Somewhere Down the Kaveri River – Part 3

Somewhere Down the Kaveri River – Part 1

Somewhere Down the Kaveri River – Part 2

I generally find myself getting a little morose at the approach of the close season but there was a definite spring in my step this year as I set off for a farewell session on my favourite river, the Severn. My change of mood was due to the fact that I was flying out the following day to Bangalore in southern India for a long overdue holiday. As I planned to sneak my travel rod into the luggage I thought I’d take it out for a pre-holiday workout. Unusually, my girlfriend Gilly decided she fancied coming along so I promised her she could have the first cast.

It was a lovely mild overcast March afternoon and the river looked marvellous against a steely grey sky. There was a distinct early Spring glow to the landscape with blossom and buds in abundance and the water just screamed fish. As ever I hadn’t really made up my mind what to fish for; it’d be a choice between barbel and pike, but either way at its maximum 11ft extension my 6 piece Daiwa Wilderness would be up to the job.

After a leisurely stroll we settled in to a swim that had been intriguing me all season. I had fished it primarily for barbel and zander, and it had been producing good fish of both species up to 9lb, but in recent weeks I had been struck by an inexplicable big pike vibe. ‘Inexplicable’ because having fished this spot extensively with small roach and bleak deadbaits for the Z’s, I had never in all that time had a touch from a jack, let alone a sizeable fish. I decided that given the weather conditions we would start the session for barbel and if the going was quiet we could swap over to a bit of piking later in the day.

I tooled Gilly up with a running rig tipped with a modest pva bag of halibut and hemp pellets (doused in Source liquid) and a 6mm Sonubaits S-Pellet on the hair. This tasty little bundle was pinged out to sit 6 inches or so off the ledge. As Gilly had never fished for barbel before I tried to fill her in on what to expect should a whiskers happen along, ‘More often than not darlin’, the rod’ll hoop and you’ll be in no doubt there’s a fish, but sometimes in low conditions you will only get a tiny pluck on the line; either way strike!’

We settled back to enjoy our surroundings and after a quiet half hour I decided to knock up a pike rig for later on. I was thoroughly distracted in tackle land when Gilly suddenly broke the silence, ‘What’s that then?’ she said, pointing accusingly at the end of the rod.

Something strange was going on and if the river hadn’t been so low and clear I would have put it down to debris on the line.

The rod tip was slowly pulling round an inch or so, then stopping briefly before bending back very slowly and repeating the process. This was clearly not the barbel bite behaviour I had described. ‘Well if in doubt’, I said, ‘Hit it!’ Gilly swept the rod back and it was immediately clear that there was a fish on as the gears protested and an immense weight ploughed inexorably towards mid-river.

There is no better way of introducing a non-fisherman to the exhilaration of angling than to let them experience it themselves and from the look on her face it was obvious that Gilly now understood the intense mixture of emotion and adrenalin that big fish generate. ‘What is it?’ she screamed, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

I have to admit I had no idea.

Within a couple of minutes it was clear that whatever it was, it was winning the battle and with achy arms Gilly was struggling to gain any control. Reluctantly she conceded defeat and passed me the rod. As I took over the beast kited right and briefly flashed below the surface, revealing its identity for the first time. It was a colossal pike, and the only thing holding me to it was a 7.9lb W.B Clarke hooklength and a tiny size 14 hook. This was not going to be easy; I was very conscious that with such inadequate tackle there was a risk of playing her too long (and an exhausted pike is a vulnerable pike), but I was also conscious that I did not want to leave a hook in her mouth either.

With rod and line strained to the limits I eventually managed to coax the fish towards the margins, but she was still very lively under the tip and with snags on both sides I decided to try to lead her into the net whether she was ready to give up or not. As she turned I quickly lowered the net into the water, guessing her trajectory and I was hugely relieved when she obligingly shot straight in.

It was one of those fights that quite literally leave you breathless. I stood for a good while resting her in the confines of the net whilst we both recovered. On the landing mat she was even more impressive, with a huge girth and marked to perfection. The scales registered 20lb and a whisker; a very impressive first pike and new pb for Gilly.

