 2 acres of manicured lawns and borders with a swimming pool, tennis court and servant buildings around it. This all sat within 900 hectares of the tea plantation itself.
Sanjay was awake and came to greet us as we sat in the glass conservatory. I was doing my usual trick of confusing the servants by asking for a pot or glass of hot water (garam pani) and waving my tea infuser at them. They’d nod and disappear and then reappear with a glass of cold or lukewarm water. Sanjay eventually helped out.
After a hearty breakfast, we spent the day relaxing and sorting out our rucksacks for the journey home. Sand was emptied out from just about everywhere and then fishing tackle, lures and reels were carefully stowed. Our clothes were given to the servants who washed and dried them thoroughly for us.
Sanjay took us for a drive around the plantation in the evening. As the sun set, another beautiful amber full moon rose through the trees and cast a soft glow across the plantation. Dirt tracks crossed vast ‘seas’ of uniformly clipped tea plants under tall shade trees. The landscape as far as the eye could see was given up to tea. We stopped at a nursery area where baby tea plants sat under netting waiting to be planted out. We saw rice and wheat fields among the tea for locals to grow their own crops. India employs around two million people in the tea trade alone. Sanjay has 1,500 workers at this plantation which even has its own hospital. Workers live within the plantation grounds and life seemed simple but stable and secure for them.
We returned to the bungalow for supper where Billy and Alka had now joined us. We were treated to a feast which Devicar oversaw with meticulous attention. Tandoori chicken, salads, curries, rice, vegetables and chapatis kept on coming and coming until we could eat no more. Then pudding and then more tea and coffee (and alcohol) before we settled down to watch the footage that Chris had taken with his video camera.
I don’t recall what time I eventually got to bed but I remember feeling utterly satiated.

12th November – Blankers and stark reality...

It was a race to be first up. The sleepy rafters watched as we bustled about getting rods together and organizing ourselves to get to the confluence. The Blankers party headed off accompanied by those in the know about the hot spot (me and Rup). Phil came along for the fun of it. Each Blanker would have five casts into the hot spot before the next Blanker took over.
As we walked towards the confluence we noted more tiger pug marks in the sand where we had not seen them yesterday. It was a sobering sight and reminded us that we were being watched.
Crossing the Sipla was an ordeal as people struggled to stay up in the knee deep water. Well it was knee deep where I crossed but other people chose to cross in crutch deep water instead and not only suffered the sharp intake of breath as cold water hits the gonads, but also nearly got swept away. They eventually made it by holding on to each other and using rods to stabilize themselves.
We reached the confluence and Bob was voted as the Blanker most worthy of casting first (I can’t quite remember why but it may have been down to his lack of clear vision having lost his glasses). A jelly lure was tied onto his line and I gave careful instructions about where he should fish. Once in position on the rocks, casting required nothing more than a gentle underarm flick to drop the lure 20ft out into the small eddy pool just below the confluence. Bob’s first cast was an over-arm lob and the lure disappeared into the mist upstream. By the time Bob had reset the reel and began retrieving his line the lure was already deeply lodged between two boulders on the riverbed. Bob tried in vain to get the lure back and broke the line eventually. We all agreed that Bob was unlucky and felt sorry for him so allowed him to still have another five casts before handing over to the next Blanker.
Bob’s second cast was better but he still didn’t manage to set his reel and retrieve line in time to prevent another lure wedging itself firmly between a different pair of boulders on the riverbed. He tried again in vain to get the lure back and broke the line. We all agreed that Bob was no longer unlucky but just an imbecile and didn’t feel sorry for him any more. Beside, at this rate, there would be so many lures in the pool that the mahseer would be forced downstream to find a new lie.
Chris was given the next shot at the hot spot and got himself into position whilst Bob skulked away into the rocks to tie on another lure. Chris cast perfectly into the pool but let his jelly lure sink too far and also got hooked up on a rock. I was beginning to understand why they had earned the title of Blankers.
Anyway, Chris lost a lure, Billy lost a lure and Bob ended up losing seven lures in total. We were all fishing by now having lost the will to sit and watch good water being filled up with jelly lures. Phil also started fishing and caught a small mahseer on a little jointed plug which brought a repeat of his master-class episode from a few days earlier.
The hot spot was decidedly cool and not surprising really considering the pressure it was put under yesterday by Rup and me. We spread out and searched for fish downstream for a few hours but no-one caught except Rup who managed to hook into something good in the large eddy pool below the rapids but his line broke again!
I felt brave and managed to cross the Sipla at the confluence where Tazir and Arun crossed yesterday. It was scary going though even with my felt wading boots on and I didn’t want to repeat the journey. Alka was fishing above the confluence with Sanjay. She managed to land a 2lb mahseer on a small toby spoon and Sanjay caught a 5lb mahseer on a rubber crayfish pattern. The Blankers party eventually struggled back over the Sipla and returned to camp for breakfast at 09:00.
Nino and his team used up all the eggs and other remaining rations to produce a real fry up for us. Eggs, omelettes, puris, curried beans and salad were wolfed down by us all.
We packed our bags and loaded the rafts for last time. As we drifted by the confluence I cast half-heartedly into the hot spot but was not surprised when nothing grabbed my lure. We rafted for a few hours and stopped at a couple of good looking spots to fish but no-one caught anything. At another confluence, smaller than the Sipla, I could see small fish moving about in the shallows. We fished hard and covered a lot of water but nothing was biting. There were lots of footprints in the sand so we figured that the place had been bombed recently as this location was easily accessible.
Just below this confluence we beached the rafts and had a lunch of biscuits and chocolate bars to use up the final supplies. In this pool, Sanjay had caught a 37lb mahseer the previous year when he and Billy had reached it by motor boat from downstream. This river had inspired Billy to hatch a plan to raft the Kamla and Subansiri. We took group photos, shook hands and hugged each other. Then we rafted the last few kilometres to our exit point, right by the Subansiri dam project. The river was slow and lifeless now and had lost much of its energy. We entered a steep gorge section of the river and it seemed as if the hills were trying to prevent the river from escaping onto the plains. The cliffs on the shadey side of the gorge were completely covered with a velvety green moss and looked like curtains. The sound of heavy machinery at work filled our ears from downstream. We rounded a corner and the dam construction came into view. It was immense and climbed hundreds of metres above us. The mountainside was being blasted and shaped smooth and rocks and debris fell onto the beach below. This rubble was then being scooped by giant diggers into giant trucks that drove a few hundred metres and then dumped their load into the river. The river was only a few days away from being completely dammed at which point, the water would be forced into a huge tunnel cut into the mountainside where it would power giant turbines to generate hydro electricity for India’s growing industrial and domestic demand.
We stared at the vast scale of the project as we drifted towards it, conscious that many of the dam workers were looking curiously down at us in our tiny rafts. The closer we got, the bigger it all became and the smaller we all felt. A jackhammer high on the mountainside dislodged some rocks that came crashing down into the river on the far side. The rocks hit the water with deep powerful thumps like artillery fire. When the project completes in a few years time, this river will rise 120m and drown the campsites and riverbanks that we have spent the last two weeks exploring. The flood will reach all the way back up the Kamla to Tamen where we first put in with our rafts and performed our pooja.
It was a pretty awful way to end our trip but unavoidable as the only road out from the river was at this point. We were surrounded by mud, concrete and an industry bent on destroying this beautiful river. The mahseer would hopefully survive and move further upstream to find higher waters where they could continue spawning. But we would have to find another river to fish as this one will soon become a silent and shapeless shadow of its former vibrant self.
Our jeeps were waiting on a track high above us as we offloaded our gear and changed into normal clothes again. The sight of Vikas’ fish being brought up to his jeep and dumped unceremoniously into the back (where I was going to have the misfortune to sit and travel with it) was terribly sad. We said our goodbyes to the rafters who still had much to dismantle and pack and drove off into the evening dust. As we headed away from the dam project, Vikas glanced at the destruction around us and made a comment about how man can thoughtlessly destroy beauty on a whim. The irony of his comment was not lost on me. A beautiful, but now dead, 35lb golden mahseer lay in the back of his jeep as a gift to his father. Killed on a whim? I was too polite and tired to say anything. Plus, I think, he would have made me walk home.
We drove out of the hills and back onto the Assamese plains as a glorious sunset bathed the land around us in soft red hues. A full moon rose shortly after and sat low and orange above the hills to complete the picturesque landscape. It was a very bumpy and dusty journey back to Sanjay’s tea estate and we stopped after a few hours at a restaurant to have a late drunken supper. The restaurant manager fussed over us like an overindulgent mother but the food was very good. He even made a grand speech at the end, thanking us for honouring his restaurant with our presence.
Rup and I were transferred from Vikas’ jeep to another jeep that had arrived. Vikas and Dhiraj were heading off to their respective tea estates and would be travelling for much of the night. They shook hands and hugged us all and then drove away. Billy and Alka also said their goodbyes to but arranged to come and see us at Sanjay’s in a day or two.
The rest of us continued our journey to Sanjay’s and dropped Tazir off at a village so he could take his heavy load of smoked fish home to his family. Here we also made quick phone calls to catch up with family and close ones. The bumpy roads made sleeping very difficult but I eventually crawled on top of our rucksacks in the back and slept for some time as it was the only comfortable place I could find. We were stopped by an army checkpoint en route and I sat sleepily on the roadside whilst the driver and Rup persuaded the army wallahs that we weren’t terrorists.
At around midnight we finally pulled into Sanjay’s tea plantation and were met by his charming wife Devicar. We sat weary-eyed in the living room of his very spacious bungalow whilst servants fussed around us with tea and coffee. Phil and I were given the deputy tea managers house to stay in which was a short walk from the bungalow. Chris, Bob and Rup shared a spare bedroom in the bungalow.
We slept instantly.

