So I didn’t really go camping. It was more like – okay, here comes the annoying 21st century word of the day: glamping.

Glamour camping. On the scale of glamour camps around the world, ours was probably low to mid-range. But we didn’t have to set anything up, thanksbetohallelujah!

It was roomy and comfortable too!

Steaming masala chai was brought to us every morning, and we had hot water at our hand washing stations and, in the evenings, in our showers. Our beds were turned down at night and, while there were no mints or chocolates on the pillows, we did have hot water bottles slipped between the sheets.

The hand washing station outside our tent. In the container was clear river water, which we could only use for washing. We had to use bottled water to brush our teeth.

We had a whole team waiting on us hand and foot, serving us all kinds of delicious food.

The camp set-up at night. Soup is served by the bonfire, and dinner under the tent.

Matt and Terry being served at breakfast.

Anglers and non-anglers alike were not allowed to go traipsing about the woods unescorted, so we always had a guide assigned to us.

We were told not to go larking about on our own. There were leopards in the bush.

While our toilet was really nothing more than a hole in the ground, it had a toilet seat over it and a small shovel for us to shove dirt in the hole. The dirt was replaced every day.

When going out at night to use the toilet, we were told to take a headlamp and to make noise opening the tent and stomping on the ground so that we wouldn’t startle a leopard should one be roaming about.

Behind the toilet. Fresh dirt, anyone?

I think it really would have been glamping if there had been a full-service bar or, at the very least, some wine on offer… But the guys were happy with their beer, while I ate a ton of cookies. (What’s another ten pounds, right?)

So I was, more or less, fine. The fishermen, not so much.

At the camp were:

• Jay, from Arizona, a fly fisherman out for the mahseer.

• Will, from the Hague, who had already caught the mahseer at the Jim Corbett National Park on a previous trip. He was with us on the Saryu River to catch the goonch. His wife, Betty, who is thinking of writing a book about angler’s wives, was with him. On the third day, they both transferred to the camp along the Kali because the goonch were supposed to be hanging around there more.

• Derek and Terry, from Kent, didn’t consider themselves real fishermen, but they traveled a lot together and fished whenever possible. Their conversations often went like this:

Terry: Derek, didn’t we catch the goonch that time in Kenya?
Derek: I’m not sure. Did we?
Terry: I’m pretty sure I have a photo.
Derek: Right. It’s your turn to get a beer.

• Matt, from Chicago, who volunteers as a guide at different places so that he can indulge his passion for fishing. He was at the Saryu working for tips with Himalayan Outback.

Matt turned 33 at the camp, which was a good enough reason to have chocolate cake.

While the camp itself was well organized, the fishing guides didn’t seem to be as hardcore about fishing as the hardcore (non-British) anglers. For starters, wake-up call was at seven, breakfast at 7:30 and, by the time everyone started to get going, it was well past 8 AM. And, to get to the fishing sites, they had to trek for about 30 minutes to an hour. Sometimes, more. So, by the time they got there and set up all their lures, it was, at least, half past nine.

I’m no fishing expert, but weren’t they missing out on prime fishing hours by starting so late in the day?

And then, instead of getting a packed lunch, the anglers had to pack up everything and head back to camp for lunch. So, all in all, they were only fishing for about two hours in the morning and two hours in the afternoon.

We had booked an eight-day mahseer fishing trip with Himalayan Outback and it took three days to get to camp. (Day One was getting to Delhi, Day Two was supposed to be a train ride from Delhi to Uttarakhand, but for some reason there were no trains on that day so we ended up driving – around 10 hours – instead. But we spent the night at the lovely and elegant Te Aroha Hotel so that was fine. We finally got to camp at the Saryu River at about 4 PM on Day Three.)

Our room at the Te Aroha Hotel. For a hotel that is on a mountain and is probably cold more times in the year than it is warm, it was strange that it didn’t have proper heating. Instead they used portable heaters (- we asked for two in our room) and hot water bottles. PS – I had my first-ever hot water bottle here!

Which left only four days for Nicolas to fish. (The Eighth Day involved an eight-hour drive to the Patnagar airport and an hour’s flight to Delhi, which didn’t seem to be the usual route for Himlayan Outback’s other guests. From what I gathered, the others were all going back via the Te Aroha route, with a drive or train-ride back to Delhi afterwards.)

When we arrived at camp, it was gloomy and wet, but that didn’t stop Nicolas from going out to fish. He didn’t catch anything. The next day, it was pissing rain and no one went out, except for Nicolas. He didn’t catch anything. The Brits finally went out in the evening and caught one mahseer each.

Early evening, in front of the camp, after the rains. That mountain in the middle is Nepal.

On the third day, the sun finally came out and everyone was on the river. No one caught anything. If the weather had stayed that way, the next day would have been the day to get the mahseer. The water levels would have gone down and the river would have cleared… But it wasn’t to be. Before the day was over, the clouds started to loom overhead. And then the sky was rent open.

This was taken on the day the sun came out. This is the end of the Saryu River, on the right, as it merges with the Kali River from Nepal, on the left. That mountain with the smoke coming from the rocks is part of Nepal, while on the left, where there are two figures in the water (- those are Matt and Nicolas, fishing) is India. On that day, they were burning bodies both in India and Nepal. The confluence of the Saryu and the Kali is supposed to be the best place to catch the mahseer. Unfortunately, even with the abundance of dead bodies in the water that day, which the fish are rumored to be partial to, none were taking the bait.

The next day, the river was the color of mud and the anglers’ spirits dampened. No fish were caught that day.

The last day was bright and sunny and, the night before, Nicolas finally told Matt that he wanted to set out before the crack of dawn. The others were too exhausted from walking up and down the river that they chose to leave at the usual hour. It was a beautiful day, but everyone came back tired and disappointed.

As we left the camp the next day, the sun was shining, the river was clearing and, as we drove through the breathtaking terraced mountains of the Kumaon region, we finally got a peek at the peaks of the Himalayas, which were previously obscured by stormy skies.

Those are the snow-capped peaks of the Himalayas below the clouds.

Nicolas, however, was in a fog. He mused that we had probably arrived four days too early. Had we stayed another day, he said he would have been too exhausted and too discouraged to spend another day casting for a fish that he didn’t even catch a glimpse of. Which is total rubbish, of course. Had we stayed another day, he surely would have been out on the river, casting for the legendary mahseer, whether he believed it was out there or not.

And where was I in all this??? Well, while the men were out casting, I read one and a half books, went bird-watching, and took photos of funeral pyres by the Saryu River.

Bring out your dead! Burning bodies at the Saryu after the skies cleared.

But, mostly, I made friends with the staff and hung out with them in the kitchen, stirring the onions for Indian stews…

… and making a mean masala chai.

There was a time when I lay in bed thinking that I could be doing something else, something more interesting… and then I ate all the cookies before rejoining the staff in the kitchen. Had we stayed any longer, I probably would have gone a bit batty.

And gained 20 more pounds.

And, now that Nicolas has revived his dream of fishing for exotic fish in exotic places, I did reiterate to him that he shouldn’t just assume that I will be going with him on his fishing trips, but I have also – secretly! (Sssssshhhhhh!!!) – entertained the thought of picking up a rod again and spending more time with him on the river. Obviously, not very seriously. As I write this, I am wrapped in a blanket in bed, sipping Kashmiri tea, looking out at our beautiful view of the Himalayas, listening to the muezzins’ calls to prayer in the mosques all around us, while Nicolas is somewhere out there with our Kashmiri host and his cousin, fishing for trout.

Maybe tomorrow…

5 PM, 10 April 2015, The Oasis Srinagar, Kashmir, India.