8 minute read
Mongolia - A Guide's Perspective on Pursuing Taimen
from FFE Magazine 2020
It usually unfolds something like this - Temperatures begin to drop alongside the daylight hours, rivers begin to close, and my guiding schedule slows. I love autumn fishing in New Zealand, the slower pace of things is a nice change after a long summer of chasing fish until the sun sets. But I quickly begin to lose focus and find my mind drifting back to those warm summer days again.
I exchange the pheasant tails and the 2mm bead heads for the buck tails, long synthetic fibers and 4/0 hooks that have been gathering dust on the bottom shelf of my tying desk. There is something extremely gratifying about lashing half a chook to a 4/0 after seven months of tying Pheasant Tails and Hare and Coppers.
I pack my bags, say goodbye to my loved ones and hop on my first flight north. There’s not a major time difference between Mongolia and New Zealand, only about 4 hours but there is a whole lot of latitude.
Where I live in New Zealand is nearly 45 degrees South and where I spend my summers in Mongolia is 50 degrees North. So a few flights later I find myself navigating the smoggy streets of Ulaanbaatar. It’s a funky city with a very Soviet feel. It’s on a north to south grid layout with a massive central square designed with cold war propaganda in mind.
I know my way around UB pretty well by now and have some favorite restaurants that I spend my time at in between last-minute preparations for the season ahead. Soon enough, it’s time to catch a domestic flight into the western reaches of the country where our cavalry of old Russian military vehicles and a few surprisingly shiny land cruisers await. This is where it all starts to feel real!
The duffels are loaded into the back of the machines and we head away from the village and across the iconic Mongolian steppe. We travel for about an hour on the last paved road we will see until we make our way back to the airport in a few months. We spend the next six hours bouncing past impressive herds of funny looking sheep, cashmere goats, yak, cattle and of course, horses. There are nomads on horseback, and we start to see the first gers (or yurts), that - before my first trip here - I only ever came across in text books and documentaries. This is Mongolia!
The Mongolian Wilderness
The steppe is as graceful as a landscape comes. Endless with rolling green hills and a Kodachrome of wildflowers. You can’t help but to be overcome with the feeling that you could walk or ride for 1000km in any direction. It’s no wonder the nomadic lifestyle is the mainstay, even in 2019.
After a military check point that seems to be in the middle of nowhere you start ascending and descending mountain passes, the terrain becomes more rugged and what appears to be a river valley comes in and out of view at the tops of some of the passes. This is one of the most beautiful river valleys that I have ever laid eyes on.
I’ve often said that I’d travel all the way here to float down this river even if it didn’t have any fish in it. Thank goodness, that’s not the case. As the snow melt and rains make their way down to the freestone river valley, they sweep away the fallen larch needles that in turn transform the river into a tea-coloured, streamer fisherman’s paradise.
The geology of the valley is something I prefer to just be fascinated by instead of really trying to understand. Over the 150km that we float, it changes from towering limestone cliffs stretching 200 meters’ vertical from the river’s edge to crumbling granite bluffs that seem to have been there since the beginning of time. The reality is, this ancient land probably hasn’t changed much since Chinggis Khan and his armies were taking over the eastern world. In fact, it feels like they could come around the corner at any moment.
Taimen on the Fly
Fly fishing for taimen can be about as frustrating as the sport comes but being connected to one of these fish is as rewarding as it gets. There are all kinds of probabilities just like any fishery but ultimately, taimen do what taimen do. I haven’t spent a lot of time fishing for steelhead or musky but I think it’s safe to say that you can go ahead and throw the taimen into the ranks of “The fish of 10,000 casts.” It’s all about covering water and finding a player. Think pre-Tinder, it takes real time and effort. Especially if you want to find a good one. It’s perhaps what I love most about the fishery.
Whether I am guiding or making the casts myself I have a genuine hope with every single cast that is made. I honestly stop breathing sometimes when I am watching a gurgler struggle across the surface of a nice looking pool. Even if we haven’t moved a thing since the day before. I know he’s down there and I find myself hoping that the serenity of the place will suddenly shatter with an explosive surface take.
The camps are floated downstream and set up anew every day as the anglers drift new sections of the river each day.
Millions of years ago dinosaurs roamed the Mongolian steppe. They’re no longer around, but nothing much else has changed.
Taimen are predators of the fiercest distinction. I’ve seen them throw water six feet up a cliff wall chasing a grayling to its demise. They will sometimes do full cartwheels out of the water in pursuit of a surface fly. I’ve watched them come back to a fly four or five times before they are eventually hooked or lost. They ambush attack as solo predators and actively hunt in groups.
This summer I watched a trout angler hook a 14” lenok, while the angler was bringing in the struggling fish it was eaten by a large taimen. The angler played the taimen for a full five minutes before the fish simply opened his powerful jaws letting the poor chewed up lenok go, never actually being hooked himself in the first place.
Lenok and grayling
Taimen fever is rampant in western Mongolia so the lenok and grayling fishing can often be overlooked. If it wasn’t for the meter plus heavyweights that pray on these smaller fish, fly anglers would travel all the way here just for them: It’s what dry fly fishermen dream of! The lenok put up a scrap as feisty as any salmo- nid in their weight class “ ”
that it won’t float anymore. I’ve never seen fish so happy to eat a dry fly. Watching the sunlight pierce through the oversized dorsal fin of a grayling while he attempts to ferry away from the boat on a clear summer’s day is a sight to behold. Living and breathing the river is a pretty stream- lined way of living “ ”
The lenok look like a trout from a faraway world with their downturned mouths and exaggerated markings but have similar habits to the brown trout right here on planet earth. They will also put up a scrap as feisty as any salmonid in their weight class. Like any fishery it has its days but floating down a river as scenic as this one on a warm day with a five weight and big dry fly is about as good as it gets.
The seasonal progression
Before I know it, the deep green larch needles begin to change into a lime colour that can only be followed by a short autumn and a long winter. Our fishing days become a little bit shorter and evening fireside sessions become a little bit more common. It seems like overnight that we trade in our sandals for warm wool socks and mostly waterproof waders. It’s a bittersweet time of year for me.
After three months of living in a tent and being away from home there is a big part of me that is desperate to get on that first flight south. But there is another part of me that will miss life on the river. Living and breathing the river is a pretty streamlined way of living. It’s almost military in routine and I get a lot of joy out of what becomes the new norm out there.
In the rural areas people still live like nomads from an era long gone, herding cattle.
Lenok trout are like no other trout on this planet. And they hit surface flies like there was no tomorrow.
The biggest dilemma of the day is typically whether we should fish gurglers or streamers and it turns out that a warm beer is just as satisfying as a cold one if the nearest ice is two months away. I miss my family, but I also know I will miss my family on the river when I go.
The bonds that are forged among a group of people, fishing guides and camp staff, that spend months on end togeth- er, fighting the elements, working hard, overcoming challenges side by side and enduring the good times and the hard times is seldom matched. It’s a lot to leave and that’s before mention of the fish.
I am completely captivated by Mongolia and the pursuit of hucho taimen. But this river is going to have a meter of ice on it soon so I know I need to pack my bags. I also know I’ll be back.
Taimen grow big - and they have powerful tails that are capable of generating great force and speed.
Author and guide, Jeff Forsee, with the object of his obsession; a pristine Mongolian hucho taimen
