Touched down in Taloyoak Nunavut this past August to hit the ground running. A shortened stay with plans to work and fish plenty, by the end of the first day I had settled into the Health Center, met with the local wildlife officer, obtained a fishing license and regulations, grabbed some groceries, talked fishing with a few community members and hiked the town to snap pictures. I liked this place! Seemed everyone rode around on bikes, ATV’s or just walked and walked all over, and evidently, children play here as children should too. Dirty shoes and fingernails, under-dressed for the cold which certainly bothers them not, and fully active and outside from sunrise to sunrise again. No helmets for nothing, I imagine peanut butter, cartwheels and second place ribbons are all still an elementary reality. From the living room window through the coming weeks I would watch young teenagers share a cigarette then each catch some air off their makeshift bicycle jump. Kids played on roofs of sheds and houses, sometimes sneaking into things. Seen out back from the balcony the basketball court was busy at times for nearly 24 hours a day and best yet, road hockey games were fierce, fun and sometimes any vehicles wanting to pass by would just find another way around. Outside of town just a stones throw, lay trails to endless lands, wilds and adventure. Word of a polar bear and cub nearby, successful caribou and narwhal hunts and families spending weeks out of town at their camps was much the local news. All of it, that life and play, a similar but stark contrast to our south today, and yet all of it a wonderful reminder of what youth was like for myself and many of us growing up. A real time warp back it was. Only thing missing up here are the trees… and think of all things we have done through our lives with trees..?

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Northern nurses make a difference. All nurses do really, but serving the many isolated, remote pockets across Canada’s Arctic is where a small few can have truly big impacts. These are busy stations providing all manner of care to a unique, under-serviced, nearly impoverished, often ill populace. It is that part of our country most only read about in tweets and Facecrack posts, or seen as a glimpse during some late news flash long after Torontonians have spent half an hour gawking and talking about ten centimeters of snow, sports, celebrity gossip, rush hour traffic collisions or another shooting down at Jane and Finch. Yet to me it’s a more interesting example of the real world, these micro-populations of community, culture and even survival. Places I have come to find feel like a second home. The north inspires, challenges and comforts, it’s still plenty frontier land and rather wild west. And so this is very much a reason I choose to return again and again to work and explore it. That and, the fishing and outdoors is really, truly incredible.

Two days of travel to arrive here, I flew Ottawa to Yellowknife day one, then onward to Taloyoak day two. In the Kitikmeot region of Nunavut there are a handful of communities quite spread out. Kugluktuk and Cambridge Bay are the bigger towns, then there is Gjoa Haven, Taloyoak and Kugaaruk. All these places are situated on the Arctic Ocean well above the treeline. Last summer I had worked and fished arctic char and lake trout in Kugaaruk and loved it there. This summer Taloyoak was the destination.

Formerly known as Spence Bay until 1992, Taloyoak is located on the Boothia Peninsula in Nunavut. The community is served only by air and by annual supply sealift. Taloyoak may mean “large blind,” referring to a stone caribou blind or a screen used for caribou hunting. The community is situated 460 kilometers east of the regional center of Cambridge Bay, and 1,224kms northeast of Yellowknife, Northwest Territories. A population of approximately 1050, it is the northernmost community in mainland Canada.

But really, what about the fishing? Well… one thing for certain is that arctic char are available. Every Nunavut community has char fishing to some degree and, it is said that the Kitikmeot and especially Coronation Gulf regions of the Arctic Ocean have the biggest, while Pelly Bay might just have the tastiest. Up on Victoria Island outfitters like B&J’s Fly Fishing and High Arctic Lodge operate on lakes and rivers such as the legendary Ekaluk and others. South to the bottom of the gulf, Plummer’s Lodges provides access to the brilliant, mutant, dolly varden-like char found on the world record Tree River. But although Taloyoak is relatively close geographically to these top-class fisheries, nothing could be said or read of the fishing there. In fact, researching each and every town across Nunavut online often yields little if any result at all. Examining Google Earth, studying the landscape and options and drawing on my own conclusions, it was basically decided that Taloyoak appeared to be one community with immense fresh and salt water fishing possibilities. Vast lakes with rivers accessible which drain into the Arctic Ocean meaning only one thing, arctic char swimming somewhere in the waters nearby.