11th November – Mahseer mayhem...

I woke at dawn to a cold morning with grey mist hugging the jungle. There was very little firewood left but we gathered what we could from among the rocks and got a small fire going to warm up.
After a cup of tea I fished my way upstream to a rapid without success and then walked above that across a huge landslide to fish the river above. I thought I had a take a one point but missed it anyway so turned round and clambered back to camp.
Phil had caught a tiny Boca that morning (his second fish of the trip) which he’d killed and was now offering us all master-classes on fishing techniques. We indulged him at first but soon got bored of his wittering and went about packing up our tents and drying clothes.
Some provisions were starting to get very low or run out which was making breakfast a little eccentric. There was almost no sugar left so honey was being used instead for tea/coffee and I think I noticed someone stirring jam into their coffee at one point. With honey now rationed for tea/coffee, pineapple jam was being added to pancakes as an ‘interesting’ alternative.
After breakfast we bathed in the warm waterfall of the side-stream and did some washing of clothes before loading the rafts and pushing off to head downstream. We covered a great deal of water and splashed/crashed through numerous rapids. We passed a few potential camp sites and much fishable water but Billy wanted us to get to the next big confluence as we only had a few days left before exiting the river.
Above one rapid where we stopped to survey, we found very clear and fresh tiger pug marks in the sand. I got some photos and was able to trace the route that the tiger had taken across the sand and along a rocky ledge to a stream where it probably paused to drink.
We arrived at the confluence of the Subansiri and Sipla in the early afternoon and tied the rafts off 200m above the confluence. There was a good sandy beach to camp on and masses of driftwood for the campfire. The sand was covered with tiger pug marks so we were minded to fish in pairs and not to venture far after dark. Tents were erected and the raft crew set about preparing lunch for us. We were all eager to fish so rods were quickly set up and anglers started casting.
Vikas and Dhiraj headed downstream towards the confluence and I followed them shortly after. When I caught up with them, they were standing on rock overlooking the river studying the water below. I offered them the confluence to fish but they wanted to fish above it so I walked on to cross the Sipla and fish below. Unbeknownst to me Vikas and Dhiraj had spotted a large mahseer near the surface and had opted to pursue this instead of the confluence which I thought looked superb.
The Sipla was beautifully warm but very powerful and I found it impossible to cross safely so walked 100m upstream to find a suitable wading point. Once across the stream I saw human footprints in the sand and hoped that no dynamiting had been going on. I walked across the boulder-strewn beach and cast a silver spate spoon into a small eddy pool right where the Sipla and Subansiri meet and fall over some submerged boulders. I had a take almost immediately and played a mahseer of about 10lbs downstream. “Good start”, I thought as I tied the fish onto a stringer and returned to the same eddy pool to fish. I cast again and hooked another mahseer which I played out and tied off. Then I caught another two mahseer of around 5lbs in quick succession. I was running out of stringers so decided to kill two of the smaller mahseer for supper and release one.
Upstream, I could see that Vikas was bent into a fish that was fighting very well. The fish was the one he and Dhiraj has seen at the surface earlier. Vikas had cast out when he saw the fish moving and it obligingly turned and engulfed his floating plug before he’d even started retrieving it. He was sitting back on the sand and leaning hard against the fish pumping the rod to tire it. It took 30 minutes to land and he was as pleased as punch. I also noticed Tazir was now fishing above the confluence with his small spinning rod and had landed a couple of mahseer of around 3lbs which he killed.
I continued fishing in the little eddy pool by myself and was thinking how much success we were having around the confluence. One or two mahseer per person per day was the norm but we seemed to be bucking the trend this afternoon. Then my line went tight and I struck into another fish which swirled powerfully at the surface and swept off downstream. I leaned hard against it but it was unstoppable and kept taking line as my clutch whined. I started to hop across the rocks in a bid to keep up with the fish which was now in the rapid and getting away from me fast. Fortunately it stopped after a short while and sulked behind a rock which gave me time to recover some line and get closer to it. I managed to get downstream from the fish and continued bending hard against it. After several more powerful lunges the fish started to tire and I caught my first glimpse of it. It was big, very big. My heart was pounding and I trembled nervously as I didn’t want to lose it through a stupid error. There was no-one around to assist and my shouts wouldn’t be heard above the noise of the confluence. I was 75m downstream from where I’d hooked the fish by now and just figured I’d continue applying pressure and slowly force it into the side. There was no beach to drag it onto so I was going to have to get into the river and grab it at an opportune moment. The fish was tiring but would swirl away from me whenever I tried to get near to it in the shallow water. After half a dozen attempts, I finally grabbed its top lip and held on as it thrashed one last time. I attached a stringer, tied it off and sat back on a rock to catch my breath.
No-one had noticed any of my commotion and people were all busy fishing above the confluence. Vikas’ fish had drawn their attention and they were helping him get pictures and take the fish back up to the rafts where it would remain until I was able to weigh it.
I let my fish recover for a bit whilst I sorted myself out and then weighed it. After much straining and jiggling, the scales settled at 42lbs. I couldn’t believe it, another stunning fish for me this year. The mahseer had beautiful markings, dark shoulders and flanks with reddish fins instead of the more common orange/yellow. I steered the fish back up to the head of the rapid and tied it off. I wanted to get pictures when somebody, anybody, finally made it across the Sipla to join me.
I cast again into the same spot at the head of the rapid and hooked yet another good fish that tore away downstream with me in hot pursuit. This was extraordinary. Chris was above the confluence now and had noticed me playing this fish. I had to land it on my own again and get into the water. From Chris’ vantage point he couldn’t quite see me as I fought with the fish and thought I fallen into the river or something. I finally emerged with a stringer attached to an 18lb mahseer that had similar dark markings to the 42lber I’d caught earlier.
Using sign language above the roar of the confluence, I indicated to Chris that the Sipla wading point was 100m upstream from him and he wandered off with Phil and Rup to find the crossing. Tazir and Arun were far more sure footed than me and managed to struggle across the Sipla right at the confluence. I showed them the two fish that I’d killed for supper and then the big one. Tazir asked if he could take the big one because he wanted to smoke it and take it home to his family. He claimed that the bigger mahseer taste better. I declined but said I’d keep another fish of around 10lbs if I caught one (thinking that surely there can’t be any more fish now). Tazir and Arun went 150m below me to fish a large eddy pool and rocks at the end of the rapid.
I continued fishing and landed two more 5lb golden mahseer from just below the small eddy pool. Then I landed a 12lb mahseer on a black and gold spoon which I tied off for Tazir and then caught another 5lber. This day was becoming surreal. A small patch of river was producing mahseer in numbers that were never taken in such quick succession.
Chris and Phil had given up trying to cross the Sipla but Rup had managed to do it and joined me. When I told him about my successes at the head of the rapid his eyes went wide and he got some pictures of the 42lber before I released it. I told Rup to start casting at the top of the rapid in the small eddy pool and, sure enough, he was soon bent into a hard fighting mahseer that raced off downstream. After a good fight I landed the fish for him. It looked remarkably like the 18lber I’d caught and released earlier. Sure enough, the weigh-scale settled at 18lbs. It couldn’t be, not the same fish caught twice in the space of 20 minutes surely? Nothing seemed impossible today.
I got pictures of Rup’s fish and then left him fishing the eddy pool whilst I fished downstream. I heard a cry and saw him bent into another fish by the confluence. I shouted for him to run after it as Rup tended to freeze rather than pursue running fish. My attitude is to keep the shortest amount of line between you and the fish where possible to avoid rocks and the inevitable bust-off. Rup came bounding over the rocks towards me with his rod was bent into the powerful fish. He was puffing and out of breath when he reached me and the fish had stopped in the river now so a stand-off ensued. Rup asked me if he should tighten the clutch or adjust anything as the wind sang through his taught fishing line. I nervously said I wasn’t going to touch anything on his reel because if the line broke, he would scream at me. The fish felt very heavy and Rup was unable to shift it for a few minutes so I got some action photos of Rup with his rod hooped over. His beloved felt cowboy hat that he’d bought in Ziro had been sat on so many times and got so wet on the rafts that it now looked like a used coffee filter paper, brown and shapeless. As I was taking pictures, Rup said the fish was moving and then his rod sprang back lifeless…
We looked at each other speechless; Rup was destroyed and sat on a rock to examine the frayed end of his line where the jelly lure used to be. He said the fish felt very big and powerful and there was nothing he could do to move it. I opined that Rup’s line probably got caught between two rocks when the fish was sulking on the riverbed and had broken when the fish decided to move off. There’s nothing you can say to an angler when they been in contact with what seems to be the mother of all fish.
“Never mind eh, at least I’ve caught a 42!” I said with a mischievous glint in my eye.
We continued fishing. Tazir and Arun had taken four or five fish downstream from us to 12lbs and I caught another small mahseer halfway down the rapid. Rup continued casting a jelly lure into the head of the rapid and hooked yet another fish which tore off downstream. Rup huffed and puffed over the rocks in pursuit and together we played and landed another big mahseer with dark markings. This weighed 30lbs and Rup was ecstatic as it was a new personal best for him in the Himalayas.
The afternoon was becoming evening as we continued to fish this extraordinary spot. Tazir and Arun came by us heading back to the camp with their booty of fish. I gave Tazir the fish that I’d killed and also the 12lber which pleased him immensely. He and Arun were carrying around 60lbs of fish back to the camp to be smoked and packed for their families back home. Even with the weight of these fish, they both still managed to ford the confluence barefoot where I had been too afraid to.
Surely there can’t be any more fish in the confluence I thought as I watched Rup cast. Bang! Another fight and more rock hopping pursuit as it surged off downstream. “This is ridiculous”, I exclaimed as the scales read 15lbs and Rup released another beautiful mahseer into the river. The light was fading now and Rup cast a broken jelly lure into the small eddy pool. Another take, but the line snapped. “Enough!” I said laughing. We had to end this surreal day. We still had to cross the Sipla and return to camp so Rup reeled in and we walked away from the river.
Rup and I returned to camp in darkness and heard much merriment. Vikas was celebrating his own large fish and the last few bottles of vodka were disappearing rapidly. He was looking forward to presenting the fish to his father. Apparently Vikas’ father claimed he never brought him anything so Vikas figured this fish would shut him up. I was stunned at his decision and quietly voiced my disappointment to some. I went with Vikas to weigh the fish and suggested he release it but he was resolute. It had not been tied off very well or handled very well and weighed 35lbs. I left it lying quietly in the water alongside the raft until morning but some of us seriously considered creeping down there in the night and letting it slip away. Vikas’ decision deeply affected my view about the ‘take-all’ mentality that prevails in the Indian sport fishing fraternity. One day, this will no longer be possible because the wild fish will be gone. It’s a hard lesson that the British have learned on our overfished island which has resulted in us having to stock many of our game fisheries to limit the impact on wild strains.
The day had been an extraordinary day:
21 golden mahseer had been caught in the space of a few hours by a handful of anglers. They weighed 42, 35, 30, 18, 18 15, 12, 12, 12, 10, 8, 6, 6, 5, 4, 3, 3, 3, 2, 2 and 1lbs and that excluded two bust-offs. These figures conjured up days of yore when English gentlemen in pith hats stood alongside poles lined with mahseer they’d taken that day. Most of the smaller mahseer were now smoking slowly above glowing embers to ‘seal’ them and make them last for up to a year as food for Tazir and Arun’s families. Some of the fish was also being steamed in bamboo for us. I think the chef must have been at the alcohol earlier because a couple of the bamboo tubes exploded splattering fish all over the place.
Nino and the team prepared a great final supper for us. Fish was clearly on the menu and the remaining supplies were being used to produce a range of interesting dishes (bean curry, paneer curry, fresh salad, potatoes, rice, dal and chapattis). There was too much of everything but it had to be used up and we filled our bellies.
Spirits were both high and disappearing inside contented anglers. We sat around the roaring fire and goaded the tigers to ‘come and have a go if they think they’re hard enough’. Overall the trip had been a great adventure and lots of fun despite the drenchings, near drownings, bumps and scrapes. It was noted that only certain people had enjoyed catching fish on the trip. Chris, Billy and Bob (even though Bob had kind of mistakenly foul hooked a small boca of a few inches one day) were duly noted as ‘Blankers’ and as such, were offered first cast into the ‘hot spot’ tomorrow morning before we rafted.
Tomorrow we would leave the river and head back to relative luxury in the real world.

