King of the Himalayas

To catch the legendary mahseer, you need a strong arm and a cool head in this land of elephants, tigers and rhinos. The sun smoldered over the foothills of Nepal, silhouetting a group of villagers watching us on the ridge above. Mark deftly double-hauled his line over the glittering waters of the Karnali River.

The Woolly Bugger dropped on the boiling seam where the smaller Bheri River merged. He let the fly sink deep before stripping it back a few feet. And all hell broke loose.

The 9-weight rod spasmed as if tied to a fishtailing Chevy, and the 10-pound leader easily snapped. His eyes gaping, Mark sputtered, “Wow, that fish hit like a freight train.” We watched its massive frame create a wide V as it sped off, disclosing its weight somewhere in the 40-pound class.

We grinned. We were in the game and chasing the biggest, strongest-fighting fish in the Himalayas.

My friend Mark Price and I journeyed to this remote corner of Nepal, lured by irresistible tales of the Himalayan mahseer. For decades, this near-mythical fish has attracted anglers with its brutal, brawling tactics, and we wanted to go a few rounds with one. We also intended to depart with our skin intact because this land also sported thick-skinned rhinos and man-eating tigers – plenty enough diversion to turn a simple fishing trip into a wild adventure.

The Wild, Wild West

I felt lucky to be here, deep in western Nepal, an area known for traditional Tharu culture and rumored to be the heartland of the Maoists. For years, the rebels and the Nepalese Army fought in these hinterlands, a conflict that killed over 13,000 people. I followed the news in those days, and at one point mused that when all that blows over, I’m heading straight there to fish. I’d heard of the mahseer, but wasn’t willing to risk my skin for one.

In May 2006, seemingly overnight, the situation in Nepal changed and the two sides signed a peace agreement. With a collective sigh of relief, Nepal quickly opened its doors again to tourism. Mark and I soon took off aboard Yeti Air – that name itself intriguing – and flew past icy, fractured peaks to the Karnali River and our date with the mahseer.

We chose the Karnali for two reasons: On a map it looked remote and that usually makes for prime fishing, and the river runs through Bardia National Park, Nepal’s most pristine wildlife park. We’d pursue our dream to catch mahseer while our wives toured Kathmandu before flying to meet us for a wildlife safari together.

Fishing for mahseer first became popular in the British Raj era when the Brits likened its fighting ability to that of the Atlantic salmon. Record-size mahseer weigh over 100 pounds and consist largely of muscle and armored scales.

We soon realized that the lower section of the river that appeared extremely remote on the map actually was heavily populated. This bode ill for our quest because the Tharu tribesemen turned out to be keen fishermen with no-holds-barred. They used spears, hand-lines and drift nets to catch mahseer, and never mind anything so fanciful as spin or fly gear. Judging from the big scales scattered about the shore, the tribesmen are quite successful at it.

Undaunted, we carried on and in late afternoon camped at a promising pool. Within minutes we dropped flies and stripped them up the eddy lines, lost in the overpowering magic of fishing new waters. At any moment, I knew we’d hook into a big one.

By dark our shoulders ached, but not a single bite. Returning to camp, we gaped at the sight of a bonfire burning on the shore next to our campsite, with dozens of people around the flames. Unknowingly, we’d pitched tents below a big village hidden in the jungle. It was like camping at the town beach and everyone coming down to see who was throwing a party.

Since the conflict in Nepal had turned deadly serious in the year 2000, no outsiders had chanced coming up this river. But here we were, walking up to a fire in the darkness in an almost unknown foreign land, surrounded by people who didn’t quite know what to make of us. Mark and I raised worried eyebrows at each other because we had no idea what to expect.

Whether one-time guerilla fighters or not, when one fisherman meets another, talk turns to fishing. We were relieved at their affable nature, and they all had stories about catching big mahseer, with catches of fish from 23 to 40 pounds commonplace and battles with monsters well over 60 now and then. Mark showed them his fly box and they laughed with glee, with two of the native boys dancing around holding big mouse flies and making squeaking noises.

Finding the Sweet Spot

We broke camp early and knew if we wanted to catch a mahseer on this river, we needed to find a location that local fishermen couldn’t reach. Hiking upstream under a hot sun, we passed through mud-walled villages surrounded by glowing mustard fields. We saw people casting nets and throwing spears everywhere, and wondered aloud if there were any mahseer left in the river at all.