.
Fishing in town is done so along the ocean shoreline. Sandy Point is one popular spot for char when the fish are running by. Some other spots near the store or church are said to have char, as well as a few alternate walk-to rocky points jutting outward into the sea. Springtime is the right time for char fishing these areas. Once the ice cracks, melts and raises a little from the shore and, the rivers and land rush warmer runoff to the sea, the char will swim out of their freshwater wintering areas to the saltwater and begin feeding heavily during the short summer months. Differing slightly from town to town for the peak weeks, June and July are said to be one’s best chances to catch shore cruising char. The fishing can be so plentiful that many just hop across the broken sea ice to jig hand-lines through the cracks at fish they might see. This is also the time of year when rivers are netted for sustenance and some char are speared.

As summer reaches 24 hour sunlight and max temperature, and moves onward into later July and August, depending where longitudinally and what freshwater systems and topography are present, returning runs of char from the ocean always seems to vary in timing. Some places have fish show up as early as mid July, while others it can be October. Rains, climate, landscape, spawning behavior, feeding, so much factors into the peak returns yet usually there is some approximate dating. Char however don’t “generally” come back to the freshwater in the same great push of numbers by which they had rushed out in spring.

All my own char fishing has occurred in August. Around Taloyoak there are small lakes and streams which can hold fish. Not shown on the drawn map above are German and Long lakes which are close enough one could walk. Found in all the freshwater here are lake trout, and most have char as well. The big spots I had in mind and did plot into my GPS were Redfish, Middle and Netsilik Lakes, as well as the rivers flowing out of them into the ocean. They were too far a hike, and so I would need to sort out something for transportation or guidance.

Redfish Lake. (4 x 2.5km) About ten kilometers west to the lake or river.
Middle Lake. (18 x 5km) Six kilometers north to the Y in the road, then onward many more.
Netsilik Lake. (42 x 20km) First access to lake a twenty kilometer ride east from town.

After settling in on August 9th, the 10th to 12th I found time after work to fish near town. Outings one and two my boss Nellie joined me and we tried our luck at Sandy Point on the ocean, German and Long lakes and, the south end of Middle lake. First night I lost a fish at the shoreline on German that was quite pink and convinced me it was a small land-locked char. The second night we went to Long where I caught a small lake trout, then we drove up to Middle Lake where four more exquisitely orange-finned lake trout were hooked. Come the third day, a Saturday, while second on-call I was able to fish the ocean spots around town. It turned into a tiring six hour trek during which five cod were plucked from deeper, rocky shorelines, but the time was well worth it. A sailboat and catamaran arrived while I was fishing, sailors from Europe ( I learned later) just passing through. At 21C, under bright sunny skies without any bugs to bother, that tougher ocean fishing was easily accepted.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

The Sunday and fourth day in a row to fish I was really stoked for. Manyon at work greatly helped track down an ATV to rent and this ride was delivered to the Health Center the evening before so he and I could get away first thing come morning. Upon inspection though, it appeared one of four lug nuts was missing on the back left tire and, a second was stripped half off and just a little loose. To safety I did all that I could by taking a nut off the front right tire and putting it on the back left. Better to run 3 and 3 1/2, 4 and 4… so I figured..?

The ride up the west side of Middle Lake was kinda short and plenty rough, but that ATV was solid. A land of rock, the tundra is quite a hard workout on a quad. Manyon knew where I wanted to go but was skeptical of the fishing there. He’d said that the river was quite dry and he had once fished part of that lake area with a doctor friend having little result. This spot plotted on my GPS though, it gave me a good feeling after locating it on Google Earth. Where the river comes in, despite its flow being whatever it may be, there is some depth. If there’s rock in that river too, there will be a time when fish might run through it, to it, or even use it to spawn.

On route there snow geese and caribou antlers littered the tundra fields. On the ground everywhere but especially along watery shorelines are immense amounts of goose shit, to a point that it’s quite unbelievable how much goose shit there actually is. So much so, that I wonder how it’s even possible that there can be so many geese to amass so much tundra turd. An army of billions of people would be required just to pooper-scoop the Canadian tundra. When wanting to set my backpack on the ground, it would take many glances and much contemplating just to complete this usually simple and mindless motion. Ummmm… my stuff is gonna get poopy there, there, there, there, there and definitely there so how’s about here… nope, maybe there, nope… OK there. “SHIT!” I’d say to myself, not there… cause I just got shit on my shit again. Dammit!