10th November – Natives and bear prints...

I woke at 05:00 as usual and felt surprisingly good. Everyone else was either stirring or up and about too so the local beer was voted a resounding success.
As we were clearing our heads with an early morning brew, some local men and women from the Adi tribe wandered by the camp and stopped to talk. They were shy but inquisitive and looked wide eyed at us and our paraphernalia. They found the fishing rods, reels and lures particularly strange and held them gingerly, unsure of what to do with them.
Sanjay wanted to release his fish early so we all gathered on the rocks by the river. The morning light was perfect and the golden mahseer’s colours were stunning as we took pictures of him holding the fish. The locals watched as Sanjay removed the stringer and then gently let the fish swim away. On cue, one of the local men shook his head and muttered something about us being crazy to release such a fish. We got some pictures of the local men with their machetes and then the women with their head baskets and bright sarongs. Then they wandered off in a line heading upstream to a village somewhere.
We would be rafting later on in the morning so we split up to fish for a few hours. Rup and I went upstream to fish a rapid we had rafted down yesterday. We walked across beaches strewn with driftwood and eddy pools with post-monsoon trees stuck in the mud like rotting boat hulls. The slower river here meant there were more snags in the water to watch out for. I hooked and lost a fish on a black and gold spoon in one of these eddy pools. Rup headed off upstream from me to fish above the rapid that we had reached and hooked but lost a fish. I hooked and landed a 3lb Boca from the rapid itself which I killed and kept for the pot.
Rup and I returned to camp for breakfast to find that Phil had managed to catch his first golden mahseer of 7lbs on a small jointed plug. He was justifiably delighted and we all congratulated him. He had landed the fish just down from the camp and a local man had been watching him. The local asked if he could have the fish for supper and Phil had politely declined. Chris was taking pictures of Phil as he was releasing the fish but it squirmed and fell from his hands into the shallow water. Before Phil or Chris knew what was happening, the local man had jumped into the water, whacked the mahseer on the head with his machete and was walking off with it smiling broadly.
We had breakfast and then rafted a short distance to the next camp spot. En route we stopped on a pebble island in the river to fish a long stretch of good looking water. Chris had made his first cast at one spot and a savage take had nearly wrenched the rod from his hands. He cursed at missing the fish and carried on casting a few times before noticing something strange about his jelly lure. He swung the lure into his hands and was stunned to see that the bend on the single hook had been straightened out, almost certainly by that earlier violent take.
I had walked downstream to a spot where the river hit a sheer cliff on the far side of the river and then turned at right angles and flowed to my right. A great looking eddy pool was formed by this and I hooked but lost two Boca here. Billy and Alka joined me shortly after so I offered them the pool and fished around them. Alka cast first but soon got hooked up on the riverbed. She and Billy tried to get the lure back but eventually gave in and broke the line. Alka resigned herself to losing her favourite plug to the river gods. Billy continued fishing and hooked but lost a fish from the same spot where I had lost my two fish.
Meanwhile Sanjay was fishing with a Toby spoon and had hooked into another good golden mahseer that had fought well in the fast water. He was upstream from us with Chris who had landed it for him. We all gathered back at the rafts to move on and Sanjay produced his fish on a stringer tied to Arun’s raft. It weighed 18lbs and he said he wanted to kill it. Dhiraj and Vikas had also wanted to kill the fish as they said it would feed us all well.
I protested as diplomatically as I could. Vikas, Dhiraj, Sanjay and Billy come from a culture where there has always been a ready supply of both large and small fish so killing them was considered normal. Dynamiting, netting, poisoning, and line wallahs aside, there is a relatively small amount of angling pressure on the mahseer in the mountains. ‘Sport’ fishing with rod and line is rare and the reserve of the wealthy in India so killing fish is perfectly acceptable in such circles. It reminded me of the pictures I’d seen in angling books from the Raj with lines of fish hanging from poles held up by shikaris. The mentality of the time by the British was the same as it was in Britain, one killed what one caught (except for fish under a certain size). Angling pressure on U.K. wild stocks has forced a re-evaluation of such policies and a more conservationist mentality now prevails where stocking of rivers doesn’t occur.
Anyway, it seems my gentle protests didn’t go unheard and Sanjay agreed to release the fish. I thanked him and we watched the mahseer swim gently away into the river.
Back in the rafts we shot two more big sets of rapids and all got very wet again. The waves were big and we whooped and hollered as we crashed through them. Just before another rapid we pulled into the side and decided to camp for the night. This campsite sat on a raised sand covered plateau of rocks right by the river. Large boulders surrounded the plateau where our tents where pitched and made our camp look like a fortified village with battlements around it.
Shortly after setting tents up, Rup started fishing and immediately caught a small Boca right in front of the camp. I wandered off downstream and fished to the next rapid a few hundred metres away. I found a really nice stream tumbling in from the side that formed a perfect shower/waterfall as it fell from a flat rock above me. It was too late to bathe today so I reserved my place for tomorrow. On a small sandy beach I saw some animal tracks and paused to examine them. They weren’t feline but looked more like a sloth bear as they had short fingers and a longer palm print.
I fished without success until I reached the pool at the side of the rapid. After a few casts with a spate spoon I was soon hooked into a hard fighting fish that ran me all over the pool before I could drag it onto a pebble beach. It was a fine 5lb Boca which I killed for supper. I continued casting and then hooked another fish which fought well. It was a golden mahseer of about 6lbs. I was going to return it and then thought about Sanjay returning his large fish earlier in the day. Sanjay and his friends considered golden mahseer taste better than Boca and I felt a bit guilty that we’d not kept a golden mahseer for them to eat yet. I decided to kill this fish as a return gesture for them letting the larger mahseer go.
Up until this trip, I’d not killed as many fish to eat before and it felt a little odd doing it. I didn’t feel so much about the Boca strangely as I didn’t feel such a connection with them. I have the same dilemma when killing brown trout versus rainbow trout. For some reason, I have fewer qualms about killing rainbows as I do about browns. It made me ponder how subjective we all are about what’s important in terms of preservation. One man’s sacred stock is another man’s food. The size of the fish plays the greatest part for me in terms of releasing it or killing it. I view a larger fish a rare and special and therefore I want to release it so it can grow even bigger. The smaller fish are often in greater abundance so I surmise (rightly or wrongly) that killing one of these has a lesser impact on the stocks.
The light was starting to fade and I had no more success so I collected the two fish and made my way back to camp. Carrying 11lbs of wobbling fish in one hand, a fishing rod in the other and then trying to scramble over boulders proved to be an interesting challenge. Suddenly a crashing of trees in the jungle above startled me and I froze. Those bear tracks I’d found in the sand earlier came flooding back into my mind as I stared intensely into the jungle. I still had a few hundred metres to reach the camp and some difficult rocks to negotiate. The light was fading and I had my hands full with fish and rod. I waited and continued to scan the trees for a bit but there was no further noise or movement in the jungle apart from the odd bird call or buzzing insect. I figured whatever it was had possibly been coming down for its usual drink at the river but had been disturbed by this foreign oik (me) and had skulked off to choose another time to quench its thirst.
I got back to camp and presented the mahseer to Sanjay, Vikas and Dhiraj hoping it would make up for the fish I’d persuaded them let go earlier. They were magnanimous and we thanked each other. Tazir took both the fish and said he’d cook the mahseer using a traditional method tonight. This method involved using bamboo and a broad green leaf (similar to a banana leaf) to effectively steam the fish over a log fire.
Whilst we all drank tea or alcohol and chatted around the fire, I watched Tazir prepare the fish and bamboo tubes for cooking. Tazir descaled and cleaned the mahseer and then cut the white flesh into rough cubes which he mixed with bamboo shoots, ginger, garlic and some chilies. He cut foot long sections of green bamboo stems that were naturally sealed at one end and open at the other. He inserted a rolled up leaf into each bamboo tube so that it lined the inside of the tube with a few inches protruding from the top. The leaf would prevent the fish from sticking to the bamboo as it cooked. He then dropped the marinated fish pieces into each tube and tamped it gently to pack the fish tightly together. When each tube was full he folded the exposed part of the leaf over to seal the fish in the tube. The tubes were placed directly onto a log fire to steam the fish for around 20 minutes. The fish was cooked when the bamboo tubes turned black and started to break up. They were removed from the fire and cut open and then the fish was removed from the leaves and served immediately. It smelled and tasted utterly divine and was one of the best meals I’d eaten so far on the trip. Nino also made the usual accompaniments which were washed down with a little bit of now-rationed whisky.
Locals only carry their machete and perhaps a little rice with them when they go hunting. All of their cooking utensils, containers and cutlery were made with bamboo or other natural things around them. Throughout the trip I’d noticed how bamboo played such an important part of the raft crew’s life around the camp. It was cut into very thin strips and used as rope to bind. It was sliced lengthways and used to made drainpipe material for channeling water. They made makeshift furniture from it and many other things. The other crucial item was the machete. This was used in a variety of ways to cut, slice, scrape, dig and gouge.
After such a fine supper more wood was gathered to replenish the fire and we sat around it for a while talking before retiring to our tents and to sleep.

