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here, I was able to hold
position and then manoeuvre quite precisely, resting the ROV on sloping ledges and lightly bumping it over and around rocks on its stealthy search upstream. Immediately we were seeing a lot more
fish, particularly mahseer, swimming up and down underneath the rock overhangs. And we were getting much closer, without seeming to spook them. I dimmed the lights and periodically flicked to the
rear black-and-white camera. I still saw nothing large anywhere. The rock was sculpted into organic shapes, like a living thing turned to stone, portions of which would loom enigmatically, fill the
screen, then vanish. Then there was something a slightly different colour, more grey than brown, outlined against the cloudy water. Yes! It was the flank of a goonch – I could see the mottled
bands now. I eased the ROV back a bit, bumped it down to rest on the rock, turned a fraction to the right and there was its head. We got the DV tape in the recording deck spooling as I then edged
closer. The fish reacted as if it was quite accustomed to being visited by black-and-yellow minisubmersibles bedecked with lights. Who knows what was going through its mind? Maybe it just saw the
ROV as a weird looking fish, but one that was no threat because it was a lot smaller. Or maybe the goonch hadn’t registered it at all. Some fish occasionally become torpid, a state akin to
sleeping, and this one was resting on its belly, a bit like some sharks do. Or maybe it had been taken by surprise and was puzzled – in a fishy, worried way – and was pretending to be a
rock. I managed to look at it for a good five minutes. Only when I eased forward to nudge it gently did it move away and disappear. Again I put this fish at four or five feet long. We had our
goonch footage, but nothing yet that had us quaking in our boots.
    The next day we went to another pool a few miles upstream. From a suspension bridge above, we looked down on a shoal of big mahseer, effortlessly cruising in midstream. That looked like a good
sign. Again, there was an underwater cliff with lots of hiding places – perfect goonch habitat – but we dived the whole length of the pool without seeing a single one. The spookiest
sight was a dead carp snared in a torn net fragment underneath a tangle of sunken tree roots. However, the absence of goonch was most odd, particularly given the presence of the mahseer overhead,
which seemed to rule out the cause simply being poachers.
    Time was short. We had just one more day, and although we already had the first underwater footage of goonch, it wasn’t the blow-away stuff we were after. We piled our stuff into the jeep
and took it for a long walk to a smaller pool. Here, again, the current pushed against a wall of rock as it turned a corner, thereby excavating a deep hole. I’d fished this place a couple of
years ago, and I knew there were some serious snags down there, with at least a few lines and trailing hooks. The pool water had a soupy look to it, thanks to the turbulent rapid feeding it, and
the sun had already gone off the surface. Once in the water, the looming cliff, which curved around us and formed a rocky cove, gave the place the feel of an amphitheatre. I made my way across to
the rock, tried to breathe away my apprehension, and went under. The smooth water-worn rock plunged vertically downwards. I kept expecting to see the bottom, but instead the pressure kept
increasing and darkness closed in above me. I couldn’t understand how this was so much deeper than Temple Pool, and I thought of trailing lines. Just as I was thinking of kicking for the
surface, I saw something directly underneath me: a dark shape against a lighter background. As I got closer it flexed into a curve, swam a slow tight circle, and was gone. I surfaced with my lungs
bursting and told Rick, who hadn’t seen anything. Continuing here was pointless anyway, he said, because the visibility was too bad for filming. We had it