Hardy & Greys - Alnwick, England

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1. Flyfishing
   1. Flyfishing
   2. Coarse

Ever since I first went out to India in 1989 to fish for Mahseer, I've wanted to catch a good fish on the fly.

I've always set myself one of either two targets: a twenty pound northern fish or one of thirty-five pounds or more from the south. Of course, north or south, the species is Mahseer but those in the north are smaller, leaner and fight with lightning speed. Southern fish tend to be heavier and noticeably more stocky.

I've come close, especially in the south. Years ago, I had a Salmon rod shatter on me as I chased a fish in excess of forty pounds down rapids. North and south, I've had fish of eight to twelve pounds on fly but, above that, I've constantly been defeated. I wasn't really hoping for much better in November 2010.

The target river was that Ramganga in northeast India, on the fringe of Corbett Park, in the shadow of the lower Himalayas. The great Misty Dhillon is one of my close Indian friends and he suggested my girlfriend Sarah and I brought out Hardy Zane #9 rods and reels with Marksman Smuggler Spin gear as a back-up. The guy's at Hardy & Greys in Alnwick had done a great job refurbishing and relining my two Hardy Zane reels and the fact that they arrived with thirty-six hours to spare I took as a good omen!

Sarah and I found the Ramganga much changed from our visit in 2009. The monsoon floods that had decimated Pakistan had also had their effect on north-eastern India. The elephant grasses that had skirted the river had been pretty well washed away and even the pools themselves had been fundamentally altered and reprofiled. And, as in Pakistan, there had been human fatalities.

When we arrived, Corbett Park was in turmoil. At least two village women had been killed and eaten by man-eating Tigers. If you want your fishing exciting, the Ramganga is the place...

Because the Ramganga is so small, so skinny and so desperately clear, the Mahseer are always going to be a struggle. You can see them in huge numbers but they can see you just as easily. Follows are frequent. You'll often get a fish boiling at a fly. Now and then, you'll have a pull but nothing much comes of it. Sarah and I struck gold with several smaller fish on fly and lure but by day four, a big fish still seemed as far away as ever.

Sarah works a Mahseer run probably better than I do. She takes her time. She's meticulous with her casting and in the way she covers every piece of water. I tend to concentrate on obvious hotspots and hurry on, passing over water that could easily hold a fish.

By day six, Sarah had settled into a super rhythm. She was covering water intensively and instinctively and I could tell that Misty was impressed. When her fly, a small fish imitation tied on a size two swung round behind a rock and was hammered by a shape over a yard long, neither Misty or I were surprised. The power of the fish, though, certainly startled Sarah. Its one thing to catch a Chub or a Pike on a fly but a northern Mahseer is a different customer altogether. If ever that newly-cleaned Zane clutch was going to be tested, then this was the time. The first run took off exactly sixty yards of line and backing - we paced it out afterwards. The fight in the boiling sun lasted exactly twenty-five timed minutes too. The fifteen pound leader was abraded almost to exhaustion. Our nerves were stretched screaming tight.

Sarah, by the end, was drenched in sweat. But we'd done it. Or she had! Misty gave us a guestimated weight of twenty-one pounds and I grabbed it.

It really was our day. On the walk back from the river, through the jungle, we enjoyed the most perfect, the most intimate of Tiger sightings. The great beast simply strolled across the track in front of us, turning his head to regard us as he passed by. After he had melted down into the valley of a small side stream, we waited for twenty minutes, listening to his roars. He was calling to his three mates and, from time to time, we could hear their distant, spine-tingling replies. 'Where the wild Tigers roar', say the signs as you approach Corbett National Park and believe me, there's no sound more nerve-jangling in nature. Our guide reckoned our Tiger to be Khalli, a male very, very rarely seen. One of his mates, a tigress with two cubs, he also believed to be the man-eater. She was, he was sure, patrolling an adjoining valley. She was perhaps two kilometres away when Sarah was playing her Mahseer. Believe me, there's nothing dull about the northern Mahseer.

The capture of that fish has inspired me like few others. What I have always believed to be possible, I now know to be possible. With the right gear, with the right skills, on the right river, mahseer on the fly - big ones at that - are within our sights. And I don't care a hoot it's taken my girlfriend to prove it!

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