9th November – Big fish and local rice beer...

I woke at 5:00 and noticed some of the others were already awake and fishing. Chris, Bob and Phil were stoking the embers from last night’s fire. We had a warming cup of tea and then went upstream from the camp to fish a rapid on the Subansiri. Two local line wallahs on the far side of the river eyed us curiously as we fished opposite them. They retrieved a couple of small fish from their lines before rebating them and tossing the lines back into the river. Despite fishing excellent water, none of us hooked or saw a fish so we returned to camp for breakfast.
Rup had caught a 4lb Boca on a silver spate spoon from the eddy pool where the rafts were moored but no-one else had caught anything.
After breakfast, we lazed around the camp while we waited for Arun’s raft to be repaired. He had picked up another puncture during yesterday’s journey so it would have to be repaired before we continued. They’d hauled the raft out of the river last night but it would have to dry out fully before they could apply an adhesive patch.
We fished in the heat of the morning as the repairs were taking forever. I fished down the Kamla to the confluence and lost a couple of small mahseer in impossibly shallow water. The river was very clear yet I couldn’t see the fish as I bobbled a small lure over the riverbed.
We finally set off at about 1p.m. and rafted down to the next camp about five kilometres downstream. En route I hooked and landed a 4lb Boca on a small gold spoon from the raft which we kept for supper to add to Rup’s earlier catch.
We camped on a wide flat beach where a huge slow bend in the river almost forms a complete circle. The added water from the Kamla made the Subansiri over 100 metres wide in places here and its pace now was slowing considerably as it meandered through the foothills before emerging onto the plains of Assam.
After the tents were erected we all split up to go fishing. I wandered a couple of kilometres downstream and cast into very good water but caught nothing all evening. I fished two lovely small confluences, where warm stream water fell into the main river, convinced I would catch a fish at any moment as the light was fading. At one point, I heard a distant cry and glanced back to see lots of people rushing across the beach at the camp upstream from me. I figured someone was into a good fish.
The light had all but gone now so, fishless, I turned from the river and made my way back upstream to camp. The moon was up and there was just enough light for me to clamber over the rocks without the aid of my headtorch. It was a pleasant warm evening and I was enjoying being alone in the moonlight. I walked into camp to hear much merriment from around the roaring campfire. A whisky bottle was being handed around which produced very animated conversation. I soon found out the reason why I’d earlier seen people dashing across the beach from where I’d been fishing downstream.
Sanjay had decided to fish near the camp in a calm area of water around some boulders that were lying in the river about 10 or 15 metres out from the shore. He’d cast over and over around these rocks, convinced that a good fish lay amongst them. After 20 or so casts, his rod suddenly locked up and bent over as a really big fish took his lure. The fish tore away into the river and he hung on and played the fish for 20 minutes or so, shouting for assistance as he soon realized he was going to need help. His cries for help and the sight of him bent into a fish had brought everyone running from the camp. There was much excitement and confusion as everyone was trying to assist or shout at each other while Sanjay tired the fish and slowly brought it into the side. Arun jumped into the river to grab the fish but it was having none of it and thrashed away powerfully. Again Sanjay tired it and slowly dragged it into the side for someone to land. Arun got around the fish once more but again, it powered off, but this time it swam straight through Arun’s legs with Sanjay’s line after it. People screamed at Arun to get away from the line and he narrowly escaped being either cut badly by the nylon or worse, breaking the line and losing the fish for Sanjay. Sanjay was feeling the effects of the battle with the mahseer (his knees had given out on him a few days back during his jungle trek) and everyone was out of the water now so order was restored. Finally, after once again slowly tiring the fish and bringing it into the side, it was held securely and a stringer attached. No-one had any weigh-scales or weigh-sling (because they were with me) so there was a lot of speculation as to its size. This was the lively debate raging at the fireside when I walked in. Nobody was prepared to wait until the morning to see what the fish weighed. Sanjay was also concerned that locals would creep down and steal the fish in the darkness.
I got my weigh-sling and scales and with headtorches we carefully made our way across the rocks to the river. The mahseer was very tired and didn’t struggle much as I held it gently and eased the weigh-sling over its broad shoulders. I slowly lifted the fish out of the water in the weigh-sling and someone took a reading on the weigh-scale as I strained to keep it steady. 38lbs was the agreed weight and it was a female golden mahseer that would probably have weighed more if her belly had been full of spawn. We all shook hands with Sanjay’s and I secured the fish on a longer stringer in deeper water where we hoped she would be safe for the night.
The whisky was soon gone and the remaining few bottles would have to be rationed if we were to have enough to last for the remainder of the trip. Runners were therefore dispatched to a local village to fetch some of the local rice beer so that celebrations could continue. This rice beer is made by fermenting a paste many times in earthenware pots or bamboo tubes. Water is then added a number of times to this potent brew and hopefully a half-decent alcoholic beverage comes out at the other end.
Nino produced a first class supper of Boca (slowly baked on a bamboo grid over the embers of a log fire) with spicy potatoes, rice and chapattis. The local beer (still warm from the fermentation process) arrived shortly after supper. It was hit and miss with this stuff but we were all in the mood to give it a go. It made my eyes bulge ever so slightly when I first tasted it and there was only a stifled choke as I swallowed. We decided to lessen its impact by mixing it with orange Tang. Cocktails by the river, how splendid!
Rup fell asleep sitting up, Chris lost the power of speech and everyone else just giggled and laughed a lot. I crawled into my tent as I was no longer able to stand.
We would just have to wait until the morning to see if we would survive…

