Under the shadows of the Himalayas, Nepal bears a myriad of rivers—snow-fed and spring-fed. They drain south into our Terai plains and the holy Ganges, India. Many of our rivers are home to a species of fish called the Himalayan Golden Mahseer (Tor putitora), Sahar in Nepali. Golden Mahseer is a migratory cold-water fish that inhabits our rivers like Sapta Koshi with its seven tributaries (Sun Koshi, Tamor, Dudh Koshi, Bhote Koshi, Arun, and Likhu), Karnali, Seti, Mahakali, Bheri, and Narayani. It spawns during monsoon floods (June-September). Redolent of the salmon that travels thousands of miles upstream to spawn, the Mahseer swims upriver to considerable heights (from 400 ft. to 2,500ft from mean sea level) to breed.

After monsoon breeding, they leave the foothills and make a migratory run back to the colder climes of the upper reaches. Curiously, its entire life cycle seems on the run—migrating.

Some 15 years ago, I took up fishing—and got hooked on it. I learned further about Golden Mahseer, the Himalayan freshwater gamefish, as time passed. Avid fishers claimed it was the toughest of the tough, the ferocious of the ferocious among the freshwater sport fish. They further cited that gamefish fought like cornered predators and exhibited such brute power and lightning speed no other freshwater fish (excluding salt or sea water) in the world could match. That sparked my curiosity; my passion for digging into this charismatic species became an obsession. The more I studied about this fish, my respect for it ballooned. For seven long years, my research on these species took me to a host of rivers stretching from the length and breadth of Nepal: from Arun, Tammar, Sun Koshi, and Tama Koshi in the east to Karnali, Trishuli, and Babai in the west. Only to learn the Himalayan Golden Mahseer number had dwindled, and the species had fallen under the IUCN Red List as encroached, threatened, and endangered.  Given its endangered status, responsible Mahseer anglers today practice catch-n-release: they make the prize catches, measure and weigh them, and then release them live into the river where they belong after posed photo sessions. Browsing through the pages of several books on Mahseer, I stumbled upon an amusing anecdote about how this fish won laurels worldwide. In the 1850s, during the British Raj in India (1858 to 1947), a young British officer commissioned to Assam Province, India, had a weakness for fishing—fixated on it in truth. After reporting for duty and being well-quartered, the fresher started hanging around with fellow officers in the officers' club to unwind in the evenings. One day, the conversation touched upon fishing in particular. The newcomer livened up. He pitched himself on his exploits of salmon fishing back home in England; he sounded a tad verbose, though. One officer asked: "Have you heard about Golden Mahseer?" When the officer let him on the native Mahseer fish, the fellow snapped back instead. "Mahseer? There's no match to the gallant salmon over freshwater fishing," he said and rambled on about salmon angling. The co-officers realized it'd be futile to argue with him. One day, the officer went fishing in a nearby river noted for Mahseer. After an hour, he finally got a bite—a huge 45-pounder Mahseer bit his bait. Whoa! Pandemonium broke out, followed by a fierce skirmish. After sweating it out for over an hour, he finally landed the prize fish. The Englishman, cut down to size and humbled by the unbridled fury of the Golden Mahseer, never talked about salmon among his fellow officers after that. Many incidents of smashed rods, mangled hooks, and broken lines are predictable if the angler fails to tackle a big Mahseer that shoots for the nearest rapid. Talk to a Mahseer buff, and he will never tire of relating his experience in one breath—the bite, the jerk, and the initial rush, which can be anything from 100 to 200 yards of the fishing line. Desperate, he races along the rocky bank to keep pace, fearing the reel might run out and his fishing line snaps. Leafing through the pages of history, Mahseer, for its notoriety, turned out to be a legend. It became the most sought-after gamefish and a hot topic for the wordsmiths. Books upon books, journals upon journals, dedicated themselves to this acclaimed species. The legendary hunter, naturalist, and writer (Man-eaters of Kumaon, 1944), Col. Jim Corbett, called it "the fish of my dreams" and dubbed it 'the Tiger of the Water.' Another celebrated author, Skene Dhu, christened it the 'Mighty Mahseer.' Tight lines. Watch the video my fisher friends recorded in 2014: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nNBvX07eIqo