In Mumbai our bikes smelt decidedly fishy after we had taken them out the luggage compartment of the trai
n. I don’t know why the compartment was full of sardines; I could only guess that the train had originated from Kolkata and the fish was destined for Delhi. Before leaving the station I repaired my rear tyre that had mysteriously gone flat while the bikes had been on the train. We were then soon in the tourist area of Colaba where we found a room in Hotel Prosser. Having been in Mumbai six times before I was glad to be back but not too keen to go sight seeing. We did however take a ride around to India gate to view the expensive Taj hotel and check where we could catch a ferry from. After we took a trip to the famous Chowpatty beach that seemed relatively subdued compared to when I was there a few years before. The police even tried to throw us out for pushing our bikes about the beach. Considering this beach was Mumbai’s main public toilet a few years ago the changes have been huge. These days every evening rich Indians descend, to eat kulfi and watch the sun settting over the Arabian sea.
After a day or two spent in the city we loaded our bikes onto a little wooden ferry down by the gateway of India and headed over to Madwe, a small village fifteen minutes south, across the harbour. After a scrum getting off we cycled away from the ferry ramp and were immediately passing through small villages and countryside. This definitely beat taking the road route out of Mumbai which would have taken us a day or two to escape out of the city limits. After ten minutes we stopped outside a small shop to drink a cold coke and enjoy the sudden peace and quiet. There were still intricate Diwali designs made from coloured powder spread across the floor. The Diwali festival had been a couple of days previous so we were happy to be out of the city as the last few days had been like a war zone with all the fireworks popping around our heads. A few times the locals had nearly blown me up with atom bombs when I walked innocently down the street at night. They seemed to be enjoying all the festivity but after nearly jumping out my skin a few times I lost all interest. But now we were out of the city we all relaxed and looked forward to the coming weeks of cycling.
At the end of the first day we sniffed (literally) out Kihim beach and took a ride along the hard sand looking for somewhere to pitch camp. The beach wasn’t as beautiful as we had hoped but being so close to Mumbai we had suspected it may be a little grubby around the edges. Dotted along the top of the beach are big holiday houses belonging to rich Bombalites who must often come down for weekends. In one of the gardens we spotted a
nice looking tree house that looked perfect for sleeping in. Next thing Hayato marched off and obtained permission for us to spend the night here. It was a perfect spot with a great view of the sun setting through the coconut palms. We fished for a while but caught nothing so went back to our cabin and cooked a vegetable curry all hoping the fresh fish would come sometime in the next week. Hayato and Brain each bought a rod and reel in mumbai but had little prior experience with fishing so i was hoping i could put them on some fish in the coming weeks.
We met Asaf Fakih who lived a just along the beach from where we were staying. Asaf invited us to join him in the morning to show us about. The next morning after a good sleep we stopped in at Asafs and had a fascinating tour of the local area and found out all about the history of his family and the surrounding houses. Asaf lives in a beautiful old half mansion, filled with the original old teak furniture. Unfortunately due to his business in Bumbay (as he likes to call it) he gets precious little time in Kihim.
It took us around three weeks to cover the 700km or so from Mumbai to Goa. We covered around 50km each as we were taking it fairly easy and wanted to enjoy the beaches. as planned we managed to follow the coast road all the way down to Goa and stayed off the highway. Our map was pretty much useless apart from giving us the names of the villages that we wanted to go to next. After we had worked out the next destination we wanted, we would constantly ask for directions from the locals. This proved tricky and usually a few people would have to be asked before we found the right way. We gave up asking distances because, as from previous experience they would vary wildly from one guy to the next. One man might say it was 30km whereas his mate down the road would claim it was 70km. This is most frustrating to the cycle tourist so it’s much better to see what comes along.
Cycling along the Konkan coast is by no means easy. The Western Ghat mountains to the east give rise to many rivers that drain down west into the sea resulting in many valleys spread out down along the coast. So from one valley a climb takes one back onto the relatively flat parched plateaus that separate the valleys. These plateaus are pretty bare as far as vegetation goes thanks to a lack of soil due to the basalt that makes up the parent material. During the day the rock radiates heat onto the passing cyclist and makes him heat up until he is lucky enough to drop down into the valley below and find relief under the shady palm trees.
We were in no rush and enjoyed the cycling. It was hard work at times, with some very steep
hills to climb. The beautiful sea views from the top and downhill into the next valley made up for all the sweating. Many of the rivers had no bridge near to the sea where we usually needed to cross, the bridges being far up the river where the highway ran and this would mean a hefty detour for us. Luckily somewhere down nearer the mouth of the rivers small ferries plyed people across the water for a small fee. Between Mumbai and Goa we had to catch around ten of these small boats, ranging in price from 20 to 300 rupees. The cheaper boats were regular services, while it got more expensive if we needed to hire a private boat to carry us across a river. There was never a problem crossing the rivers although a couple of times we wondered whether the little rickety boats would manage with the three of us and our loaded bikes aboard.