8th November – In search of the Subansiri…

I woke at 5:30 and noticed Rup was also awake. We decided to take a hike back upstream and fish one of the rapids that we’d rafted yesterday. We clambered one kilometre upstream and negotiated a short cliff section before the land opened onto a beach at the foot of the rapid. There was excellent water to fish in the pools and eddies so Rup and I leapfrogged each other for the next few hours fishing the entire rapid but without success.
We then walked above the rapid and fished the river where it was shallow and clear running over small pebbles and the occasional boulder. Rup was fishing behind me as we made our way back downstream whilst fishing. Rup let out a cry and I looked back to see his rod bent into a fish. He’d been using a silver spate spoon and the mahseer had taken it in a few feet of water. The fish fought well in the fast water but soon I was able to land it for Rup. It weighed 13lbs and Rup was justifiably pleased as I took some pictures of him holding it. Once again Rup produced the goods from water where I had just previously been fishing. We cast sporadically on the walk back downstream to the camp and arrived back in time for breakfast.
After breakfast I wandered off downstream from the camp to fish some likely looking water alone. I clambered on top of a huge boulder and watched as my spoon fluttered in the water below me. I could see mahseer darting out from the boulder and giving my lure a really good look before rejecting it. These are the sort of things that most of us miss when we’re fishing because we’re either too far away to see it, or else the water is too murky. It was good to see though, if not a little frustrating, because it showed that there were still fish here and as usual, the angler (me!) was quick to cite a host of excuses as to why we are not catching.
I continued casting and then hooked a supper-sized Boca that got off shortly after. I had three more fish follow my lure before I reached the head of another rapid. A shrill whistle from upstream alerted me that the camp was packed and they were ready to raft again. I marched back to camp and climbed onto the raft.
We rafted a total of four rapids. Highlights: Phil got stung by a bee and Arun broke one of the big raft oars so we had to stop and give him our spare one. His raft was driven against a cliff wall at one rapid and the sheer weight of the raft with people and luggage snapped it clean in two.
At one set of rapids the rafters did their usual trick of disappearing downstream for ages to survey the river. We were in the shadow of a mountain so lit a fire as best we could with the dampish wood around us. We snacked on biscuits and nuts while we waited for the rafters to return. As we were huddled around the fire, I caught sight of one of the rafts drifting downstream. I let out a cry and we raced across the beach to rescue it. I think Nino would have been a little shocked to have seen his raft (devoid of people) float by him as he was checking the rapids downstream. We secured the raft again and returned to the warmth of the fire.
The rafters returned and we all climbed aboard. These rapids twisted and turned their way ahead of us but the rafters felt sure that we were near the Subansiri. We were all cold as we crashed and paddled our way through a few kilometres of rapids and then finally, as we rounded a corner, the confluence with the Subansiri came into view with a welcoming sandy beach to camp on.
There were cheers and handshakes and hugs and laughter as we stood at the junction of these two mighty rivers. We had completed a journey by raft that no-one else had done. We had had a great adventure, sometimes frightening, sometimes frustrating, but it was an adventure that we’d all remember if only for one of the days. That was the day when an insignificant looking frothy patch of river dumped half of our party into the water and nearly claimed the lives of two (and a chicken!).
A huge fire was built and lit with the abundant firewood that lay strewn across a vast sandy beach. Leopard tracks criss-crossed the beach and we noted that some of the tracks were mother and cub so we would have to be careful. We were on a beach that locals would find extremely hard if not impossible to reach so the river around us was hopefully virgin water.
The Subansiri was running a little muddy and it was icy cold and very powerful. During monsoon, this confluence must be an awesome sight and sound as these two big rivers come together. The beach that we were camping on was a massive deposit of boulders and rocks covered with sand following the last monsoon. Huge decapitated trees rose from the Subansiri like dark pillars as the river pushed relentlessly against them.
We pitched our tents on soft level sand, warmed ourselves by the roaring fire and devoured a late lunch. Rods were hastily assembled and 10 anglers fanned out from the camp to fish excellent looking water on two rivers. I walked over the boulder strewn beach and started fishing the Subansiri. The speed of the river here was ferocious as it swept by me towards the confluence. I fished a few hundred metres down to the confluence and then fished back upstream. I was just started to think that the water was too fast to hold fish when bang!, my rod bent over and I was into a fish. It took the silver spate spoon a metre from the bank and swirled powerfully at the surface before surging off with my rod arched over. The force of the river made the fish unstoppable and it stripped off around 50 metres of line in a few seconds. I started hopping/running over the boulders in pursuit. The confluence wasn’t far away and I knew that if the fish reached this I wouldn’t stand a chance of stopping it. I leant as hard as I dared against the fish and cupped my hand over the clutch to try and prevent it from taking more line. The tension on the line made it whine in the stiff breeze blowing downstream as I held my breath. The fish stopped running and sulked on the bottom. I maintained pressure and started to retrieve line as I hopped from boulder to boulder. I managed to get below the fish and now put side strain on it to tire it further. The stand-off continued for a little while and then after a few more powerful lunges the fish succumbed so I dragged it into the side. It was a really plump good-sized Boca of about 12lbs. I considered releasing it but figured we had nothing for supper tonight so killed it instead. I whistled and waved to the camp and someone came running over to get the fish which I held aloft. We would eat well tonight.
We all continued fishing until darkness and then returned to camp to compare notes. Sanjay had hooked a golden mahseer by the camp in the Kamla but had lost the fish after a short fight. No-one else had hooked any fish or had any takes.
The rafters made an excellent celebratory feast for us all and the Boca tasted delicious. We spent the evening toasting ourselves by the fires and chatting. Spirits were visibly lifted as we were on known water now. Nino had taken a group of Norwegian anglers down this section of the Subansiri a few months earlier so knew the rapids and knew the camp sites ahead. The anglers had caught many mahseer too so our angling prospects ahead looked hopeful.
I left everyone talking and drinking around the fire and crept into my tent.

7th November – The ratfs are just around the corner - honest?

I woke before first light and fished in the darkness without success whilst I waited for everyone else to rise.
We had an early breakfast and then packed up the camp to make an early start on the rafts. We were behind time and still had no clear idea of how far the Subansiri confluence was. The rafts were loaded and we set off across the eddy pool. We knew there were more rapids just ahead but we couldn’t check them properly due to sheer cliffs blocking our way downstream.
We tied off the rafts on the far side of the river and inspected the rapids ahead. They were straightforward and we got through them fine before pausing to inspect the next set. This pause turned into 1.5 hours as we watched and waited for Nino and Arun (who had disappeared downstream) to return. They walked at least 3km downstream and when they eventually made it back to the rafts, they said we would have to walk three sets of rapids.
Nino said that there was a jungle path that would take us passed a bluff and they would be waiting for us somewhere below that. Each raft would be taken fully laden with gear but without us through the rapids and they would wait for us in calmer water downstream.
We all set off across the boulders to find the jungle track. It was tough going as the boulders were big and not easy to negotiate. Phil and I dropped down to the riverside to take a look at the rapids for ourselves. I have to say that I considered them to be no worse that some of the other rapids we had rafted. I think issues over the last few days had left everyone a bit jittery and I felt Nino and Arun had also lost their nerve with regards to having us on board in big rapids.
The jungle path was located and everyone set off to find the rendezvous downstream (which hadn’t really been made clear to us at all) except for Phil and me. We stayed by the river and took pictures of the rafts shooting the rapids. There was a ‘chicken run’ which they choose and it all seemed very easy and harmless so I was still surprised at Nino’s choice to make us all walk.
Rather than walk back up to find the jungle path, Phil and I set off down the river bank as we figured we’d come across everyone eventually. We saw lots of night lines in the water where locals were baiting up heavy lines to catch anything that took the bait. It was a fairly easy walk expect for a few places where we had to negotiate cliffs. At one point we saw Nino and the other rafts on the far side of the river resting. There was a landing spot on our side where we thought they would stop to pick us up but they drifted right by it and disappeared around another corner.
We met up with the others who had taken the jungle path that was now near the river and set off to find the rafts downstream. On the jungle path they’d come across a simple hunters shelter made of banana leaves. Beneath the canopy was a small fire with a frog impaled on a stick being smoked over it.
The path quickly faded and became a maze of bamboo and jungle. I jabbed and cut my head several times on broken bamboo stalks that poked out of the jungle above me as I focused on where I was walking. We got to a point where the path disappeared completely and the ground fell away below us. Tazir climbed/slid his way down to the river to try and find a lower route. Rocks were now being dislodged and I was nervous that someone was going to get hurt by falling debris if we tried to proceed via this route. Some of the others were getting tired as they’d been scrambling and walking through the jungle for a few hours now. I joined Tazir and we found a route down by the river so shouted for everyone to retrace theirs steps and come down to join us. The river here was relatively calm so I was mystified as to why Nino hadn’t stopped to pick us up here and there was still no sign of them downstream. I walked ahead whilst Tazir waited for the others to join him and after a few hundred metres saw the three rafts moored on our side of the river. I called back to Tazir that the rafts were not far now.
Watching everyone scrambling down the river to get to the rafts was a sorry sight as they reminded me of walking wounded. Sanjay’s knees had given up completely and he was in pain. Dhiraj’s face was black and blue and he had to walk carefully over the rocks. Bob was virtually blind without his glasses so couldn’t go fast at all. Alka was very tired and was being helped by Billy. I felt that it was not a good decision to get us all to walk through the jungle for so long as especially as many of the party were not at their peak of physical fitness.
Finally we all plonked ourselves exhausted on the rafts and I asked Nino for biscuits and water for everyone. Time was getting on again and we’d spent most of the day walking or waiting in the heat. It was very frustrating.
We set off on the rafts again and looked for a suitable beach to camp for the night. The river was not being kind to us and the sides were steep and rocky. After a few kilometres or so, we chose a tiny patch of sand and rocks next to a small stream falling into the river from a steep hillside. It was very cramped but we figured that it was the best we’d find. The sun was off the river now and the temperature was falling rapidly again. Everyone scrambled to find a suitable place to pitch tents which brought some interesting improvisations. Phil and I excavated a site by removing sand and rocks to form a flattish plateau. We then just erected that fly sheet and tied it to branches as we couldn’t be bothered with the tent inner itself. Other people strung up fly sheets to overhanging branches and soon a very makeshift camp appeared. The rafters set about getting food and hot water going for tea and coffee.
Everyone took to washing in the side stream to get rid of the grime and dust from today’s exertions. Rup started fishing shortly after and soon hooked (as only Rup can) a small mahseer but lost it. No-one else was fishing so I set up my rod and wandered off upstream. The river was featureless here and running straight so I just side-stepped my way up river casting upstream and retrieving downstream. I saw what looked like leopard tracks in the sand. The light was almost gone as I made my way back downstream to the camp. A few other people had fished but no-one had caught anything.
Supper was good and everyone ate heartily. The day had taken its toll on many of us and we all got an early night. With no real clue as to where the Subansiri confluence was we were all now hoping it was soon, very soon. The Kamla was a great river with excellent looking water however, the uncertainty over camping spots, the amount of surveying required for so many unknown rapids and the relative lack of mahseer (compounded by the dynamiting going on), left us all with the desire to get to the better known water below us (somewhere).

6th November – Mahseer at last...