My next cast with the Daiwa Wilderness rod (now equipped with a Shimano Stradic loaded with 60lb Sakuma braid and a 30lb Berkeley Big Game trace) came five days and 5000 miles later on my second favourite river, the glorious Kaveri (Cauvery) in Karnataka. Gilly had emphatically maintained, before we set off, that ‘This is not a fishing holiday!!!’, so my angling time was reduced to a few two-hour sessions before breakfast.

We had met up with some friends in Mysore before travelling together to our accommodation in the forested valleys in the west of the state and that first morning out saw me being ghillied by my mate Steve (who I first met in India ten years ago) through the early morning mist in a coracle.

Back home in England, Steve is predominantly a matchman (as well as catching the odd tonne and occasionally winning, he also produces the brilliant V2V dvd’s with the likes of Will Raison), but in India he transforms into a specimen hunter of the highest order. I also soon discovered that, since our last trip together to this beat, he had learnt more than a trick or two when it comes to the mighty mahseer. When I first visited this particular stretch (like many on the Cauvery), I became obsessed with the ‘bait and wait’ approach, but with such limited time on the water I had decided to change tack this year and go all out for lure action.

One of the many tricks with mahseer is the ‘splooosh!’ Like chub and pike, they react very quickly and aggressively to potential food sources hitting the water so I had brought an assortment of rubber shads with me to maximise the noise effect. The key with this kind of spinning is not to spook them before you introduce your lure. In the coracle we moved silently across the water; every movement and every word in the boat was purposefully muted and every cast was carefully considered.

We slowly followed the treeline downstream with Steve working the oar and pointing out likely spots to flick my Red Gill white pilchard (a brilliant mahseer and pike lure available from swiftworldwide.co.uk). Despite our stealthy approach the first hour was a fishless one and the silence was broken only by a troop of macaque monkeys, a cavorting pair of giant Malabar squirrels, and the occasional hornbill and woodpecker overhead.

As we returned upstream the first shards of sunlight were just breaking through the thick jungle canopy forming thin fingers of heat and light that crept across the river’s still surface and this change in conditions quickly brought the mahseer out into open water to bask. We changed tactics and this time only cast at rising fish.

Fortunately mahseer have a habit of expelling long streams of bubbles after a rise and this made it possible to track the direction that they were moving. I cast ahead of a fizzing mahseer and as my lure hit the surface the rod hooped over and I suddenly remembered why I had come half way round the globe for a fish.

If there is a harder fighting species in the angling world, I have yet to experience it. It was all I could do to hang on as the fish merrily towed the coracle round the pool whilst simultaneously stripping line from the clutch (which I had set so tight that I couldn’t get line off it without risking a cut hand). I have no idea how long the fight lasted but the end was finally signified by the fish ploughing around underneath the boat.

At last a massive shadow loomed up from the depths. When she finally broke the surface I involuntarily let out of whoop of excitement and relief, scaring a flock of chattering parakeets from their overnight roost. Her head was as big as mine and you could have fitted a grapefruit in her cavernous mouth; this was definitely a new pb for me.

I held her in the water for a few moments before gently hauling her aboard for some pictures. With every fibre of my body still shaking with adrenalin I carefully lifted her up for the camera and we estimated the weight at 12kg plus, over 26lb in old money (my friend Yadav, a local guide, insisted she was 15kg when he saw the pictures, but I’m happy to take our low estimate).

I was utterly exhausted so I handed the rod to Steve and took over paddling duty. All the commotion had temporarily spooked the fish but within five minutes they were back and on his third cast Steve hooked into another turbo-charged specimen. This time though the fight was over all too quickly. As the mahseer turned and charged off downstream, the line suddenly and sickeningly went slack. Tackle really gets tested to the maximum on the Kaveri and Steve reeled in to find that the thick gauge wire of the shad’s hook had been completely mangled by the power of the run.

The sun was now fully up over the river and with breakfast calling we paddled back to shore. As I sat later mulling over the morning’s activities, I suddenly realised that it was March 14th, the final day of the river season. What a way to finish! Between pellet-munching pike and magnificent mahseer I had experienced two sessions that will stick in my memory for a lifetime. God, I love fishing!!

A personal note from Dicky.

If anyone wants specific advice on the more technical aspects of mahseer chasing, please feel free to drop me a PM.

Somewhere Down the Kaveri River – Part 1

Somewhere Down the Kaveri River – Part 2