We aimed to sleep on the beach as much as possible on the way down and we managed this for many nights. After a few days and a good distance from Mumbai the beaches become clean and beautiful and made for good camping. One of the first places we camped was near a place called Revandanda which is on the Kundalika River. We slept below the walls of a beautiful old fort that had long since been abandoned. The waves must have lapped at t
he base on spring tides but we had soft sand to relax on, shaded by a big fig growing from the wall. We fished in the river while the young Indians played their evening cricket game on the beach. Again no fish were coming to grace the beach! After a nice meal I stretched out on the sand and watched the waves gently lapping at the beach under the bright moonlight. Soon I slept but was woken with a start as a rat ran over my face. I was now awake and the moon had set an hour previously. Mosquitoes now bothered me, intent on sucking out all my blood but eventually I started to drift off only to have a crab scuttle over my stomach! Soon my tent was up and only then did I sleep well.
The next day we left after a leisurely start and after a few km Hayato realised he had left his trusty stick behind. We waited and after twenty mintues he returned minus his stick which had acted as his bike stand. I had carried this bread rolling stick all the way from Kashgar in North West China and had given it to Hayato when I cut a new one, so it was a shame to lose it after so long . From the start the day went downhill. After a couple of hours the cable attaching my bar bag decided to suddenly snap and as we left the road to make repairs Brian got a huge thorn through one of his tyres. Luckily I had a spare brake cable that could replace the snapped cable and soon we were on our way again. But not long after my front inner tube decided to pop for no particular reason. My luck had changed after 11500km with no flat tyres. Since then when I arrived in Tajikistan I had had over 30 blow outs and now I was starting to get a little bored by them. They only came every so often and usually the tube split. It was the same story when I had had 21 flats in two days in the mountains of Tajikistan. I can only assume the tubes were too narrow for my tyres and the heat caused the splits to occur. 
We stopped this evening on an extremely long beach, completely deserted apart from a guy on a sand cart pulled by two huge white Zebus. He called us over and insisted we jump up and take control and ride for a bit down the beach. At first these huge cows weren’t too sure of their new boss and decided to bolt off into the sea, but after a few seconds I got control and we trundled off down the beach. After a few minutes I jumped down and Hayato climbed up and had a ride about. We expressed our thanks and the driver moved off down the beach to load some sand. It was a beautiful moment and really made our day. The kindness of the people along the trip has been overwhelming. This guy had wanted nothing in return for his gesture, he just wanted us to be welcome in a foreign place and his big warm smile said it all.
The next day after some seriously hot stretches of cycling up on the sunburnt plateau we crossed a river in a small wooden boat. We just managed to squeeze the bikes in but it was tight. The ferryman hoisted his sail while his sidekick pushed us off with his long bamboo pole and we sailed to the far side drenched in golden light from the setting sun. After hauling our bikes across the beach we found there was no road or path to the village of kelshi. A group of guys playing cricket pointed us across a little stream to a sandy track on the far side. After a massive group effort of pulling and pushing the bikes through the very deep sand we made it into the lovely little village. Here the people were extremely friendly and after stopping with one kind family to taste a local dish, we bought some supplies and headed back to the beach. We took a different track and discovered that there was no need to nearly break our backs earlier pushing through the sand. The track took us down towards the river where we found a beautiful shady camping place under the feathery Casurina trees.
Before I had done much I was running down to the river fishing rod in hand, convinced we would be cooking fish this evening. Brian and Hayato soon joined me and we stood watching the red sun dip below the horizon on the Arabian Sea. We cast our lures into the river and waited for the inevitable bite which didn’t come. Shortly after dark the others left but I stayed as the spot which looked better and better for a fish as the last of the light vanished. The tide was on the way up and conditions looked perfect. I lay a cast far into the flow and slowly started reeling the little vibrating yo zuri lure. After a few turns of the handle the rod lurched forward with incredibly power. My heart nearly stopped as I began to play my first Indian fish of 2007. After a minute or so I realised from the fight I must have a nice mangrove jack. He shook his head and battled for all he was worth but after a few minutes I pulled the beautiful fish onto the shore and gave him a kiss. What an amazing feeling, my heart was pumping and hands we
re shaking. Five minutes later my rod arched again as I hooked into something else. It fought differently to the MJ and turned out to be a lovely Flathead of around 1.5kg. In my excitement I had to stop fishing and head back to the camp site to show the others.
