Journal

Hear from Pelorus' Sustainability Manager, Megs, about her recent fly fishing adventure to Bhutan with her father.

Bhutan is a small country in South-Central Asia, wedged between Tibet and India. With jungle to the south and the Great Himalayas to the north, Bhutan’s innermost deep and beautiful forest-covered valleys feel like a secret garden lost in time, enchanting those who are lucky enough to find themselves within. With a population of 700,000, a strong Buddhist religion and a promise to always keep 70% tree cover, the country feels, to its very core, good, peaceful and progressive.

Beginning our journey in Thimphu, Bhutan’s capital, visiting various temples and museums, we were introduced to Bhutan’s unique culture and forward-thinking vision, based upon ancient values which somehow seem to get forgotten in our busy worlds. Kindness, interbeing, environmental protection and careful development. All of which contribute to Bhutan’s increasing Gross National Happiness (GNH) index.

From Thimphu, we wove our way through the hills to Punakha, a small village centred near the Punakha Dzong, a 17th-century fortress and monastery at the confluence of the Pho and Mo Chhu rivers. The latter was our first fishing location, and with special permits in place, fishing its waters was one of the first exceptional experiences that our guide Kinley had lined up.

The crystal-clear waters and stony riverbank were set against the backdrop of paddy fields and ancient farm buildings with goats tethered in the garden and hay stores in the roofs, with the distant sound of bells on horses from high-up villages. An easy afternoon floated by and, as is often the way when fishing, one lucky last cast landed the first brown trout, gently released back into the river a few moments later. Being a Buddhist country, barbless catch and release is the common practice for fly fishing here.

From Punakha, we wound our way up through the mountains to the Pobjika valley, a vast U-shaped valley in central Bhutan, sitting at an elevation of about 3,000 metres, marked on one side by the Black Mountains that separate western and central Bhutan. The valley is covered by grassy pastures where cattle and horses graze, and alongside the Nakay River, the marshy land grows dwarf bamboo which attracts the endangered, black-necked cranes. These birds are threatened by human and climate-change-induced habitat loss, and of late also by free-ranging dogs in their breeding areas and food shortages in wintering areas. As a result, they are currently listed as ‘vulnerable’ in the IUCN Red List. Arriving from Tibet towards the end of October, the birds are much-loved visitors and the centre of local folklore, most notably for their ritual of circling the Gangtey Monastery three times when they arrived for the winter and three times before they leave again.

That evening, in an earthy outdoor building lit by a sole candle, I tried my first hot stone bath, a centuries-old Bhutanese tradition deriving from ancient Tibetan medicine and Indian Ayurvedic practices. To prepare the bath, stones from the river are heated in a fire until red hot. When the stones were placed in the water, combined with essential oils released from freshly picked artemisia leaves, the rocks crackled and steamed, releasing minerals into the water which are believed to harmonise the body and mind with their therapeutic and healing effect. Relaxed and easing off the aches of the days’ fishing, I followed the traditional custom and drank ara, the local Bhutanese rice wine from a bowl, hot, with an egg scrambled within. 

In between fishing, we had time to wander the Pobjika Valley’s expansive landscapes and dusty pine woodlands, rich with flowing lichen and the first speckles of red rhododendrons. On our walks, we’d stumble upon stupas, flocks of white prayer flags fluttering from bamboo stalks, chattering children making their way through the fields with a football in hand, and kettles of vultures.

Leaving Punakha, we returned to the Paro Valley to fish the beautiful Paa Chhu river in its middle age. With dusk settling and the last reaches of sunlight projecting a pink light on the tops of the surrounding hills, the fish began to jump and with much elation, we both caught our biggest fish yet: a half-pound trout.

Later, in the quiet of the evening, sitting around a bonfire under the illuminated Rinpung Dzong fortress with a local larger in hand, we recounted the story of each catch, the kind of tales that I imagine will become well-worn over the years to come. How funny we laughed, that fishing is all just about perspective really, with our ‘big’ fish in fact being really quite small indeed.

Inspired to visit Bhutan?

Get in touch with Megan and our Travel Team to start planning your own unforgettable experience in Bhutan.