Fishing on Nagin Lake
A subdued afternoon after our brush with the military
After a bout of gastro hit Isobel and then me a couple days later, we were ready to leave Srinagar and head into the mountains. We wanted to escape the stifling heat of the city and the hawkers who haunted our steps. Isobel researched a trek from Aharbal which provided the perfect mountain retreat. We rented some backpacks, strapped them to our bikes and cycled 60km to Shopian for a night. We set off the next morning, closing the 15km distance to the trailhead which would lead us to the mountain lake Kounsarnag.
One kilometre from the trail head, two armoured jeeps screeched around the corner, each with men standing on the back brandishing AK-47s with sawed off butts. The mad-max-esque jeeps stopped in the middle of the road, blocking all movements, and stern looking men in all black jumped out, their eyes scanning the surrounding hillside.
They informed us we absolutely could not go any further, the area was too dangerous. Three months previous, some armed militants broke into a hotel, firing on the guests there. Apparently just the night before, five armed militants had been spotted entering the area. Two days later I read in my book that Shopian is the most dangerous area in all of Kashmir. Our Aharbal trek was off the books.
An armoured transport escorted us from the area and taxi took us the rest of the way to Srinagar. We were banished from the mountains and at a bit of a loss of what to do. Discouraged, we tried to change our flights to leave India early, but were unsuccessful leaving us with three more days to fill in Srinagar beyond the three we’d already spent. We booked new accomodation which was located favourably close to Nagin Bagh, the quieter version of Dal Lake.
Isobel plunked down to journal and I decided to go for a walk along the lake, looking to kill some time. Leaving our villa, I followed the twists and turns of the streets, passing small shops and clusters of people enjoying a relaxed Sunday afternoon. The tall buildings gave way to a flat lake framed by willows and poplars, with a narrow plank bridge arching over green water to a patch of land. Lotuses blanket the lake on one side of the bridge, with a couple scare crows propped up in the water. The lakes around Srinagar have an incredibly rich bird population, with hawks, ducks, geese, herons and eagles sharing this resource. To walk along the lake is to bask in the bird calls.
Having spent the last 18 months in New Zealand, a country of bird fanatics, I’d made my own baby steps as a birder. Armed with the Merlin Bird ID app, I scanned through the suggested birds for Srinagar, triumphantly ticking off my newest discoveries.
Continuing along the boardwalk, I found myself in a small island of houses. The locals have capitalised on the natural abundance of Nagin Bagh by building their homes on the lake, in amongst the wetland areas. Walking down the planked pathways, you can see homes constructed on stilts with waterways and walkways connecting them. Periodically, men and women quietly paddle by in Shikaras. In this way, Nagin Bagh is like Venice, a maze of canals, patches of land, ribbons of boardwalk and scattering of buildings, capitalising on the offerings of the lake.
It is remarkable to walk along these rickety paths and witness the resourcefulness of the locals who have managed to utilise every square meter of soil to sustain their lives. There are lush gardens with corn patches, tomatoes, potatoes, cucumbers which are ringed fenced with stakes supporting vertically grown bottle gourds, allowing harvesters to sit in their boat in the water while collecting their hard labours.
As I passed an alley between two tall brick houses, I notice a young boy with a long stick with a couple meters of fishing line hanging off one end. He is hurrying toward one of the canals and I decided to watch his activity. He plunked down on the boardwalk, pulled a ball of bread from his pocket and baited a small hook tied to the fishing line. Halfway down the fishing lead is a few white dowels, tied in place. He flicked the fishing line out into the waterway and relaxed, waiting for a bite.
Looking around, I noticed more and more people joining in, each perched along the boardwalk with a near identical setup to the boy. Some of the older men had more modern fishing rods with reels, having graduated from the simple stick setup.
I sat down with man and his friend to chat, making some simple conversation with his broken English. He explained to me the fish are most active at this time of day, around 12PM-1PM, and they use Kashmiri bread as bait. The fish are called Kashmiri Fish - huge surprise. The three dowel tied together are peeled branches of poplar, forming what he called the ‘signal point’.
As we sat there, the water started to bubble with activity. The eutrophication of Nagin Bagh is apparent in the thick algae that covers the lakes surface. Large, bright green flecks swirl and dance across the water as the fish rise to the surface, taking their lunch. Pushed along by a slow current, the effect is quite mesmerising, especially in the heat of the day.
Suddenly, the man I was talking to jerks his line out of the water, flinging a fish up onto the boardwalk. The young boy with the stick scurries over to inspect the catch. The man gestures, “My son”, pointing to the boy. I smile back at them. It brings me joy to see that thousands of kilometres and multiple continents away from my own home, a Sunday afternoon of fishing with dad is still the norm.
Leaning in closer to inspect the catch, I realise this fish won’t offer a huge meal. The man slips the fish into a mesh bag which he lowers back into the water.
Over the next half hour, the man and his friend catch five more fish, adding each one to the small mesh bag. The Kashmiri fish are not large, but they are plentiful.
Sitting there watching the signal point, I notice a fish floating on the surface. It is dead and slowly floats by. I ask the man about this dead fish, but his English is limited and he just agrees with me. A few more times dead fish float by, but no concern is shown. I can’t help but wonder what has killed these fish and if it is a health concern to the locals as well.
A bit later, a man paddles a Shikara through the channel where everyone is fishing. Behind the boat, fish leap from the water as if trying to escape from the lake. A dozen or more fish fling them selves in no discernible pattern, churning the water in the wake of the boat.
Feeling the heat of the day, I say goodbye to my new friends and start the walk home. 50m along my path, I spot a dead eagle floating in the green slurry. Bewildered as to how it died, I continue walking and look up just in time to watch another eagle snatch a small fish from the lake. Nagin Bagh is humming with activity, supporting both humans and wildlife.
Later that afternoon, Isobel and I go to the Sunday market. We walk a two kilometre stretch of vendor stalls starting in Lal Chowk, the downtown centre square of Srinagar. The market continues along a bridge across the Jhelum river. Women in head scarves sit periodically spaced along the bridge, surrounded by bowls filled with fish. I recognise the small Kashmiri fish from earlier alongside quite a few other varieties and sizes of fish.
Reaching through the bridge railing, the woman whose wares we are inspecting starts hauling on a long rope, bringing a bucket of water up from the river below. She pours the fresh water between the bowls and I realise these fish are breathing and still alive.
The lakes in Srinagar provide a wealth of offerings - the picturesque houseboats attract tourists and the biodiversity of the lake supports the locals. I’ve seen many signs supporting the preservation of Dal Lake (I imagine people feel similarly about Nagin Bagh), but I wonder if there has been follow through on these campaigns. I hope my friends can keep up their Sunday fishing for years to come.
Amazing colouring on those little fish. I love that you’re finding the gems in the thwarted adventures.