The tundra surely had geese and plenty of ’em, mainly great and beautiful flocks of snowys. And because there are no trees, no shrubs, no tall grass patches or garden gnomes anywhere to be seen, what is also easily noticeable are the many, many, white caribou skulls and antlers that lay on the landscape. An exceptional site really because it speaks volumes of what life is all about across these northern plains. The vast pastures raise the livestock, these animals are harvested, and the discarded remains are left to this earth in a most natural and understandable, human survivalist kinda way. Manyon later spoke to me about the efficiency and amazing skill of Inuit hunters. How the kill in such a cold environment can often be processed so quickly for transport back to the community. The animal is dropped, head removed, skinned and the meat butchered off before being entirely wrapped in the skin to make packing it back home easier, and this can all be done in seemingly mere minutes so fingers and the animal don’t freeze up. While out there on the land in the coming weeks, I would bear some witness to this.

Manyon, myself and the R.C.M.P officer Jason, would arrive at what Manyon would later name, Middle Lake River. Looking at my GPS it appeared we were on the waypoint. On Jay’s first cast he caught a small char. On about my third or fourth I did the same. This spot was quite close to how I envisioned it in my mind, the river did have slight flow however it was rather shallow and dry. The hole below into the lake wasn’t that deep but it was more than enough water to hold gads of fish. Jay caught 5 or 6 char, I caught 10 or 11, and between Manyon, Jay and myself, we probably caught another 25-30 lake trout. Only thing was, all the fish were small. Plenty of fun sure, plenty more fish there to likely catch but, nothing of great size. Being that the season was early and Middle Lake itself is a massive waterbody, the spot did have some potential to be great in the coming month or two nearing spawn time or, during colder fall rains that raise the river levels, feed and flow. Maybe we’d return later on to see.

Barely eating or drinking all day it was heaven, I just felt so energized and happy to be there. Jason left back to town around noon before Manyon and I rode off to explore further north up the lake. Trying some other fishing spots it was evident that waders are must. Manyon just had his boots while I had chest waders. In some spots I could walk out into the shallows almost as far as he could cast. With a 9-foot, 5 piece spinning rod, tossing a Cleo, Shutter or Devle Dog I could nearly empty a 3000 series spool of 15lb braided line on each long bomb throw. This distance along with the waders makes for a huge advantage when shore fishing. I’m certain Manyon by the end of the day saw it the same way.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Time at work flew by and a couple of evenings I escaped to Sandy Point for a few hours to catch very little but some cod. Northwinds were kicking up through that week and one first August night touched down to zero degrees. Nellie was often alongside for these evening fish getaways, it was a pleasure to have her company. She has caught char from Sandy Point in her time that stretch from the ground past her waist, some big, silver, strong fish. While outside fishing after work, any stress of the daily grind can rinse free, it is a healthy cleansing and an ever important ritual.

In clinic Manyon and I would talk excitedly back-and-forth about the coming weekend. On-call the Friday overnight and Sunday into Monday, I was left with only Saturday off to really get out on the land. Lining up the same ATV to rent for then, come Friday evening once calling to ask about its delivery I was told it broke down. It was like a knife in the gut to hear that… However, with another phone number to try, I secured a newer Honda from a wonderful lady happy to deliver.

Out of Netsilik Lake is a river that flows approximately three miles before emptying into the ocean. I needed to see this river yet didn’t really expect to get the chance, being that its distance is too far from town to ever even think of hiking it there. Manyon had traveled out that way many times but never to the river itself. Google Earth left the slightest trace of a trail over land from town to the northwest corner of Netsilik and Manyon confirmed this an easy path, but from where it leaves off it appeared there could be several miles of terrain to break ourselves. The starting point for this river would be at the outflow of the lake, the GPS pinpointing a landing spot where the narrowed, bottle-necked flow first opens up downstream into a small, deeper looking eddy and bay. There had to be fish waiting there… there had to be!