As I arrived I hid the fish behind my back and waited for Hayato and Brian to ask about what I had caught. As I whipped the fish out both their mouths dropped unable to believe what I had caught. Hayato quickly had a big smile on his face as he was particularly looking forward to eating some fresh fish. They had just been discussing whether I would bring a tuna or some other species! Unfortunately not a tuna, but it was definately as good. I quickly cleaned the fish while the others cooked some rice and made a fire. Twenty minutes later we sat around our fire and enjoyed fresh jack followed by the flathead. It really was a great meal and we hoped the fishing gods would be kind to us in the coming months!
The next day we took a rest and stayed in our camp spot as it was such a beautiful spot. In the afternoon I noticed all the small sail boats returning up the river from their fishing trip. I was dying to get some bait for fishing so ran down and signalled a small boat over to the beach. The guys aboard kindly sold me ten small fish for twenty rupees before going on their way. That evening after catching one small flathead that I let go, I tried some bait to see what I might get. Of course by now the bait fish weren’t so fresh and I doubted whether something might eat them. After 20 minutes I felt a small tap on the rod followed an angry fish pulling hard. Soon I had a five foot long slimy slithering eel on the beach that was determined not to give me back my hook. After a struggle I was covered in slime from head to toe but safely had my hook back. I ran up the beach and woke Hayato and Brian so they could see my magnificent specimen. Brian’s head popped out his tent quite quickly but Hayato took a little longer to wake. As he unzipped his tent door the eel broke free and decided to have a look in Hayato’s tent. The problem was Hayato has an acute fear of snakes so his first thought was that a huge snake was coming for him. He quickly retreated but had no where to go as his tent is not so spacious! The eel was on the move and so was Hayato. I seem to remember him screaming something, possible in Japanese. Quickly I grabbed the eel and wished the two of them sound sleeps before returning to the river to release the traumatised fish.
After a week or so of lovely cycling we reached the village of Ganpatipule where I had stayed
on a previous trip in India. In this village there’s a beautiful beach and a Ganesh temple that draws in many Indian pilgrims from the surrounding areas. We could stay at the far end of the beach in a quiet tented camp. It was pleasant to have a shower and eat some half decent curries for a change as the food had been a little hit and miss since leavingMumbai. We swam and relaxed and had a nice time joking around with the guys that worked in the restaurant.
I had noticed the last time I had visited that there were many guitar fish in the waves as well as many other species of fish swimming about. So the first day we took a ride up to the fish market and bought a big bag of mackerel to use as bait later in the day. Late afternoon I wandered down onto the beach to try and catch some live mullet to use as livebait, while Brian stuck a piece of mackerel on his hook and cast into the waves. A few minutes later brain’s rod suddenly bent over as something big took off with his bait. However it was short lived as the fish quickly bit through the line. We raced back to the tent and were soon back on the beach armed with wire traces and the whole bag of mackerel. Very quickly I had a bite and a fish around three or four feet long jumped three times at the back of the breakers. Unfortunately the wire wasn’t long enough and the line parted above the trace.
In the next couple of hours we all caught fish. Brian had a couple of guitar fish, while Hayato had one guitar fish and a black tipped shark and I had three black tipped sharks. All were released back into the waves after a quick photo. Hayato was over the moon as he had never caught a fish bigger than a few ounces so to catch an Indian shark was pretty special. When he got his shark on the beach he jumped about overjoyed at his catch and ran around shouting “shark shark”. For the next few days we caught many more sharks and Brian became the king of guitar fish. He was unable to catch any other fish, just one guitar fish after another. I however couldn’t catch one however hard I tried!
After all the sharks we fancied catching something to eat so moved to fish in the river. Hayato was the first to catch, which turned out to be a nice mangrove jack. He then had one more great bite before the tide dropped so we decided to go cook our fish as it was too late in the night to put it in the restaurant fridge. We walked back down the beach and made a little fire by some rocks where we cooked the jack. It tasted very good and all the time the camp dogs tried to muscle in on our meal.
n. I don’t know why the compartment was full of sardines; I could only guess that the train had originated from Kolkata and the fish was destined for Delhi. Before leaving the station I repaired my rear tyre that had mysteriously gone flat while the bikes had been on the train. We were then soon in the tourist area of Colaba where we found a room in Hotel Prosser. Having been in Mumbai six times before I was glad to be back but not too keen to go sight seeing. We did however take a ride around to India gate to view the expensive Taj hotel and check where we could catch a ferry from. After we took a trip to the famous Chowpatty beach that seemed relatively subdued compared to when I was there a few years before. The police even tried to throw us out for pushing our bikes about the beach. Considering this beach was Mumbai’s main public toilet a few years ago the changes have been huge. These days every evening rich Indians descend, to eat kulfi and watch the sun settting over the Arabian sea.
