In June 2024, my Japanese friend Sara and I found ourselves in a familiar but difficult situation. We were trying to convince our philanthropist friend Terao to visit Bhutan again. It was not an easy task. Terao is a busy man, and Bhutan was not new to him. He had already visited several times and had even donated six Johkasou wastewater treatment tanks from Japan to be piloted in Bhutanese conditions. Yet the project had moved painfully slowly. From his perspective, another trip to Bhutan might simply mean a few polite meetings, some good intentions, and very little progress.
He was not particularly enthusiastic about repeating that experience.
That was when Sara and I had to resort to a strategy that felt slightly mischievous but entirely justified. We decided to exploit his greatest weakness — fishing.
 |
| Terao- the Angler |
Terao is not a casual angler. He is the kind of fisherman who travels across continents chasing legendary species. Rivers in Alaska, lakes in Scandinavia, deep waters in Southeast Asia — he has cast his line in many of them. So we dangled before him something that is irresistible to serious anglers.
Golden Mahseer fishing in Bhutan.
The Golden Mahseer is often called the “tiger of Himalayan rivers.” It is one of the largest freshwater game fish in the world and a prized catch among anglers. Found in the fast-flowing rivers of the Himalayan foothills, this magnificent fish can grow over 2 meters in length and weigh more than 40 kilograms. Catching one is not simply fishing; it is a lifelong achievement for many anglers.
As expected, Terao took the bait.
.jpeg) |
| Look at the man's shirt |
Once he agreed to come, I made the plans carefully. We secured fishing permits and arranged for one of the best fishing guides in Bhutan, Mr Kinley Dorji Gabu, to lead the expedition. Everything was set for a trip to Jigmechhu, a river known for Mahseer.
The evening before the journey, we even met fellow angler and blogger Yeshey Dorji, who shared stories of landing a massive 27-kilogram Mahseer and proudly showed us his fishing gear. Listening to him only increased the anticipation.
 |
| With Gabu and Yeshey Dorji |
But fishing — like life — has its own plans.
On the day of our departure, our advance team headed toward Jigmechhu ahead of us. However, somewhere around Gedu they were stopped by forestry officials who informed them that it was the Mahseer breeding season. Fishing was not permitted.
Our plans dissolved right there on the road.
After some discussion, the team suggested an alternative: we could change our route and head to Haa Valley instead, where we could try fly-fishing for brown trout in Haa Chhu.
Terao might have been disappointed, but if he was, he did not show it. A true angler adapts to the river he is given. He was just as excited to try fly-fishing.
So our advance team turned back from Gedu and drove toward Haa while we were just beginning our journey from Thimphu. Instead of the southern rivers, we headed west over the dramatic slopes of Chelela Pass, the highest motorable road in Bhutan. Sara and Terao enjoyed the sweeping mountain views as clouds drifted across the alpine ridges.
Haa Valley welcomed us with its quiet charm.
Once there, fortune smiled on us. Our guide Gabu happened to meet two of his close friends — Singye and Sangay — both highly respected fly-fishing guides. Among anglers in Bhutan, the trio is often regarded as the three best fly-fishing guides in the country. So, at the cost of hiring one guide, we ended up with all three.
That alone felt like a good omen.
Terao is an experienced fisherman, but fly-fishing was new territory for him. We began our fishing day near Dumcho Bridge and slowly worked our way downstream. Initially he used his regular rod and within an hour had landed several brown trout and two rainbow trout — probably escapees from the nearby Haa Cold Water Fishery.
At one point he landed a particularly good trout weighing close to two kilograms. In many rivers that might not sound spectacular, but in that stretch of the river it was a handsome catch and the biggest we saw that day.
 |
| Terao with the catch of the day |
As we continued downstream, we arrived at a promising pool where Terao decided it was time to learn fly-fishing.
.jpeg) |
| That's me! |
I took over his regular equipment and wandered along the riverbank while he stood with the guide learning the rhythm of casting. From a distance, I watched them for a long time. Fly-fishing has a certain poetry to it — the line swinging in graceful arcs through the air before settling lightly on the water. In the afternoon light, the fluorescent thread danced like a small dragon above the river.
 |
| Terao lost in the poetry of Flyfishing |
Terao seemed completely absorbed in the process. Casting, adjusting, casting again. Each movement smoother than the last.
Meanwhile Sara, who had absolutely no interest in fishing, stretched out on the riverbank and promptly fell asleep. It was, after all, the price she paid for helping me plot this entire fishing conspiracy.
With our side of the bargain fulfilled — a memorable day of fishing — we returned to Thimphu and spent the next two days meeting officials from Thromde and the Ministry of Infrastructure and Transport to push forward our wastewater treatment initiative.
Sara and Terao are simply trying to help Bhutan introduce one of Japan’s most effective wastewater treatment technologies. If implemented properly, it could transform sanitation systems in our growing towns. Bhutan stands to gain enormously.
Yet, as often happens here, progress moves slowly.
Without visible movement on the ground, I find it difficult to invite them back again and take further advantage of their generosity. And yet I owe Terao something.
I promised him Golden Mahseer.
Next time, I intend to keep that promise — properly.
The rivers of southern Bhutan still hold the legendary Golden Mahseer, and for anglers around the world it remains one of the most thrilling freshwater fishing experiences available. At the same time, Bhutan’s quieter valleys like Haa offer something equally special: peaceful rivers, pristine mountain landscapes and world-class fly-fishing for trout.
For anglers, Bhutan is still one of the least explored fishing destinations in the Himalayas.
Perhaps that is exactly why it remains magical.
And who knows — the next great Mahseer story might begin with a cast in one of our rivers.
.jpeg) |
| Fisherman and his guide in Haa |
For fishing trips, travel planning, or fly-fishing experiences in Bhutan, you can write to travel@passudiary.com.
.jpeg)
