His Majesty’s Trout

Deep in the Kingdom of Bhutan swim Asia’s privileged royal fish. A sacred fortress against the jagged Himalayan peaks, the Punakha Dzong overshadows a wide river and a rice-terraced valley where women with sharp cheekbones weave, men work the fields and children play archery.

The fortress looks surreal with soaring ivory towers, and massive beams carved into dragons and golden Buddhas. It definitely looks and feels like no other place on Earth.

This fantastic vision served as a backdrop to my concentration on the river below it. Leaning far over the side of the swaying footbridge, I looked deep into the clear waters of the Mo River at the most incredible collection of brown trout I'd ever seen: Dozens of giant brown trout, and most looked to measure a fat two feet or more. Suspended along a fast current, like river tigers, they hunted nymphs and errant minnows. I knew all it would took was an easy cast with a sinking copperhead and I'd have a thrashing brown on the line. It seemed too good to believe, and it was.

Rushing across the bridge, I approached a guard at the gates, and asked, "Can I fish here?" He looked at me incredulously, like I obviously had no clue what I'd asked. "Absolutely not, sir. If you fished here, you would have big trouble, for these are His Majesty's trout."

The King and I

Several weeks before, my wife Andrea accepted a job in Bhutan, a place we always wanted to see. At our going-away party, a well-traveled friend advised, "I'm sure you'll love Africa." Seeing he wasn't joking, I replied, "Uh, it's not in Africa, it's in the Himalayas."

Bhutan remains one of the world's least-known countries, a tiny Buddhist kingdom between China and India. However, despite its wee size, Bhutan is truly unique – a god-like king rules the land, princes and princesses possess Buddhist-inspired palaces, holy monks converge on cliff-side monasteries, and all the while most common folks subsistence farm the same as a century ago.

Beyond this culture lies a landscape that suggests what the Himalayas must have been like in days gone by. In Bhutan, old-growth forests still cover 70 percent of the mountains and harbor unique and endangered species like tigers, snow leopards, red pandas, yaks and the awkward takin, an animal rumored to be half-cow and half-goat. In 100 raven-flying miles, the country plummets from glaciated 24,000-foot peaks to steamy lowlands. In between nothing exists but corduroy rows of sparsely populated mountains.

The Great Himalayan Range defines the northern spiny border of Bhutan, and from these giants smaller mountain chains run perpendicular, north to south, like fingers spread across the country. These high peaks provide inspiration to many people, but what interested me most were the valleys below, which flowed with rivers perfect for trout.

With less than 10 fishermen a year visiting Bhutan, it's an undiscovered opportunity – many rivers, few visitors and fewer anglers. At first my path to a trophy brown seemed clear, but once in Bhutan I found it wasn't going to be as easy as I thought because the trout belong to the king.

"A fishing license isn't possible, sir. You'll have to wait some time," said the pretty woman in charge of permits in the capital city of Thimphu.

"Okay," I said, "How long."

"Umm, maybe four months…and only here," she said, pointing to a tiny section of river.

"No. I want to fish all the rivers," I explained.

"Not possible, sir. For this you need a royal fishing permit from the king or maybe a prince. Do you know a prince?" she asked brightly.

I concluded that residents have a tougher time getting permits because it's perceived that you'll fish the rivers far more often than visitors. It therefore appeared that the royal family had reserved the prime rivers for their personal fishing and infrequent travelers leaving currency in the country. That's not really surprising, seeing that they've ruled Bhutan through an absolute monarchy for 100 years. However, I fully support this interesting country they've created, although I felt chagrined that this made my brown trout quest difficult – but still quite do-able.

At the bar that night I voiced my fishing frustrations, and an ex-pat worker quickly chastised me. "You should never fish in a Buddhist country," he lectured. However, a group of local guys overheard and laughed at the resolute remark.

"We'll take you in the morning," they promised. Sure enough, the next morning we went fishing armed with one-day permits that prohibited the use of firearms, dynamite or poison. Furthermore, the permits forbid fishing on the Descending Day of the Lord Buddha and the Guru Rinpoche's birthday. That sounded fine, as my tool of choice was a Sage rod and I respect Buddhist philosophy and rules in foreign places.

Buddhists or not, once on the Thimphu River, my new friends fished like men possessed. They peppered the river with lures, bringing in a nice string of hefty brown trout. There's no catch-and-release ethic here, just a free-for-all, a squeeze of lime and the dinner table.

Dense brush along the shore made casting tough, but I managed two strikes on a dark streamer. I didn't catch as many as my new friends using spin gear, but I felt most satisfied because Bhutan browns are one of the planet's most exclusive trout and their journey a chapter of Britain's obsessions.