After a day or two spent in the city we loaded our bikes onto a little wooden ferry down by the gateway of India and headed over to Madwe, a small village fifteen minutes south, across the harbour. After a scrum getting off we cycled away from the ferry ramp and were immediately passing through small villages and countryside. This definitely beat taking the road route out of Mumbai which would have taken us a day or two to escape out of the city limits. After ten minutes we stopped outside a small shop to drink a cold coke and enjoy the sudden peace and quiet. There were still intricate Diwali designs made from coloured powder spread across the floor. The Diwali festival had been a couple of days previous so we were happy to be out of the city as the last few days had been like a war zone with all the fireworks popping around our heads. A few times the locals had nearly blown me up with atom bombs when I walked innocently down the street at night. They seemed to be enjoying all the festivity but after nearly jumping out my skin a few times I lost all interest. But now we were out of the city we all relaxed and looked forward to the coming weeks of cycling.
At the end of the first day we sniffed (literally) out Kihim beach and took a ride along the hard sand looking for somewhere to pitch camp. The beach wasn’t as beautiful as we had hoped but being so close to Mumbai we had suspected it may be a little grubby around the edges. Dotted along the top of the beach are big holiday houses belonging to rich Bombalites who must often come down for weekends. In one of the gardens we spotted a
nice looking tree house that looked perfect for sleeping in. Next thing Hayato marched off and obtained permission for us to spend the night here. It was a perfect spot with a great view of the sun setting through the coconut palms. We fished for a while but caught nothing so went back to our cabin and cooked a vegetable curry all hoping the fresh fish would come sometime in the next week. Hayato and Brain each bought a rod and reel in mumbai but had little prior experience with fishing so i was hoping i could put them on some fish in the coming weeks.
We met Asaf Fakih who lived a just along the beach from where we were staying. Asaf invited us to join him in the morning to show us about. The next morning after a good sleep we stopped in at Asafs and had a fascinating tour of the local area and found out all about the history of his family and the surrounding houses. Asaf lives in a beautiful old half mansion, filled with the original old teak furniture. Unfortunately due to his business in Bumbay (as he likes to call it) he gets precious little time in Kihim.
It took us around three weeks to cover the 700km or so from Mumbai to Goa. We covered around 50km each as we were taking it fairly easy and wanted to enjoy the beaches. as planned we managed to follow the coast road all the way down to Goa and stayed off the highway. Our map was pretty much useless apart from giving us the names of the villages that we wanted to go to next. After we had worked out the next destination we wanted, we would constantly ask for directions from the locals. This proved tricky and usually a few people would have to be asked before we found the right way. We gave up asking distances because, as from previous experience they would vary wildly from one guy to the next. One man might say it was 30km whereas his mate down the road would claim it was 70km. This is most frustrating to the cycle tourist so it’s much better to see what comes along.
Cycling along the Konkan coast is by no means easy. The Western Ghat mountains to the east give rise to many rivers that drain down west into the sea resulting in many valleys spread out down along the coast. So from one valley a climb takes one back onto the relatively flat parched plateaus that separate the valleys. These plateaus are pretty bare as far as vegetation goes thanks to a lack of soil due to the basalt that makes up the parent material. During the day the rock radiates heat onto the passing cyclist and makes him heat up until he is lucky enough to drop down into the valley below and find relief under the shady palm trees.
We were in no rush and enjoyed the cycling. It was hard work at times, with some very steep
hills to climb. The beautiful sea views from the top and downhill into the next valley made up for all the sweating. Many of the rivers had no bridge near to the sea where we usually needed to cross, the bridges being far up the river where the highway ran and this would mean a hefty detour for us. Luckily somewhere down nearer the mouth of the rivers small ferries plyed people across the water for a small fee. Between Mumbai and Goa we had to catch around ten of these small boats, ranging in price from 20 to 300 rupees. The cheaper boats were regular services, while it got more expensive if we needed to hire a private boat to carry us across a river. There was never a problem crossing the rivers although a couple of times we wondered whether the little rickety boats would manage with the three of us and our loaded bikes aboard.
We aimed to sleep on the beach as much as possible on the way down and we managed this for many nights. After a few days and a good distance from Mumbai the beaches become clean and beautiful and made for good camping. One of the first places we camped was near a place called Revandanda which is on the Kundalika River. We slept below the walls of a beautiful old fort that had long since been abandoned. The waves must have lapped at t
he base on spring tides but we had soft sand to relax on, shaded by a big fig growing from the wall. We fished in the river while the young Indians played their evening cricket game on the beach. Again no fish were coming to grace the beach! After a nice meal I stretched out on the sand and watched the waves gently lapping at the beach under the bright moonlight. Soon I slept but was woken with a start as a rat ran over my face. I was now awake and the moon had set an hour previously. Mosquitoes now bothered me, intent on sucking out all my blood but eventually I started to drift off only to have a crab scuttle over my stomach! Soon my tent was up and only then did I sleep well.
