In the 1960s for as little as one rupee one could while away a whole day trout-fishing the Madupatty reservoir near Munnar —an unalloyed pleasure for ardent anglers that’s sadly no longer available.
Trout fishing in Munnar was then managed by the local British tea planters who, by virtue of having stocked the local waters with trout fingerlings, also controlled the fishing rights— perhaps a trifle possessively.
They were choosy about to whom fishing permits were issued to and inexplicably banned live bait, insisting that only artificial flies and lures be used—something most locals couldn’t lay their hands on. So they often resorted to devious means to entice the trout—using live worms and grasshoppers which the fish really savoured. The ban on live bait, many locals felt, was merely a ruse to ensure that they didn’t catch too many trouts.
Next to hunting, one of my boyhood passions then was trout fishing—a sport that affords many thrills. My brothers and I spent many a day tirelessly, and often fruitlessly, ‘flogging’ the water. Being novices who abided by the rules, we seldom caught any trout except for the odd starveling that desperately snapped at anything even remotely resembling food! However, there were other local, commercial-minded anglers who made a fairly good living out of trout fishing. Right from daybreak they shrewdly monopolised the productive fishing spots—“They’re growing roots there!” we would joke—used live bait brazenly and sold their catch for remunerative prices—who after all doesn’t like to bite into a delectable piece of fried trout?
Unsurprisingly, we boys soon yielded to the overpowering temptation to catch the trout by hook or by crook—pun intended! One night, prior to one of our fishing trips, dad was mystified by a persistent ticking sound emanating from my fishing bag. To him it sounded like a time-bomb ticking away ominously. He gingerly opened the bag only to find two match-boxes crammed with worms and grasshoppers desperately trying to stretch themselves!
Of course, we ran the risk of being caught—and banned—by the prying British game warden who often turned up unexpectedly to check on anglers. However, the unforgettable thrill of having a fiercely battling trout at the end of one’s line usually outweighed this ‘occupational hazard’—yand turned us into unabashed liars!
Email: gnettomunnar@rediffmail.com