From Scotland to the Land of the Thunder Dragon

Brown trout were never meant to swim in Bhutan, far from Loch Leven, Scotland. However, homesick Brits decided Asia would be more sporting with brown trout swimming about. In 1899, they packed trout eggs in moss and ice, and shipped them to India to stock the mountain streams. Decades later, under the reign of the second king, Jigme Wangchuck, the Bhutanese brought small trout fry overland from Kashmir in the 1930s. It was undoubtedly a perilous journey for the trout sloshing around in earthen pots. At the time, Bhutan was still a roadless feudal country, so serfs carried the trout pots over 100 miles of mountainous terrain from the sweating plains to the cool alpine streams.

Trout flourished here, and these Scottish immigrants now live in nearly all the rivers of western Bhutan, including the Paro, Thimphu, Mo, Pho, Gangtey and Tang. Locals claim the best fishing is in the Paro, Mo and Tang rivers. This spelled bad luck for me because these rivers are all classified as royal waters. Having no special cards, I wasn't holding my breath for a royal invitation. Nonetheless, I continued to seek permission to fish royal rivers, petitioning government ministries and convincing influential tour operators that I'd spread the word to affluent potential clients.

I did get treated to many fantastic fish stories. One man brought me a photo of a monster brown from the Punakha River that easily weighed 50 pounds. Another told me he landed 42 trout in one afternoon, and I learned of a BBC program that aired featuring an angler catching beautiful trout in all the royal waters.

Rather than get frustrated, I decided to follow the Buddhist teachings and release my cosmic brown trout desires. Temporarily free of my fishing obsession, Andrea and I drove east from Thimphu and the beauty of Bhutan became clear. Alpine valleys echoed with calls of black-necked cranes, smiling children greeted us from every doorway and farmers stopped their work to wave from the fields. Following the single razor-thin national highway, which barely clings to the mountainsides in places, we crossed the country on our way to a tsechu – a sacred, masked-dance festival in the village of Trongsa.

After passing through miles of unbroken forests and several quaint traditional towns, we reached Trongsa and relaxed with a cup of tea. Andrea wistfully commented, "It would be fun to wear traditional clothes to the festival." Minutes later, a local woman whisked us away to her house and dressed us in expensive, colorful silk robes. We felt like royalty walking through the doorways of a giant temple into the tsechu. Inside, masked demons leaped and twisted across stone courtyards as horns bellowed and drums split the air. Villagers in their finest clothes watched fascinated, eyes following the dances that tell the story of their ancestors. These rare festivals are considered the purest remaining ritual expression of Tibetan Buddhism in the world today.

The charm of the countryside and the smiling hospitality of the villagers left us happy, except that everywhere we traveled, trout rivers with murmuring ripples called to me. I knew I couldn't leave until I caught some of Bhutan's storied browns.

Back to the River

The Thimphu River – the only one open without a royal permit – found me shaking out my fly line. I noted that the water level had dropped and showed evidence of pollution. While the Royal Government of Bhutan supports stringent environmental policies to protect its forests, mountains and rivers, serious problems still persist with fish poisoning, dynamiting, trapping and sand mining along sections of the rivers. Fortunately, most Bhutanese rivers flow clean and clear, and hopefully the new king, His Majesty Jigme Khesar Namgyel Wangchuck, will take action to better preserve the Thimphu River.

Nonetheless, I still saw signs of fish life. I cast my fly into the river in the single-minded hunt for trout. Working dry flies and nymphs, all I caught at first was a Hindi music cassette. I moved a few miles downstream to the hole we'd fished before. It looked ideal – rapids relaxing into a slow, deep fan. I flipped a Woolly Bugger across the current and it swung along the tail of the pool. A fish hit hard and twisted frantically on the line.

Too eager to bring in my first one, I overplayed it and out came the hook, the fly recoiling to hit me in the chest. I lengthened my cast and another brown struck the fly and gyrated through the pool, sides flashing silver in the murky river. "Careful," I calmed myself, making sure not to horse the fish this time while keeping constant pressure.

Coaxing the trout with a light leader, I eased it to shore and felt complete. Before slipping the spotted brown back into the river, I meditated on the incredible journey that brought this fish to the Himalayas. Now, 70 years later, the descendants of those original trout still swim these rivers and offer anglers a once-in-a-lifetime fishing opportunity in one of the most interesting and remote countries on Earth.

As the brownie flicked its tail in the current, I smiled. Content with several more catch-and-releases of brownies in the 10-pound range, I returned to tell my Buddhist friends how I tangled with the brown trout of Bhutan. And so started my love affair for this country's special ambiance, culture and fishing.