I woke at first light following a restless night of angst-ridden dreams about chickens and rapids. I could hear Rup stirring in his tent but other than him and me, no-one else was awake yet. In the dawn half-light, I took my rod and cast a black and gold spoon into the eddy pool where Rup had caught his fish yesterday. On the third cast, I felt a thump as a fish grabbed my spoon 20m out in the river. It felt like a good fish and fought well as others were stirred awake by the commotion of an angler playing a fish by the camp. It was a good mahseer of 21lbs which I tied onto a stringer next to Rup’s from yesterday.
Everyone was up now and fishing as the pool seemed to be yielding results. Rup hooked a fish on a jointed plug but lost it soon after. I moved over to fish the fast shallow water where the rapid falls into the eddy pool and hooked a fish that also felt good. I leant hard against the fish to set the hooks for a few seconds and then all went slack. I reeled in to find that one of the split rings and trebles on the jointed plug had been pulled completely off. The hooks were barbless so the fish would have shed it quickly but it was annoying just the same. The eddy pool action eventually fell quiet so we stopped for breakfast and then anglers headed off in various directions to find new water to fish as the heat of the day took hold.
After lunch Nino took Bob, Sanjay and Billie on one raft to allow them to cast against the deep water by cliffs on the far side of the eddy pool. They drifted into the main current and then came back around in the eddy pool a few times before Nino dropped them ashore on the far side. Sanjay and Bob both caught smallish Boca which they brought back for supper.
Arun’s raft was dragged onto the sandy beach and deflated. The metal frame that Dhiraj had smashed into was bent so it was dismantled and straightened. After letting the raft dry out, the puncture was located and a patch glued into place. The raft was left deflated for the rest of the day and only partially inflated in the evening to test the leak.
Phil had been galvanized into fishing by the action of the last couple of days and we helped get him a rod and reel set up. Billie had given him a reel to use but unfortunately the reel handle had lost an important screw that stopped the handle from falling out when it was being used. We tried various things to fix it but they kept breaking. Eventually, I whittled a small piece of wood into a thin screw-like shape and fixed a plastic disc to one end so it looked like a large drawing pin. This was screwed into the reel handle and seemed to work, as long as Phil was gentle with it.
Rup and I walked upstream to fish the confluence and the rapids above it. Rup landed a 3lb Boca which he killed for the pot and then lost a 5lb mahseer after a short fight. I had three takes on my jointed plug but never managed to see the fish as they all came off.
We all came back to camp for supper and got another fire going. Nino deep fried the Boca that we had caught and it tasted delicious. Rum was now being rationed because last night’s stress-busting alco-fest (combined with all the other nights where rum and whisky was consumed with wanton abandon) had severely impacted our supplies.
We all slept relatively soberly for the first time this trip. Even Dhiraj’s snoring, which would normally reverberate around the camp and ward off tigers, leopards and other wild beasts, was subdued.

5th November – A small patch of water...

I woke early and fished my way back down the 3km that Rup and I fished yesterday. Not one fish took or showed any sign of taking. I had decided to walk downstream and wait below the next rapid to take pictures of the rafts coming down again. Chris and Rup joined me later and walked further downstream to fish while I waited for the rafts to arrive. Again, the wait seemed like forever. We couldn’t understand why the rafters hadn’t established a system to get things more organized and efficient.
When they eventually came into view, I got some great action shots of the rafts smashing through the stopper waves of the rapid before climbing aboard and drifting downstream. Spirits were good natured on the rafts as we slowly drifted a long flat stretch of the river. At a couple of places, the rafters pulled into the side to take a look downstream at set of rapids coming up.
All went well until one point where we paused to survey a fairly gentle looking set of rapids and plan our route through them. Arun’s raft with Billy, Alka, Sanjay, Dhiraj and Vikas on board didn’t manage to stop at the side ahead of us. Arun seemed relaxed about it all and I guess assumed that he’d drift down a bit and come to the side of the river further down. The raft disappeared around a bend in the river ahead of us. Our raft and the supply raft had stopped and we were clambering off downstream (I was fishing) to look at the rapids ahead just around the bend. We figured we’d see Arun’s raft when we got around the corner but he was nowhere to be seen. We could see the rapids ahead and they looked fairly straight and gentle so we guessed that Arun must have shot them immediately without stopping to look first.
We made our way back to the rafts and set off to shoot the rapids ahead. Nino asked Ito to take the supply raft to go ahead as it was lighter and they’d be able to check the route and signal to us if there were any problems in the rapid. As we drifted towards the head of the rapid, the supply raft was 100m in front and commencing its bumpy ride through them. We saw the supply raft lurch sideways and then suddenly both Ito and Tilak disappeared into the water. I was sitting in the middle of our raft and was the highest so shouted to Nino, “They’ve been thrown in!” We drifted helplessly towards the rapids and watched as both rafters emerged from the waves and struggled back onto their raft. Tilak managed to get to the oars and stabilize the raft whilst Ito hung onto the side. We were now taking the same route that the supply raft took and Nino was in the process of lining up our raft to commence shooting the rapid. At that point I noticed Arun on the left bank running across the rocks waving frantically at us.
Arun had decided to take the raft down the rapid without surveying it first. The rapid did indeed look fairly innocuous until his raft hit a hole in the river behind a huge submerged boulder. The water downstream of the sunken boulder created a body of stationary or reverse-flow water. When Arun’s raft fell into this hole the raft immediately stopped. The sudden change of speed hurled Alka from the raft into the rapid her helmet was torn from her head by the force of the water and she lost an earring. Dhiraj’s was thrown forward and had his face smashed hard against the raft’s metal frame. Fortunately, no one else on the raft was ejected or injured and they were able to rescue Alka and get the raft into quiet water below the rapid. Arun had then run back upstream across the rocks to try to forewarn us of the danger. But he was too late.
“Arun says go right, go right!” I shouted to Nino, but Nino was otherwise engaged as one of his oars had come away from its rowlock. We were a big heavy raft with eight people and gear on board so the remaining paddlers were in no position to change course in the rapidly accelerating river. I scanned ahead in the water looking for holes, rocks, anything that looked dangerous but couldn’t see anything. Arun was still signalling and shouting at us from the bank and then I saw it ahead. It was barely noticeable at first, just a patch of white frothy water behind a small bulge in the river where water was flowing over something below the surface. We were too close now to take any avoiding action so I just screamed “Hold on!” and grabbed a rope that was securing luggage to the raft.
The raft rode over the top of the bulge in the river, slid sideways into the eddy pool and stopped dead. The weight and momentum of the raft forced the bows deep into the frothing eddy and I saw Phil, Bob and Amit disappear into the foaming water. Bob, Amit, Chris, Nino and Tazir were thrown into the river and it felt like the raft would flip completely. Miraculously it didn’t but only Rup, Phil and I remained on board. I still had my fishing rod in one hand and was clinging to the luggage ropes with the other as the raft was spat from the eddy pool and continued downstream.
Chris (who would no doubt be saying “I told you so!” when he finally got back on board) had been desperately clinging to a rope in the water and then a wave pushed him straight back in to the raft. Nino had by now managed to get back into the raft and was getting control of the oars. Phil had managed to grab Amit’s arm who was hanging from the front of the raft and I helped drag him back on board. Then we realized Bob and Tazir were missing.
When the raft first hit the eddy pool, Bob had been sucked from the raft and fell into the stopper wave formed behind the submerged boulder. He had been tumbled round and round in the water unable to determine what was up, down, left or right and his glasses had been torn off in the water. Fortunately for him the stopper wave eventually relinquished its hold and spat him out. We saw him in the river 20m behind the raft drifting downstream. Then I spotted Tazir about 15m behind us in the water, under the water actually. Tazir had been thrown from the raft but was not wearing a lifejacket and had exhausted himself just trying to keep at the surface. I saw his head emerge from the river and then he disappeared again, his arms flailing about trying to find strength. Our raft was too big to stop and rescue Tazir so I bellowed at the Ito and Tilak (who were alongside us in slack water) to throw a line to Tazir upstream. They kind of understood what I was saying but couldn’t see Tazir so didn’t know where to go to. Fortunately Bob had also seen a fuzzy Tazir in front of him and grabbed him so they could both struggle ashore. Nino managed to get our raft into the side and everyone flopped exhausted onto the rocks wet and bedraggled.
We got a fire going and everyone got round it to dry out and warm up. People were shivering and some were in mild shock. Fortunately the sun was on us so it and the fire warmed us quickly. Dhiraj’s cheek was going black and blue and his top lip was swelling and bleeding badly. Biscuits were found and handed out to give us all energy. There was lots of talk and banter but I think we all knew that was a very lucky escape. Tazir had, in his words, “given up hope” until Bob grabbed him and dragged him ashore. I got a photo of everyone shouting and waving as a ‘we survived!’ memento. We all shook hands and hugged at our lucky escape.
I wandered back upstream to try and spot the hole in the river that had caught all three of our rafts. It was even more difficult to see from the riverbank and looked so innocuous now. Looking at the rapid as a whole, it appeared almost childishly simple to raft, far easier to negotiate than the other rapids we had rafted earlier and definitely less frightening than the one Chris had freaked out over.
After about an hour, we had pretty much dried out but no-one was in any mood to get back in the rafts so we had a discussion with Nino about how to proceed. Arun’s raft had been punctured during their journey and so this would have to be repaired soon. We could see an eddy pool downstream beyond a small confluence and a shallow rapid. It was decided to gingerly make our way across the river, beyond the confluence and beach in the eddy pool downstream where we would camp for two nights to allow repairs to be made to Arun’s raft. Just then a commotion attracted everyone’s attention. One of the two remaining chickens had managed to escape from it’s bamboo cage and had fallen from the raft into the river in its bid for freedom. It was clucking wildly and flailing about in the water as it got swept downstream. Amit jumped in and recovered the feckless bird which lightened the mood of us all somewhat. I suspected that these two chickens would not last the night anyway as we had no mahseer to eat and a hearty meal was in order to boost morale.
We got back onto the rafts and headed off towards the eddy pool 1K downstream. We drifted by the confluence which looked gorgeous and everyone was eager to fish it later or tomorrow. The small rapid before the eddy pool was very shallow and our raft repeatedly dragged on stones as we drifted down. At one point the raft stuck completely so we had to climb out and cajole it over the boulders. Arun’s raft caught up with us and drifted by but Arun forgot to get his large oars out of the way. I was in the water looking back at the raft when I saw Arun’s oar about to decapitate Chris, Rup and Nino in the back. “Heads down!” I barked and we all ducked as Arun’s oar narrowly swept over our heads. What next!
We made it to the eddy pool which was perfect, deep and big and very fishy with a lovely sandy beach for us to camp on. The sun was sinking behind the mountains so we made camp quickly and got a fire going to continue drying things out. Dhiraj’s cheek continued to swell which was causing the wound in his lip to open and bleed. We applied ointment and gave him painkillers to help him take his mind off it. We figured that nothing was broken otherwise he’d be in much more pain which offered some encouragement for him.
Nino and the boys made us tea and biscuits and then Rup set up his rod and cast a silver spate spoon in the reverse eddy right in front of the camp. Suddenly he let out a cry and his rod was bent into a fish. After a short but powerful fight a beautiful golden mahseer of 13lbs was beached. It brought tremendous encouragement to us all as we were beginning to lose faith that the golden mahseer were still in the river. Once again Rup did the business as he’s so often done and pulled out a mahseer when we all thought there were none there. Other rods were hastily assembled and we all set up casting. Then Rup lost another fish from the eddy pool and then another soon after which really got out spirits up, mind you, we all secretly wanted Rup to stop fishing now so that we could have a chance. We all split up and fished the eddy pool, confluence and other likely looking spots along the river but no other fish showed that afternoon.
We returned to camp and gathered more wood to build an even bigger fire for the evening as light faded quickly and the temperature dropped. As I suspected, the chickens were hastily dispatched and now formed the centerpiece of the evening feast of chicken curry, aloo, dal, rice and pudding. Red wine and rum was produced as we warmed ourselves around the fire to take away the aches and pains of the day. Bob was having difficulty seeing without his glasses and would stagger semi-blind around the camp. Dhiraj was being extraordinarily stoical about his face and the pain that was obviously hurting. We had deliberately withheld showing him his face in a mirror for fear that it would scare him still further. We eventually reneged and when he saw himself he was indeed shocked at how big his check and top lip had become.
At one point in the evening Tazir came over to Bob by the fire and knelt beside him. He had to get someone to translate his words as his English was not good. Somewhat emotionally he told Bob that he owed him his life and that he would never forgot what Bob had done to save him. He really had given up hope and was sure that he would drown in the rapid. Tazir then handed Bob his small machete that he had made himself and had had all his life. It was a token of his gratitude and indebtedness to Bob. It was a poignant moment and we all cheered and applauded with our heads full of alcohol.
All of us went to our tents that night with personal reflections of an ordeal that no-one expected from a very simple straight set of rapids 1km behind us.