Finally, at the confluence of the Bheri and Karnali rivers, we spotted a small island of rocks in the middle of the rapids. Immediately below, the rivers joined in a jumble of rapids that smoothed out into a deep pool. The locals, with their heavy dugout canoes, were excellent boatmen, but we didn’t think they could run those rapids without flipping. Indeed, we’d found our honey hole.

Our guides rafted up the Bheri as far as they could, but we still needed to paddle like mad to get into the middle of the rapids and finesse our way toward the pool. It still looked like we’d misjudged it, but at the last second, Moonsie – one of our guides – jumped into the river and pulled us onto the rocks. After several casts, Mark hooked the brute that I’d mentioned at the beginning snapped his line as easily as a weightlifter breaks a pencil.

After losing the big fish, Mark tied on a heavier 23-pound leader. “This is like fishing with a rope,” he laughed, working the pool along with my casts. His rod bowed again, the line see-sawing excitedly. Finally, a mythical mahseer ate the fly and Mark set the hook. Unlike the first strike, this fish turned out to be a youngster. As our Nepalese friends sang and danced to celebrate, Mark coaxed the fish to shore, its golden body reflecting the sunlight.

This mahseer measured 24 inches – considered small for these waters – with scales like a river goddess and heavily muscled but still sleek. When released, the fish showed plenty of fight left as it raced back into the deep pool. Mark, noticeably content, said with a head nod, “I’m happy to put that one on my list.”

I felt happy for Mark, but I couldn’t contain my envy. Having flown all the way to Nepal, I desperately wanted to hook one myself . I cast until dark with mahseer rising all around to tease me, but as dark closed in we reluctantly climbed into the raft, ran the rapids and camped on the sandy shore.

Down to the Park

In the morning we floated lazily downstream toward Bardia National Park past villages and picnicking families. It was a warm day and we took time to enjoy the scenery. In fact, we took too much time and late afternoon found us paddling hard downstream to reach tree stands where we planned to camp safely above the jungle.

Rounding a bend, Rajan, our other guide, shouted, “Stop! Back paddle. Fast.” Barely 100 yards away, a herd of Asian elephants strolled toward the river. Caught in the tumbling current, we floated inexorably closer to the most dangerous beasts in the jungle, and we realized with great anxiety that this could get really interesting. Paddling randomly and unsynchronized, we had to trust luck to miss the beasts if they entered the water now just ahead of us. Probably due to our frenzied splashing, fortunately the elephants turned back and ambled toward the jungle.

As darkness fell we found ourselves nowhere near the tree stands. We faced the choice of paddling the swirling river in the dark or camping on the beach in the middle of high elephant grass – in a park filled with tigers. The moonless night made it impossible to even see the river, so the beach became our reluctant choice. To put this in perspective, this was like taking a cot, sneaking into a zoo, letting all the animals out of their cages and sleeping in the middle of it. To put it mildly, all of us were scared.

Gathering firewood in the head-high grass, the guides built fires around camp and stayed up all night stoking the flames. “If elephants come to the camp, run into the rocks as fast as you can,” they warned. “Elephants can’t walk on rocks.” They said nothing about how to avoid tigers and rhinos. Ignorance being bliss, I somehow settled into a sleep.

All still alive in the bleary-eyed dawn, we gulped at the sight of fresh rhino tracks that crossed the beach just a few hundred yards away. We soon set off downstream, stopping to fish good water, but the mahseer refused to take a fly. We spent the day casting from beaches covered with fresh leopard tracks and avoided the quicksand areas pointed out by the guides. Nonetheless, an adventurer cannot help but enjoy the entire setting, particular as those elusive mahseers flashed here and there, tantalizing us. We knew we could easily nail them on spin gear using lures or even more so with frogs as bait. But Mark and I – determined and headstrong – just couldn’t put down the fly gear. Fish or no fish, we relished the adrenaline rush of this unique experience. I finally managed several takes but no hookups while Mark released two more nice-size mahseers. I was jealous, but at the same time glad we both didn’t get skunked.

Hearing a distant roar at one point, a grinning Mark looked around and remarked, “This is the first time I’ve been fly fishing when I’ve had to scan the shores for tigers.”

And it was true. Our eyes forever fanned the shorelines and our ears stayed tune for any primeval utterances, keeping us constantly on edge and excited. After fishing all day, we pulled the raft out of the water under an iridium sunset. We reunited with our wives, who had their own stories of adventure during the time we confronted the challenges of the Karnali River and Bardia National Park.