The next day we left after a leisurely start and after a few km Hayato realised he had left his trusty stick behind. We waited and after twenty mintues he returned minus his stick which had acted as his bike stand. I had carried this bread rolling stick all the way from Kashgar in North West China and had given it to Hayato when I cut a new one, so it was a shame to lose it after so long . From the start the day went downhill. After a couple of hours the cable attaching my bar bag decided to suddenly snap and as we left the road to make repairs Brian got a huge thorn through one of his tyres. Luckily I had a spare brake cable that could replace the snapped cable and soon we were on our way again. But not long after my front inner tube decided to pop for no particular reason. My luck had changed after 11500km with no flat tyres. Since then when I arrived in Tajikistan I had had over 30 blow outs and now I was starting to get a little bored by them. They only came every so often and usually the tube split. It was the same story when I had had 21 flats in two days in the mountains of Tajikistan. I can only assume the tubes were too narrow for my tyres and the heat caused the splits to occur. 
We stopped this evening on an extremely long beach, completely deserted apart from a guy on a sand cart pulled by two huge white Zebus. He called us over and insisted we jump up and take control and ride for a bit down the beach. At first these huge cows weren’t too sure of their new boss and decided to bolt off into the sea, but after a few seconds I got control and we trundled off down the beach. After a few minutes I jumped down and Hayato climbed up and had a ride about. We expressed our thanks and the driver moved off down the beach to load some sand. It was a beautiful moment and really made our day. The kindness of the people along the trip has been overwhelming. This guy had wanted nothing in return for his gesture, he just wanted us to be welcome in a foreign place and his big warm smile said it all.
The next day after some seriously hot stretches of cycling up on the sunburnt plateau we crossed a river in a small wooden boat. We just managed to squeeze the bikes in but it was tight. The ferryman hoisted his sail while his sidekick pushed us off with his long bamboo pole and we sailed to the far side drenched in golden light from the setting sun. After hauling our bikes across the beach we found there was no road or path to the village of kelshi. A group of guys playing cricket pointed us across a little stream to a sandy track on the far side. After a massive group effort of pulling and pushing the bikes through the very deep sand we made it into the lovely little village. Here the people were extremely friendly and after stopping with one kind family to taste a local dish, we bought some supplies and headed back to the beach. We took a different track and discovered that there was no need to nearly break our backs earlier pushing through the sand. The track took us down towards the river where we found a beautiful shady camping place under the feathery Casurina trees.
Before I had done much I was running down to the river fishing rod in hand, convinced we would be cooking fish this evening. Brian and Hayato soon joined me and we stood watching the red sun dip below the horizon on the Arabian Sea. We cast our lures into the river and waited for the inevitable bite which didn’t come. Shortly after dark the others left but I stayed as the spot which looked better and better for a fish as the last of the light vanished. The tide was on the way up and conditions looked perfect. I lay a cast far into the flow and slowly started reeling the little vibrating yo zuri lure. After a few turns of the handle the rod lurched forward with incredibly power. My heart nearly stopped as I began to play my first Indian fish of 2007. After a minute or so I realised from the fight I must have a nice mangrove jack. He shook his head and battled for all he was worth but after a few minutes I pulled the beautiful fish onto the shore and gave him a kiss. What an amazing feeling, my heart was pumping and hands we
re shaking. Five minutes later my rod arched again as I hooked into something else. It fought differently to the MJ and turned out to be a lovely Flathead of around 1.5kg. In my excitement I had to stop fishing and head back to the camp site to show the others.As I arrived I hid the fish behind my back and waited for Hayato and Brian to ask about what I had caught. As I whipped the fish out both their mouths dropped unable to believe what I had caught. Hayato quickly had a big smile on his face as he was particularly looking forward to eating some fresh fish. They had just been discussing whether I would bring a tuna or some other species! Unfortunately not a tuna, but it was definately as good. I quickly cleaned the fish while the others cooked some rice and made a fire. Twenty minutes later we sat around our fire and enjoyed fresh jack followed by the flathead. It really was a great meal and we hoped the fishing gods would be kind to us in the coming months!
The next day we took a rest and stayed in our camp spot as it was such a beautiful spot. In the afternoon I noticed all the small sail boats returning up the river from their fishing trip. I was dying to get some bait for fishing so ran down and signalled a small boat over to the beach. The guys aboard kindly sold me ten small fish for twenty rupees before going on their way. That evening after catching one small flathead that I let go, I tried some bait to see what I might get. Of course by now the bait fish weren’t so fresh and I doubted whether something might eat them. After 20 minutes I felt a small tap on the rod followed an angry fish pulling hard. Soon I had a five foot long slimy slithering eel on the beach that was determined not to give me back my hook. After a struggle I was covered in slime from head to toe but safely had my hook back. I ran up the beach and woke Hayato and Brian so they could see my magnificent specimen. Brian’s head popped out his tent quite quickly but Hayato took a little longer to wake. As he unzipped his tent door the eel broke free and decided to have a look in Hayato’s tent. The problem was Hayato has an acute fear of snakes so his first thought was that a huge snake was coming for him. He quickly retreated but had no where to go as his tent is not so spacious! The eel was on the move and so was Hayato. I seem to remember him screaming something, possible in Japanese. Quickly I grabbed the eel and wished the two of them sound sleeps before returning to the river to release the traumatised fish.