4th November – Dynamite...

I slept in as I was very tired from yesterday’s exertions over the rocks. I emerged from my tent to see a few anglers fishing in the big pool in front of the camp. Spirits were a little low after yesterday. Rup had heard dynamiting upstream and the rafters had seen dynamiting downstream when they went to survey the next series of rapids. They were even given a 7lb Boca by the dynamiters who were carrying a 40lb+ haul of fish away from the river. It seemed that the golden mahseer had either disappeared downstream to the Subansiri or else they were freaked out by the dynamiting and not in a feeding mood.
Rup and I fished downstream for about 3km in really good looking water without a touch. We clambered and climbed our way around a sheer cliff to reach a really good looking pool. I used my fish finder in this pool to get a feel for what was out there. The fish alert signal bleeped regularly at me but I reminded myself that it didn’t mean they were mahseer. I took the slow action as an opportunity to wash my clothes and myself in a rock pool.
There were amazing boulders strewn along the river bank with patterns and strata that made them look like giant boiled sweets. There were also many beautiful butterflies and plants to distract us from the lack of action in the water. The sky clouded over in the afternoon and a light rain fell for a spell which cooled things down.
Back at camp, Sanjay managed to hook a good Boca of about 12lbs in the afternoon which fought well for 15 minutes before coming off. This lifted our spirits a little when we heard about it and then Alka hooked and lost a Boca near the camp just as the light was fading. The fireside talk over supper discussed moving further downstream to reach the Subansiri earlier than planned in order to get away from the water disturbed by the dynamiting.

3rd November – A rapid phobia...

I woke at first light a little groggy from the beer last night and went downstream to fish in the chilly morning mist. I clambered over some massive boulders and fished a nice looking series of eddies that formed at the side of a rapid. I was fishing with a small copper spoon and caught two Boca from one pool, the larger of which I killed to take back to camp. Arun joined me later and also took a smallish Boca on a spinner which he killed too.
I returned to camp for a late breakfast and saw Chris looking in a terrible state. He was licking his wounds from the various falls last night and cursing our taunts and lack of sympathy. The rafters took forever to pack up camp again. Chris, Billy and Alka decided they would walk round the next two sets of rapids as the rafters had said they would be tricky. I said I would walk down too but take pictures of the rafts shooting the rapids to capture the action. A chorus of chicken noises erupted from those that were going to shoot the rapids towards those that were not. We clambered downstream and waited on the rocks for the rafts to appear. It took an eternity for the rafts to get loaded during which time, Chris became more and more convinced that the rapid we were looking at was unraftable. True, it looked violent and water was churning down it. True, it looked technical and there was no simple clear path through it. However, the raft captains had checked it and seemed happy that they could negotiate it. Chris’ paranoia was rubbing off on Billy and Alka now and they all agreed that the rafts must be stopped and carried around the rapid instead. We continued debating and then the rafts came into view and shot the first rapid. I ran to a high rock and whistled and waved at them to go to the side and not shoot the next rapid. All three rafts found back eddies to moor up in and we had a chat.
Nino was confident that they could have negotiated the rapids but now that would not be possible. Because I had called them over to the side, they would not be able to get the rafts onto the right entry point in order to safely shoot the next rapid. I couldn’t understand why it wasn’t possible to haul the rafts back upstream in the eddy pools to get a better trajectory but Nino insisted that this was not possible. So, the only course of action was to offload the three rafts and walk our entire camp belongings and rafts around the rapid. This took the rest of the day to complete and many, many trips from the rafts across car-sized boulders to a small patch of sand 200m downstream. It was sweltering work and hazardous. A few people slipped on the rocks but fortunately there were no injuries. As the light was fading, one of the rafts was dragged by eight people over the rocks and lowered back into the river. The other two rafts would have to wait until tomorrow. Everyone sat exhausted and drank water. A few of us fished halfheartedly but mostly people just relaxed and discussed how we could avoid doing anything like that again. It was agreed that tomorrow would not be a rafting day to allow everything to get reloaded and sorted out. We had only managed to raft a few hundred metres today so a longer raft trip would be necessary the day after tomorrow to make up for the distance lost. The raft captains were given the all clear to take decisions about which rapids could be rafted and which couldn’t. A series of signals was agreed that could be used to abort a raft shooting a rapid if an emergency arose.
We had missed lunch due moving all the camp and raft gear so a big supper was made. Chris got utterly wasted on beer and rum again and disappeared into his tent early. Tazir made ‘bug’ chutney which was basically garlic, ginger, bamboo shoots and crushed bugs mixed together. It actually tasted rather good as long as you didn’t think too hard about it and ignored the bugs’ legs that got stuck between your teeth.
Everyone got to bed relatively early after supper due to the afternoon’s efforts taking their toll.

2nd November – Bedding in...

I woke early and emerged from my tent to a cool morning with mist in the jungle above me. I seemed to be the first up so I took my rod and wandered off downstream. I wanted to go beyond the water I had fished yesterday and explore new water. I clambered over boulders and imagined tigers and leopards eyeing my hungrily from the woods behind me. I fished for a couple of hours with no luck and then wandered back to camp for an early breakfast. Back at camp, Sanjay and Tazir had taken some small Boca (Chocolate Mahseer) on spinners which had been brought back for supper. The plan was to take some of the mahseer caught on the trip to supplement the meager meat supplies that we had with us (four chickens and a load of eggs).
We packed up the camp which took forever. Nino and the crew were learning to work as a team and we watched in bemused frustration as they wandered clueless around the various bags and containers. The rapid by the camp was a big one (probably a grade four at least) and Chris decided he was not going to raft it. He was still smarting from the dunking he got on the Mahakali earlier in the year so set off to walk down to the next beach where we could pick him up. Everyone else was up for it so each raft set off one by one to shoot the big rapid. I was in the first raft and we smashed into the huge wave formed at the base of the ‘V’ where the river accelerates rapidly from a slow glide into churning water. The wave engulfed the front of the raft and we all screamed like girls at the icy drenching we received. We screamed more and laughed and got soaked down the rest of the rapid before the river turned left and eased in strength as we approached a sandy beach to pause and collect Chris. Chris was sitting in the rocks and looked ashen-faced. We beached the rafts and fell onto the sand laughing. Everyone had enjoyed the rapid but Chris was convinced we were going to flip or something and urged caution going forward. We spent an hour drying clothes and enjoying the sun before setting off again.
We rafted for about 12km and shot a few smaller rapids but couldn’t find a suitable beach to camp overnight. During one rapid, Amit sliced his heel badly on a sharp rock and needed attention. We beached the raft and I attended to his foot with my first aid kit. While I bandaged him up, an old man arrived at the river wearing a cap and a red jacket with medals hanging from his breast. The medals were for services to the country and community. He saluted us and with a toothless grin muttered something. Apparently he was the village elder and someone had alerted him about us rafting passed his village. He had hurried to the river to greet us and wanted us to come for tea. We politely declined his generous offer and feared that this was probably going to happen at every village we rafted passed downstream.
We continued down the river as the day started to fade trying to find a suitable beach to camp on. Eventually we saw a place that wasn’t perfect but would have to do. A narrow strip of land was covered with thick coarse grass that would be our makeshift camp for the night. We set up tents as best we could and got a fire going to warm up while the rafters prepared a late lunch. The temperature drop was noticeable when the sun went behind the mountains and if one had taken a soaking in the rapids, then shivering cold came quickly. Depending on the camp’s orientation, the sun would sometimes not touch us until late morning so those wet clothes were uncomfortable the next day too.
I fished for a few hours downstream after lunch but had no takes. No-one else fished much as the main focus was on getting the tents set up as best they could and warming up/drying clothes. Over supper Chris got completely wasted on rum and beer. I mean utterly wasted. So much so that he simply fell into a drunken heap and gibbered inanely as we goaded him. He tried to get up to go to his tent and fell sideways into the grass. We were howling with laughter which provoked a string of profanities from him. He was wearing a head torch and all we could see in the darkness was a light wobbling about and then jerking sideways as he fell repeatedly. Another tirade of abuse would pierce the night air as he lay there desperate for his bed and to be away from the unsympathetic hyenas around the fire. He eventually fell onto his tent and became entangled in the guy ropes. Bob had to go a rescue him, largely to ensure Bob had a place to sleep as he was the unfortunate soul that had to share with Chris that night.