Back at the Rhino Lodge Bardia where we stayed, the staff greeted us with cold beers and a delicious traditional meal served on banana leaves. We told our tales about wild animals, dancing around campfires, sleeping beside a Himalayan river, yarning with rebels, and of course pursuing the wild mahseer in one of the world’s most mystifying and beautiful countries – a true fishing adventure indeed.

Where to Toss the Bags

The peaceful future of Nepal looks very promising. Since the signing of the peace agreement, Nepal is a good place to travel again. The Maoists recently joined the Government of Nepal and plan to work on their goals through official means. I traveled there extensively in 2006 and had no problems. It’s important to note that tourists were never targeted in the conflict, and both sides support developing sustainable tourism as a way to improve Nepal’s rural areas.

Nepal is landlocked and tucked into South Asia at the northeast border of India. First trick: Get yourself to the capital city of Kathmandu, served by a number of major international airlines. From there it’s about an hour commuter flight to Nepalguni, the nearest airport to Bardia National Park. We were met by a representative of Rhino Lodge Bardia (www.rhinolodgebardia.com) and taken by jeep about 90 kilometers (56 miles) to the property for check-in; we likewise received a ride back to the airport after our stay.

Nearly all the lodgings in Bardia National Park are fairly basic, but we very much enjoyed our stay at Rhino Lodge. A joint venture by British and Nepali management, we found rooms to be clean and decent – not something to be taken for granted in many remote places. The cottage-style rooms have private bathrooms with running hot and cold water, fans, and walls with native paintings.

The lodge offers fishing guides and experienced nature guides, safaris and an attractive dining hall with excellent Napalese, Indian, Chinese and Continental cuisine. Also, in my opinion the lodge’s bar is the area’s best watering hole.

On the Water

The Himalayan mahseer are large-scaled carps of the Cyprinidae family. Mahseers inhabit rivers and lakes but seek streams with fast currents and rocky bottoms for breeding. They feed on insects, frogs and smaller fish. They’ve been caught up to nine feet in length and 118 pounds in the past, but trophy-size fish nowadays are in the 50-pound-plus class. Go to www.himalayanoutback.com – I’m going with those folks on my next visit.

The Nepalese guides in Bardia know nothing about fly fishing so be prepared to do it all yourself. However, they will work tirelessly and do everything in their power to make you happy. Bring an 8- or 9 weight rod fitted with a sinking line. An 18-pound leader or thereabout is enough for most mahseer, although a really big one could snap it. On the business end, fish deep with thick-bodied black or green flies, including Muddlers, Vivas, Black Matukas and Woolly Buggers. Mark caught his fish on a green Woolly Bugger with black legs.

The best seasons for mahseer are during low water from mid-February to early April, and after the monsoon from October to early December. They’re found across the entire Himalayas – northeast and northwest India, Nepal, Bhutan and Myanmar. In the river, mahseers prefer river confluences and the tail ends of big pools, right before the rapids. The best technique seems to be casting in front of the whitewater and doing a deep, dead drift with short strips.

For a really wild adventure, book a whitewater trip down the Western Seti River where there are rumored to be big fish and very few people. This will take about 10 days and you can still finish at Bardia National Park and enjoy the wildlife.

To fish the Bheri or Seti rivers in Nepal, go with a whitewater-experienced company like Ultimate Descents (www.ultimatedescents.com) and tell them you want a fishing-specific itinerary. In India, you can contact Misty Dillon (www.himalayanoutback.com ), the only mahseer fishing guide in Asia I’m aware of.

Bring the Camera

When heading to western Nepal, try and book the flight for the morning when skies are usually clearer; sit at a window seat and request that the pilot take a route close to the mountains. It will be one of the best views of the Himalayas that you’ll ever see.

We took a few days in Kathmandu to visit the incredible temples and handicraft shops – definitely worth the time. We found Bardia National Park to be an uncelebrated jewel of Nepal. Chitwan National Park might be better known, but Bardia is more pristine and you’ll see a greater number of animals, including some of the world’s most endangered species: Asian elephants, three-toed rhinos and tigers.

Most lodges offer great tours. At Rhino Lodge Bardia you can choose from over a dozen one- to nine-day, escorted excursions with nature walks, jeep rides, rafting, safaris, and even atop elephants through the jungle.

Bio Nathan Ward, a freelance writer and photographer, lives in Bhutan with his wife Andrea His next fishing trip takes him to northwest India and the holy waters of the Ganga River.