Hook, Line and Sinker

Hook, Line and Sinker

Varkala in the far south of India is a little bit of paradise. Bamboo huts, cheap guesthouses and cliff top café’s stretch along the tourist strip.

I was in Varkala until a few days ago. It’s June, the Monsoon season. Most travelers are in the North. Many places are closed for the ‘Off Season’ and there are none of the usual organized day trips, beach parties or cooking classes that entertain travelers and tourists during the dry season.

My first night in Varkala I walked past some local lads who had handlines dangling over the edge of a cliff. I asked them what they were up to. They couldn’t seriously be fishing from there, they would hardly clear the rocks. “We are fishing!” they replied. I watched with amusement as they tried for ten minutes to free the line that was stuck in the rocks below. As I walked on further to find a café I was thinking that these young fisherman must be half a roti short of a picnic. I ordered ginger tea to settle my stomach that had been in meltdown mode for a few days.

Next morning the boys were in the same place still “fishing”. “You want to do fishing with us” the cheeky looking smaller one said. “We here everyday”. I was intrigued so I agreed to go fishing for rocks with them later that same afternoon.

Fishing from the cliff top involves teamwork. Each person has a very specific role to play. Sarat (the cheeky looking smaller one) was captain. First he unraveled around about one hundred meters of very strong looking fishing line. Next he baited the hook whilst Raj and I stood close by, inspecting his brilliant technique. Sarat called for cotton to tie the bait onto the hook. Raj took his cue to sprint over to the ‘Café Italia’ to steal some strands of cotton from a fraying tablecloth. The waiter just smiled and shrugged to the two European customers who were sitting at the table as if to say “he does it all the time”.

Once the bait was secured Sarat yelled “Everybody back” as he motioned us back animatedly with arms waiving. I thought this was a little over enthusiastic seeing as how it was only Raj and I in the vicinity. We hid behind a stone wall while Sarat put his finger in a loop about two meters from the sinker and hook. He then began the wind up. It was like a slingshot as he spun it around and around above his head building momentum. He finally released the missile sending it 100m out into the sea. Then he told me in a very serious tone not to watch him throw the line next time. “Danger” he said. If the line broke during the wind up the huge sinker would do much damage. I still can’t work out why he wasn’t at all concerned about the safety of the waiter and customers at ‘Café Italia’.

After a few hours of “fishing”, which involved a few lost sinkers, hours of trying to get stuck sinkers unstuck, and many stories told mainly in body language, I was invited back to Raj’s boss’s rooftop where it is OK to smoke and drink. I was to bring some Gin and cigarettes and we would have a party since it was of course Raj’s birthday. We collected said items from my hut and moved on to the rooftop of a very run down guesthouse with no guests.

After finishing off the Gin it was suggested that we take off to Varkala town in a friends taxi to get another bottle. I was starting to wonder if I was the ‘fish’ the boys had been fishing for. The trip to get the booze is yet another story.

By the end of that first night I had four new “brothers”, being my two fishing mates, the old taxi driver named Ghadi, and the fat and cheerful boss called Boss. We had made plans to go to the markets the next day to buy fish and vegetables for a big cook up of ‘fish curry’ and ‘fish fry’. I was assured we would get local prices and no upset tummy like in Cochin. “No worry Fish Curry!” they kept repeating.

We went to the market the next morning in what was now obviously my own personal taxi. We purchased a massive Tuna like fish that must have weighed 15kg and was big enough to feed a whole village. We also got mangoes, vegetables, oil, coconuts, spices, and most importantly according to old Ghadi, papadum. He had been saying “papadum very important to me” at every opportunity since we first came up with the idea of a cook up. In total I spent about 450 rupee or $9 on our food. We also got ourselves a big bottle of Gin for a further 400 rupee.

We spent the rest of the afternoon cooking, drinking and smoking out on the rooftop. We cooked in clay pots on an open fire. When the cooking was done we sat down and shared the meal with the 10 or 12 uncles who had arrived at just the right time. We had 8 different dishes to share and it was as good as any I have had anywhere. I reckon we cooked less than ¼ of the fish and vegetables we had purchased and that it fed 15 of us so I am pretty sure the whole village ate fish that night. Pretty good fishing I’d say.

Later that evening we went fishing again on the cliff top. We caught an eel which they called a “snake” and threw back over the edge. We made some plans to visit a ‘Toddy shop’ the next day before one last evening of fishing. We planned to fish all night before I was due to leave for the 2 hour trip to the airport. At the ‘Toddy shop’ hidden in the jungle we got drunk on homemade booze taken from fermented coconut flowers. Then it was time for fishing.

Fishing together that last night was hilarious. Just before dark we thought we had a fish but the line got stuck in the rocks 60ft below. We borrowed a powerful torch from the guard at the nearest guesthouse and peered over the edge trying to see if we had a fish stuck in the rocks or just another eel. When after 30 minutes it still couldn’t be confirmed, the boys went and got a piece of old rope they had stashed somewhere for just such an occasion. 2 more local guys were recruited to help me hold the end of the rope while Sarat and Raj climbed down the rope, hand over hand, into the darkness. “No worry fish curry” they kept telling me. When they climbed back up Sarat was smiling and holding yet another eel . The two men holding the rope with me thought this was great. They told me Sarat has the world record. “He has caught over 1000 snakes” they teased.

By this stage I was certain we would never catch a fish – but fishing is rarely just about catching fish. As I was thinking that I had truly enjoyed being the ‘fish’ in this story Raj started frantically pulling on the line. We caught the fish, a Black Snapper about 1kg in size. As it came up over the edge of the cliff we all started yelling and screaming in celebration. There were huge smiles and high fives all around. Locals came out from dark places to join in the fun. Tourists who had looked at us like we were mad only hours earlier now came to show some interest as Sarat showed off the fish to everyone.

We went on to catch 3 more fish and a shark before I said goodbye to my brothers and left in my personal taxi to continue my adventures elsewhere.