TENGAS RECONNAISSANCE.

Be careful here, as it is a
 long way from home should
 you hurt yourselves.
(Tengas Reconnaisance was published in the August 1999 issue of Rod and Line magazine.)

     People your age should be comfortably fishing near some pay pond instead of climbing and trekking up mountain stream to fish. That was my wife grumbling while rubbing ointment onto my tired and aching calves. I had spent the whole Sunday trekking from 9.00a.m. up to the reservoir near Gopeng before reaching our car at the base at 6.45a p.m. with three new friends, Foo, Tan and Leong.

     Sometime late last year I met Foo at a tackle shop. You know lah,  when piscatorial crazy friends got together, they yakked about nothing else but fishing. My eyes brightened up and my ears straightened when Foo related his fishing  and trekking experiences. I made him promise to call me the next time he goes hunting for fish. After a few months of silence, I decided that when the mountain does not come to you, you then have to go to the mountain.

     This trip was the culmination of many persistent calls (I think he really got fed up.). Maybe to get this VIP (Very Irritating Pest) off his back, he told me that he and his friends will be going on a discovery trip up Sungai Kampar. "There are tengas in the river," he said. I too heard about it sometime back, but never got to go for lack of like minded crazy kakis.

     Four of us set off for Gopeng for breakfast at 7.00a.m. The three of them are young men in their thirties, while I was already an old man of fifty. Breakfast was also time to get to know them better.

     We parked our car at Kampong Sungai Itek and started walking. Actually, a four-wheel drive should be more comfortable and easier, but we were more interested in scouting for lubuks. To do that effectively, nothing can beat rice power. OK lah, I admit it. A 4X4 is out of my financial capabilities.

Orang Asli, Bah El, advising Foo
and Leong on how to rig for tengas.

     Joking and laughing, we trekked up hill. For most part, the river runs parallel to the dirt road. Stopping now and then, we checked for promising spots. A passing Orang Asli, named Bah El, showed us a lubuk and taught us the finer point of baiting a hook with oil palm fruit. But he also advised that night fishing produced the best result. (Maybe, but the idea of ending up as Pak Belang's main dish was not worth all the giant tengas in the world).

One of the lubuks where
 we fished. Night fishing
should be good here.

     After almost an hour of patient waiting, Leong's rod got a good pull, but there was no hook-up. Ten minutes later Tan got a bite too. He struck and the fish shot down stream with the current. Due to the previous two days of rain the river was quite full and swift. His line parted when it scrapped against some rocks. Poor Tan, his face was full of disappointment. Soon another hour passed without any action. As the trip was more of a reconnaissance, we packed up and moved on. Our destination was the reservoir at the end of the pipeline that supplies water to Gopeng Town.

     At the 7 km mark was a promising lubuk. The water here was calm, smooth and deep. Pictures of big fat tengas kept dancing in my mind, but the trouble was the lubuk lies on the opposite side of the  river. Promising ourselves to fish the spot the next time, we pushed on. Soon the road branched out into a "Y". The right one led to a Buddhist temple 5km further uphill. It seemed there was a huge statue of Lord Buddha. The left branch was just a footpath up the hill. Other than walking, a scrambler would be convenient.

     Trekking up hill, we could see the river far below cascading and winding like a snake. Now I am beginning to feel my age. How I wished I had a scrambler. Crossing two more hills, our path met the river again. Clambering down to the river edge, we surveyed this stretch of river for a place to fish. There was a deep pool here, but the current was quite swift. Worth fishing during the dry season though. Small fish could be seen darting here and there in the clear mountain water. My childhood past came flashing back and soon saw us splashing in the cool water like kids. It sure was invigorating. The water was so cold that I could feel energy surging through my body charging up my tired muscles again.

We later teased Foo about
his sun-tanned bra strap mark.
 He should be featured in
Playgirl magazine-centerfold.

Rajah Brookes abandoned.

     As we still had a long walk ahead of us, we reluctantly pushed on. Nearing the upper reaches, we were literally walking on the pipeline itself .A few Orang Aslis were seen catching butterflies to be sold to collectors. There was a lot of wastage as those that were slightly damaged were killed and thrown away. Many magnificent Rajah Brookes were seen strewn all over the place. What a waste! So much for conservation.