After a week or so of lovely cycling we reached the village of Ganpatipule where I had stayed
on a previous trip in India. In this village there’s a beautiful beach and a Ganesh temple that draws in many Indian pilgrims from the surrounding areas. We could stay at the far end of the beach in a quiet tented camp. It was pleasant to have a shower and eat some half decent curries for a change as the food had been a little hit and miss since leavingMumbai. We swam and relaxed and had a nice time joking around with the guys that worked in the restaurant.I had noticed the last time I had visited that there were many guitar fish in the waves as well as many other species of fish swimming about. So the first day we took a ride up to the fish market and bought a big bag of mackerel to use as bait later in the day. Late afternoon I wandered down onto the beach to try and catch some live mullet to use as livebait, while Brian stuck a piece of mackerel on his hook and cast into the waves. A few minutes later brain’s rod suddenly bent over as something big took off with his bait. However it was short lived as the fish quickly bit through the line. We raced back to the tent and were soon back on the beach armed with wire traces and the whole bag of mackerel. Very quickly I had a bite and a fish around three or four feet long jumped three times at the back of the breakers. Unfortunately the wire wasn’t long enough and the line parted above the trace.
In the next couple of hours we all caught fish. Brian had a couple of guitar fish, while Hayato had one guitar fish and a black tipped shark and I had three black tipped sharks. All were released back into the waves after a quick photo. Hayato was over the moon as he had never caught a fish bigger than a few ounces so to catch an Indian shark was pretty special. When he got his shark on the beach he jumped about overjoyed at his catch and ran around shouting “shark shark”. For the next few days we caught many more sharks and Brian became the king of guitar fish. He was unable to catch any other fish, just one guitar fish after another. I however couldn’t catch one however hard I tried!
After all the sharks we fancied catching something to eat so moved to fish in the river. Hayato was the first to catch, which turned out to be a nice mangrove jack. He then had one more great bite before the tide dropped so we decided to go cook our fish as it was too late in the night to put it in the restaurant fridge. We walked back down the beach and made a little fire by some rocks where we cooked the jack. It tasted very good and all the time the camp dogs tried to muscle in on our meal.
The three of us stayed in Ganpatipule for the next few days and really enjoyed the fishing. We caught many more sharks and I landed a fairly large sting ray that took me for a long walk down the beach and with no help to land him I struggled as every time I gave slack line he would take off from the shallow water and shoot back into the waves. Eventually with a good grip I hauled him ashore all the time staying out the way of his poisonous tail. The other guys couldn’t believe what I had caught when I came running out of the darkness, two arms supporting the big ray and rod held in my mouth!
Every evening as the tide became right we would head up to the little river and have a go with bait for the mangrove jacks. As we worked out the movements of the fish we had some great catches of up to fifteen nice sized jacks. One evening it was early in the evening and the tide hadn’t yet pushed high enough to bring the in jacks so I decided to try a very small rubber shad suspended under a bubble float in the mouth of the river on the incoming tide.
Second cast and I had a bite and then quickly three or four more taps. I was a little surprised I
hadn’t hooked any of these but then very next cast I hooked a small fish that turned out to be an undersized Jack. In the next ten casts I hooked a very big mangrove jack and two barramundi around 3kg a piece which I decided to keep for meal the next day. Forced to retreat because of the incoming tide that would wash my fish away I headed back to join Hayato and Brain.
When I arrived with my arms full of fish and a big smile on my face they were a little surprised as still they hadn’t had a single bite since I had left thirty minutes before with my trusty lure. Soon Brian’s rod arched over and we started catching fish for the next three hours until the falling tide saw the end of the bites as the fish moved quickly out of the shallow river to the sea.
We ended up with a good haul of a mixture of 15 jacks, bream and barramundi which we kept and ate the next day kindly cooked by the guys in the restaurant. We gave some of the fish to the cooks for their trouble and traded the rest for an evening curry.