1st November – Ziro to Tamen and the Kamla…

We woke and had long steaming hot showers - in our dreams. After breakfast we settled the bill and loaded the jeeps. No international lines were available so I couldn’t call Claudette. Bob left his battery charger and batteries behind in his room after he vacated it and a nanosecond later they were nabbed. Search parties were dispatched for the miscreant room boy but he had disappeared, probably to sell or stash the goods. The charger and batteries were bought yesterday in a shop for a comparatively small price but Bob was indignant and wanted the stuff returned on principle. The hotel manager assured Bob that they would be returned but I think we all knew this wouldn’t happen and drove out of Ziro.
After 60KM of winding mountain roads and beautiful views across hills and valleys we descended steeply into a small village of Tamen where a suspension bridge spans the river Kamla. It was impressive, at least the size of the Mahakali in Uttaranchal Pradesh and had a gorgeous icy grey/blue colour as we stared into it from the bridge. Blankets and what seemed to be netting was draped all over the bridge sides, presumably to dry. We could see the raft crew below on a sandy beach with three rafts already inflated so we parked our jeeps and carried gear down to the beach. We introduced ourselves to the rafters and started get things packed into dry bags. Nino and Arun were the two main raft captains and had Amit and now Tazir to assist them. Ito and Tilak were in charge of the smaller, lighter and more maneuverable supply raft. A posse of villagers was on the beach and stared inquisitively at the goings on around them. This was the first raft trip down the Kamla and they seemed to think we were doomed judging by their incredulous faces and comments about the rapids downstream.
Chris and Dhiraj wanted to perform a pooja by the river to bring us fishing success as well as ensure we got safely down to the Subansiri confluence 40Km away. A tangle of skinny giggling boys followed us down the beach to a quiet spot by the water and looked on as Dhiraj took out a betlenut and a leaf, some incense and a rupee. Chris and Dhiraj took large gulps of rum from a plastic water bottle (presumably also part of the pooja) and Dhiraj lit the incense. He then placed the rupee on the betle leaf with the nut and they both placed their hands in prayer and solemnly mouthed their poojas. After all this was done, the leaf and its contents were floated out on the water to be carried away by the river. Dhiraj turned sternly to the waiting boys and instructed them not to touch the incense that still smoked in the sand nearby.
We returned to the rafts that were almost packed now and donned life vests and helmets. We were handed paddles and boarded the rafts. As we pushed off the villagers started shouting and waving goodbye. I don’t think they quite understood what we were doing or why we were doing it but they were very friendly and we had added some excitement to their otherwise mundane day.
The day was cooling and light was fading rapidly as we gently drifted the river. Millions and millions of bumblebee-sized bugs were flying downstream above our heads in the evening light. Nino explained that these bugs did this every night for weeks and weeks in season and the locals loved to eat them live. They would buy them by the kilo and simply tear the head off the bug, remove a small orange vein and then crunch them up, legs and all. That’s what all the nets on the bridge at Tamen were for, to catch bugs, bucket loads of them. They fetch 250 rupees per kilo at market so represent a decent supplement to ones income. Kids would search in the rocks early each morning for the bugs before they emerged and started migrating again. I was intrigued by this story and swatted a bug with my paddle. It landed in the water so Phil picked it up and handed it to Nino who took the head off and removed the vein before handing it back to Phil. Phil paused, looked at us all and then popped it in his mouth. His eyes widened and he gasped “Amoretto! They taste just like bloody Amoretto. Almonds, marzipan, it’s wonderf…” and then he stopped suddenly and his face changed completely. “Oh my god!” he winced, “hot, Jesus!, HOT, burning hot!”. Nino laughed and said the locals loved them but Phil was pulling very strange faces. His tongue was burning hot but the initial taste was sublime. I had swatted a couple more bugs so Rup decided he was going to try one. Nino did the honours and Rup ate it. Again, initial joy and pleasure but as the heat kicked in Rup panicked and spat the bug out. I also tried one and spat the bug out as I felt the chili-hot intensity hit my tongue. We were all having great fun and swatting bugs with our paddles but no more were eaten that evening.
We had rafted for a few hours and came upon a good beach to camp on just above a rapid. Darkness would fall in a few hours and we figured it too risky to venture any further. Camp was set, tents erected, fishing gear unpacked and 10 anglers eagerly explored the river which looked fantastic. The water was perfect clarity and had all the right pools, rapids and ingredients for mahseer.
Another problem with the edible bugs was that they had appalling navigational skills when airborne. We kept getting smacked in the face, neck and head as they swarmed downstream. Facing upstream whilst fishing during the hour or so that they were flying was to risk stinging facial strikes and potential eye injury. Sometimes just casting would swipe two or three of them into the river alone. Anyway, they eventually crawled under rocks and left us alone as the evening set in.
I wandered onto a pebble beach and saw what looked like a homemade conical net made from strips of bamboo attached to a long bamboo pole. I later discovered this was used for scooping out fish floating on the water after they’d been bombed by dynamite. This was an ominous sign and we learned that there was some dynamiting going on around us. Fish continues to fetch good market prices and locals get hold of dynamite from the various road projects in the area.
No fish were taken and we all returned to camp for the evening meal. Wine, beer and rum was consumed and we ate well. Nino took charge of the cooking and the crew produced an excellent first supper for us. Some live chickens were brought along in a bamboo cage to supplement the fish that we caught (hopefully) so it was chicken curry with rice, dal and fresh salad.
It was good to be fishing again with familiar faces as well as some new ones. I’d fished with Billy earlier in the year and found him great company and a very good angler too. He was a patient and thoughtful angler and took a laid back philosophical view to his fishing. He and Alka enjoyed being together by the river and seemed to be having great fun on this trip so far. Chris and Billy got on extremely well and were usually the last to sleep after polishing off any remaining booze or substances they found by the camp fire. I thought Alka was very brave to join a party of nine men of various shapes, sizes and backgrounds who would drink, smoke, belch, fart and curse their way down a remote river for two weeks with no means of escape.
Vikas, Dhiraj and Sanjay were new to me. My first impression of these gentlemen was that they seemed quite serious and clearly had much responsibility on their shoulders with the tea plantations that each one managed. After a few glasses of whisky or rum inside them however, I quickly discovered that I was very much mistaken.
Dhiraj appeared to me the patriarch of the group, striding serenely around the camp and ensuring that all was well for us. No-one ever went short of alcohol if Dhiraj was nearby. He fished very little as it happens but was content to be among us and enjoying the adventure. This raft trip was a new experience for him but he seemed to be adapting well. He’d only ever fished from small two-man rafts before on day trips.
Vikas was the thinker and pondered. I’d notice him staring intently at someone or at me trying to get inside our heads (or so I thought). He had a great bushy grey moustache that covered his mouth completely and would have to sweep it aside to allow him to eat food. Vikas also only occasionally fished and he was often around the camp talking rather than casting a line.
Sanjay was the serious fisherman in my view with a good insight on mahseer and their ways as well as the river. He was very observant and had excellent watercraft I thought. He fished patiently and carefully, taking far more time to explore a pool or rapid than I ever would.
Phil was another new face to me. He was a long time friend of Chris’ who had come on the trip for the experience rather than as a serious angler. Phil was a professional photographer but also taught rock climbing back in the U.K. when photography was slow (as it often is). Despite stating that the reason for his coming on this trip was to find some rocks to climb, the only thing I saw him climb into and out of was his sleeping bag. Phil and I shared a mildly sardonic sense of humour and would bitch at each other about tent etiquette, snoring and other things like an old married couple. His portrayal of various lovemaking techniques and positions had us rolling with laughter and despite his mellifluous clipped English accent; his fireside tales betrayed a mind like a sewer.
I sloped off to bed at 20:00 feeling slightly merry and wanted to get up at first light. I left everyone drinking and chatting around the blazing fire and crawled into my sleeping bag. Rup had been replaced by Phil as my tent companion so I was planning on sleeping well.