The Orang Aslis were living in relative
 comfort as there were solar panels in
front of almost every house.

     Entering the first of the four Asli settlements, we were surprised to see TV aerials everywhere .Where did they get their electricity? Solar panels! Almost every house had a solar panel outside. They sure lived in comfort, as many possessed refrigerators. The other settlements were almost the same. One house was standing on stilts of which one had branches and leaves growing too. I guessed I know where those ignorant Mat Sallehs got the notion of "Malaysians living on tree tops" now.

Anymore groans about your
 life being full of hardship?

     At the third settlement we passed a small built, pregnant Asli woman carrying a bundle of firewood much heavier than her. She had to do it four more times. That shut us up permanently as we were moaning and groaning all the way.

An Orang Asli boy with
 his day's catch. Look at
 his modern tackles.

     A faint roaring sound told us that the reservoir was near. Quickening our pace, we finally were standing at the reservoir. Baits of oil palm fruit were cast. There were some nibbles. Some small fish were caught and thrown back. Nothing big to shout about though. An Orang Asli named Zainal told us it was pointless to fish as his people always jala and spear the fish here. We nodded in agreement as we passed a few boys carrying spears, fishing rods and bags full of palm size fish. Weaving a story of big lubuks further up river with giant tengas, he offered to take us there. The plan was to come during the dry season, pass a night in one of the vacant huts and push up river the next day. "Four days three nights, living 'Rambo Style' should be sufficient," he said. Looking around I noticed my three young friends drooling with saliva dripping down their mouths. We promised Zainal we would be back soon.

In search of upstream paradise.

     After resting and filling our stomachs we bade our Asli friend farewell. I uttered Mac Arthur style, "I shall return!" and pushed off. It 4.15p.m. Walking non-stop, maybe we could reach base at around 7.00p.m. How I wished I could fly. If only Quicksilver could lend me his flying sandals. My legs were really hurting.

     The trip down was faster as we didn't stop to fish. For most parts we were going downhill. Blisters began to form on my feet and toes. My respect and sympathy to our soldiers who trekked for days through the jungle.

     Maybe God took pity on us, for after two hours of walking and stumbling we saw a 4WD coming up hill. I rubbed my eyes and pinched myself. "Your car broke down ah?" the driver, Mr. Lee asked. " No, but we went fishing," Foo answered. He smiled and asked, "Want a lift?" Before he could finished saying "lift", we were already on board. It took us twenty minutes to reach base. I dare not imagine how long it would take us by leg power. He bade us farewell and even offered us a durian treat during the coming durian season. Smiling, he drove off, maybe thinking there were still a few coo-coo fellows not locked up in Hospital Bahagia yet!

A leafy stilt. Probably the reason
why ignorant Mat Sallehs said
we Malaysians live on tree tops.

     Looking back, the fishing on this trip was almost a disaster. Most of the rivers in Malaysia are in similar condition. To really get to taste the cream of freshwater fishing one has got to go deep into the interior where angels fear ato tread. Soon such fishing will only be the domain of the few rich kakis with plenty of money and time to throw.

     I fully agree with what Mr. Charles Ogilvie said in his article in the Malaysian Angling Association Journal (Vol.1, No. 1 June 1953). Quote: "The further one proceeds from man's beaten track the more surely will the anglers find paradise he is in search of." He continued, "It is not the taking of a few fish with rod and line that causes the denudation of fish population in rivers; but the indiscriminate taking of all manner of immature fishes by every conceivable means to hand." I would like to add. "The uncontrolled use of detergent, pesticides, chemicals and also the unbridled logging, that is causing all the depletion of our once abundant fish stock.

     I am hereby appealing to the power that be to heed the anguish cries of all sport anglers (Please do not lump us with poachers and fishermen.) and PeMM to please do something, and fast too.


Note: Many years after this article was published, this place is now dotted with resorts that cater to holiday makers and other adventurers. The Orang Asli here together with the resort managements can take people on trekking adventures,  river rafting and climbs to watch the Rafflesia in bloom.
For more reading on Rafflesia trip please read about it in my photography blog: Shoot The Hooker. http://shootthehooker.blogspot.com/

The big water pipe is now gone...taken down and sold as metal scraps. Other than the upper reaches, the whole place is now easily accessible by car.