All too soon we left and were back on the road heading south towards the larger town of Ratnagiri that lies around 250km north of Goa. Some anticipation was now building about reaching Goa. With only four or five days to go we were all dreaming of relaxing in Arambol in north Goa , eating good food and seeing beautiful girls strutting around in bikinis! The beaches seemed to be more beautiful everyday and screamed for us to set up camp but of course if it wasn’t late in the day we would push on. Some fishing spots that we saw looked so perfect I almost gave into the curiosity and stayed behind but the prospect of arriving in Goa with Hayato and Brian made me keep going.
The Further south we went the more familiar the local people became with Goa and the tourist scene. Fisherman started reeling off names of the famous beaches and declaring which one they thought was best, sometimes disagreeing and arguing about this important subject with their friends. They all gave a nod when we told them where we were going to stay.
We had all bought a pair of sandals while we had been in Kathmandu as we figured they would
be perfect for cycling and walking about on the beach. We all bought these from different shops and agreed they looked pretty good for the money we spent. In the four weeks following how wrong were we proved? Mine broke two days after I bought them and then Hayatos went but with a few packets of five rupee feviquick super glue they were up and going again. By the time we reached Goa I think I had spent more money on glue and cobblers than I had actually paid for the sandals and so threw them away at the first chance I got.
Not a day would go by when one strap or another wouldn’t break and leave me pedalling cock footed and ending up in the evening with big blisters. One day I let an Indian cobbler fix them who was conveniently sitting under a big tree by the side of the road. Happy to be comfortable again we carried on only to realise a few kms later that we had missed our turning. I was already fuming because my newly fixed sandals had broken where the cobbler had sewn them. Unlucky for him our road was right by his tree and as I pulled up he had a look of shock on his face but still pretended to be surprised when I launched my sandal to land on to the ground at his feet. After another repair that only lasted a day I was quite ready to invest in a pair of Indian flip flops that would give me months of faultless service!
We passed through Malvan and along the beautiful Tarkali beach and down the 5km long spit where Devbag village lies. On one side of the spit is the Arabian sea and the other is Tarkali River, with the village running along the 200m wide piece of sand shaded below coconut palms. I made a mental note to come back to this beautiful spot in the future as we were hiring a boat to take us across the mouth of the river to the lovely Bhogva beach where we set up camp for the night. After eating a great meal cooked by a local lady we helped the fishermen bring their boats up the beach and watched while they emptied the nets. While the kids played the evening cricket game the adults discussed these funny ‘Saikal wallas’ who had set up camp on their beach!
The next day we Raced towards Goa, stopping in Vengurla for a good lunch in a restaurant overlooking the beautiful sandy bay. The last few days had been getting warmer and warmer and after our big lunch the heat put a stop to us moving any further than the beach. After a nice siesta and swim we got back on the road and furiously pedalled towards goa intent on crossing the border before evening.
We then saw our first “western tourist” who lent out of his jeep window and congratulated us on our efforts. Later we saw another European who ignored us as we passed and waved. Later still some more westerners on scooters who also ignored our waves. I now realised I was a little disappointed to be arriving in a tourist area again and I guess we would miss all the attention we had been getting. I also new it would take a while in the coming weeks to get used to all the tourists we would be sharing sharing the area with.
With twenty kilometres to go I started recognising things and saw paradise beach where I had fished on a previous trip. We passed the big Iron ore mine and factory that you can see from Goa and then dropped down into the little village of Terekhol before climbing the last hill. From the top we stopped and had a beautiful view across the Terekhol River to Querim beach and on south along the Goan Coastline. I could see the sand spit sticking out into the river where I had caught so many big fish two years before. Set along the beach was Babu and Sujits little beach restaurant where we planned to spend the night and I wandered if they would remember me!
We raced down the hill and sped onto the waiting ferry. I was was over the moon to at long last, after ten months and 15000km reach my destination but also sad that possibly my cycling was over for the next few months as I had no plan of where to go next.
As I cycled to the restaurant and started pushing my bike up the beach I saw my good friend Sujit peep out from around the corner of his shack and exclaim “Scott?” . I shouted my greetings and shook hands while greeting Babu and Kalpesh. It was good to be back and we all spent a pleasant evening relaxing with a much earned cold beer or two.
Every evening as the tide became right we would head up to the little river and have a go with bait for the mangrove jacks. As we worked out the movements of the fish we had some great catches of up to fifteen nice sized jacks. One evening it was early in the evening and the tide hadn’t yet pushed high enough to bring the in jacks so I decided to try a very small rubber shad suspended under a bubble float in the mouth of the river on the incoming tide.
Second cast and I had a bite and then quickly three or four more taps. I was a little surprised I
hadn’t hooked any of these but then very next cast I hooked a small fish that turned out to be an undersized Jack. In the next ten casts I hooked a very big mangrove jack and two barramundi around 3kg a piece which I decided to keep for meal the next day. Forced to retreat because of the incoming tide that would wash my fish away I headed back to join Hayato and Brain.When I arrived with my arms full of fish and a big smile on my face they were a little surprised as still they hadn’t had a single bite since I had left thirty minutes before with my trusty lure. Soon Brian’s rod arched over and we started catching fish for the next three hours until the falling tide saw the end of the bites as the fish moved quickly out of the shallow river to the sea.