On the Water

Non-residents won't have a problem obtaining royal fishing permits. Some companies can secure the permits with advance notice and provide exclusive access to the best trout rivers in Bhutan. Yangphel (http://www.yangphel.com/) is one such company, and they can design a personalized itinerary that includes not only unparalleled fishing waters but access to the more interesting cultural attractions in Bhutan too.

I used a 9-foot, 5-weight rod with 5-pound leader and floating, weight-forward line. Bring floating and sinking lines and a selection of normal brown trout flies such as streamers, nymphs and dry patterns. You won't find professional guides or fishing equipment in Bhutan as yet, but that will undoubtedly change as their tourism increases – and it will.

I recommend fishing the Punakha River and the beautiful Tang River in the Bumthang Valley for lots of browns exceeding 24 inches and averaging five to 12 pounds. The Paro River is rumored to be good as well. The Thimphu River, though not pristine in places, will still yield brown trout and, as was the case with me, can serve as a backup if you don't obtain a royal fishing permit. The Gangtey is a small river but offers a lot of smaller browns.

For high altitude brown trout, trek two days above Thimphu to the sacred Jimilang Tscho, a lake at 13,695 feet. Stocked by prisoners who carried fish up to the high lake as a form of community service, you'll find nice camping spots and a breath-taking view of the towering mountain peaks.

April is the best month to visit. The water flows low and clear, and the days stay warm. Several excellent festivals also take place around this time, so fish a few days and also take in the best of Bhutan's fascinating beauty and culture.

Where to Toss the Bags

Everyone enters Bhutan as the official guest of a Bhutanese tour company that arranges all logistics. The Royal Government of Bhutan currently charges a minimum fee of US$200 a day per person, which includes lodging, food, guides, entry fees, government tariff and internal transportation. For more information, visit the Bhutan Department of Tourism web site at www.tourism.gov.bt.

Our favorite hotel in Bhutan is the Gangtey Place on the Paro River. It's a traditional palace converted into a hotel with beautifully furnished rooms in the central tower and remarkable views over the rice fields and fortresses of the Paro Valley.

We also can recommend the Gakling Guest House on the Gangtey River, with wooden beams and wood stoves in each room. It's simple but nice. Another favorite on the Tang River is the Swiss Guest House, with of course its Swiss motif and located in an apple orchard. Here you'll taste excellent baked breads and Bhutan's only on-tap beer called Red Panda.

None of the above has a web site, so when booking your tour you can ask the operator to put you in one of these properties rather than chancing being assigned something too quaint.

You'd never travel to Bhutan just for the cuisine, but it will keep you going during the trip. Bhutanese traditionally eat ema datse with rice three times a day, a dish that consists of cheese melted over fiery chilies – not for the faint of heart. We dine instead on Indian curries, yak, red rice, steamed local vegetables and hot chilies. Ask for the fried rice option at breakfast – very tasty. If you're a coffee drinker, bring your own beans or brand; same with a supply of Western snacks.

More Than Just Fishing

Next year will be momentous for Bhutan with important events taking place. First, the fifth Druk Gyalpo (king) will be crowned in 2008 in a ceremony that shouldn't be missed. Second, Bhutan will change from an absolute monarchy into a democracy, with the first elections held and the first constitution implemented. I'd strongly recommend booking your trip now because the word is spreading fast about the beauty of Bhutan and the fantastic brown trout fishing, and I don't exaggerate to say that it will soon become very difficult to get hotel and flight reservations.

In addition to beautiful rivers, Bhutan offers a unique look at a traditional Himalayan culture with devout Buddhist beliefs. All tours include visits to fortresses (dzongs), temples, monasteries and local markets. The road is rough and winding, but passes through an impressive natural world with intact forests and abundant wildlife.

We spent a morning at the Punakha Dzong to admire the royal fish and the fortress, then we hiked up the Pho River and crossed the longest suspension bridge in Bhutan. We had our driver meet us on the other side and drove 20 minutes north to find the white-bellied heron, one of the 50 rarest birds in the world.

For local handicrafts, we greatly enjoyed the shops in Thimphu and the weekend vegetable/antique market. Prices are high and Bhutanese don't bargain much, but they'll usually drop prices about 15 percent. Be careful, however, as we found many of the items to be cheap trinkets made in Nepal and not locally. Keep in mind that Bhutanese antiques must have a red wax seal to be taken out of the country.

Bio
Nathan Ward, who lives in Bhutan, grew up on a trout stream near Tin Cup, Colorado, in the Rocky Mountains. He still returns from Asia at times to catch fat brown trout just five blocks from his old front porch by the Arkansas River.