We ended up with a good haul of a mixture of 15 jacks, bream and barramundi which we kept and ate the next day kindly cooked by the guys in the restaurant. We gave some of the fish to the cooks for their trouble and traded the rest for an evening curry.
All too soon we left and were back on the road heading south towards the larger town of Ratnagiri that lies around 250km north of Goa. Some anticipation was now building about reaching Goa. With only four or five days to go we were all dreaming of relaxing in Arambol in north Goa , eating good food and seeing beautiful girls strutting around in bikinis! The beaches seemed to be more beautiful everyday and screamed for us to set up camp but of course if it wasn’t late in the day we would push on. Some fishing spots that we saw looked so perfect I almost gave into the curiosity and stayed behind but the prospect of arriving in Goa with Hayato and Brian made me keep going.
The Further south we went the more familiar the local people became with Goa and the tourist scene. Fisherman started reeling off names of the famous beaches and declaring which one they thought was best, sometimes disagreeing and arguing about this important subject with their friends. They all gave a nod when we told them where we were going to stay.
We had all bought a pair of sandals while we had been in Kathmandu as we figured they would
be perfect for cycling and walking about on the beach. We all bought these from different shops and agreed they looked pretty good for the money we spent. In the four weeks following how wrong were we proved? Mine broke two days after I bought them and then Hayatos went but with a few packets of five rupee feviquick super glue they were up and going again. By the time we reached Goa I think I had spent more money on glue and cobblers than I had actually paid for the sandals and so threw them away at the first chance I got.Not a day would go by when one strap or another wouldn’t break and leave me pedalling cock footed and ending up in the evening with big blisters. One day I let an Indian cobbler fix them who was conveniently sitting under a big tree by the side of the road. Happy to be comfortable again we carried on only to realise a few kms later that we had missed our turning. I was already fuming because my newly fixed sandals had broken where the cobbler had sewn them. Unlucky for him our road was right by his tree and as I pulled up he had a look of shock on his face but still pretended to be surprised when I launched my sandal to land on to the ground at his feet. After another repair that only lasted a day I was quite ready to invest in a pair of Indian flip flops that would give me months of faultless service!
We passed through Malvan and along the beautiful Tarkali beach and down the 5km long spit where Devbag village lies. On one side of the spit is the Arabian sea and the other is Tarkali River, with the village running along the 200m wide piece of sand shaded below coconut palms. I made a mental note to come back to this beautiful spot in the future as we were hiring a boat to take us across the mouth of the river to the lovely Bhogva beach where we set up camp for the night. After eating a great meal cooked by a local lady we helped the fishermen bring their boats up the beach and watched while they emptied the nets. While the kids played the evening cricket game the adults discussed these funny ‘Saikal wallas’ who had set up camp on their beach!
The next day we Raced towards Goa, stopping in Vengurla for a good lunch in a restaurant overlooking the beautiful sandy bay. The last few days had been getting warmer and warmer and after our big lunch the heat put a stop to us moving any further than the beach. After a nice siesta and swim we got back on the road and furiously pedalled towards goa intent on crossing the border before evening.
We then saw our first “western tourist” who lent out of his jeep window and congratulated us on our efforts. Later we saw another European who ignored us as we passed and waved. Later still some more westerners on scooters who also ignored our waves. I now realised I was a little disappointed to be arriving in a tourist area again and I guess we would miss all the attention we had been getting. I also new it would take a while in the coming weeks to get used to all the tourists we would be sharing sharing the area with.
With twenty kilometres to go I started recognising things and saw paradise beach where I had fished on a previous trip. We passed the big Iron ore mine and factory that you can see from Goa and then dropped down into the little village of Terekhol before climbing the last hill. From the top we stopped and had a beautiful view across the Terekhol River to Querim beach and on south along the Goan Coastline. I could see the sand spit sticking out into the river where I had caught so many big fish two years before. Set along the beach was Babu and Sujits little beach restaurant where we planned to spend the night and I wandered if they would remember me!
We raced down the hill and sped onto the waiting ferry. I was was over the moon to at long last, after ten months and 15000km reach my destination but also sad that possibly my cycling was over for the next few months as I had no plan of where to go next.
As I cycled to the restaurant and started pushing my bike up the beach I saw my good friend Sujit peep out from around the corner of his shack and exclaim “Scott?” . I shouted my greetings and shook hands while greeting Babu and Kalpesh. It was good to be back and we all spent a pleasant evening relaxing with a much earned cold beer or two.
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