X marks the spot to the treasure and come Saturday morning we set out early for Netsilik. White antler trees, snow geese and a lone running caribou, the tundra was otherwise still and grey. The road away from town took us up and over hills, along the ocean and past people’s camps, through dried up river beds and around muddy bogs. After about an hour we reached that first northwest corner of Netsilik where a pile of antlers and fishing weir were found. Manyon was quick to point out that this big bay below the weir was deep, soft bottomed, and he had caught lake trout a number of times before when fishing here. Upon short inspection it looked okay an area to fish but nothing like what I believed the river ahead would be, so Manyon and I kept going.

About twenty minutes later we arrived at the river. The trail to Netsilik itself was a well utilized ATV road, beyond that to this spot on the river there was a good path to travel. Where we stopped on the GPS waypoint it was quickly made obvious that this area was known to both anglers and hunters. Caribou skulls and antlers were everywhere close by as, this section of the river would be a first and easier crossing point for any migrating herds. As well, the fast, shallow run where it emptied into the pool, there stood a few net posts for fishing. In my head I envisioned the pictures seen online of the Ekaluk and felt that this river, across this land, traveling huge lake to infinite ocean, was quite similar to what that river would likely be. It is a char river out from the Netsilik, no question in my mind.

Manyon and I traveled and fished the entire length catching only lake trout. At one point I hit into something that tore off line like a chinook then came quickly unpegged. That fish was hooked from an eddy on the far side of the river and it was all I could do to get a cast over to it, but I kept trying. Several minutes later the reel got ripped hard again and the line suddenly snapped. It had to be a fresh silver…

The lake trout from the river were pristine and beautiful fish but often had no clue how to fight. Plucking them from the current they would often just turn and swim sideways, doing little other than hoping any hard flow would drift them away to escape free. Usually, about half way through being reeled in, once in the calmer eddies off to the side is when these fish would roll, head-shake and try determinedly to twist off. For me though, many lake trout seemed quite awkward battling horizontally in a shallow water, river environment. No depth to really dog and do their thing, the fish caught here were quite a unique experience and, some great sized fish were taken too considering this is almost as north as they go and their growth here is very slow. We both quite enjoyed the river.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Manyon had drifted away awhile to fish or do his own thing and when we met up again it was decided to move on. After a short snack break, around 5:00pm we returned to the weir on Netsilik Lake to encounter a family out shore fishing together. Upon arrival one woman hooked into a big fish right away, a nice sized grey of about 12 or 13 pounds. I took little time to re-piece together my rod and reel and get casting.

Walking into the water one couldn’t get too far offshore, maybe twenty to thirty feet before the depth was greater than the chest waders. Manyon had hip waders and only held back a little bit behind. The bottom of the bay was soft sand and thick clay, and in a few spots there were some scant patches of short weeds that grew just along the floor. A good breeze blew a slight chop into the bay but it also swirled in from behind, helping us to lengthen our casts. As it turned out, the farther the better.

Manyon was using 12-pound mono on a shorter 6 1/2 foot rod and standing almost beside me his set-up just didn’t have the distance of my 9 foot rod, with 15-pound braided line, to a long 12-pound florocarbon lead. He would catch a few lake trout but the char being spookier in nature and having been pressured already that afternoon, they had moved out of normal casting range. Using Cleos, Devledogs and a Kugaaruk special, and tossing them 30-50 feet further than any others was one thing that worked to catch char. The other trick was letting the lure sink to bottom, lifting and reeling it in a little then, letting it drop back down again before fully retrieving it back. Somewhere out there was a bit of a deep trench and if char didn’t pick up the lure on that first sink and retrieve, they sometimes did on the second play. Variable and twitchy actions, often these fish also needed lures right in their faces to entice strikes. Had I not stopped for pictures during the short time we had left, it could have been an excellent beat-down on numbers. Instead, nearly a dozen still graced the shore… and oddly, if I had to guess, every one of them was likely a female fish too. Beautiful, pink and bellies fat but, not neon orange, cherry red, fully kyped and big backed like the males. At the time I couldn’t give a shit really, and still don’t, they were all incredible.

For every summer work trip I might ever get the chance to take, to be able to add just one day like this one is worth so much. Manyon’s company was amazing. The exhilaration and wonder as we rode and fished along the river, our exploration with a goal of char in mind, the thrill for me of every cast and finally, the feeling of success come end of the day, it is that which I believe every angler should find motivating and endearing. To truly be in nature, the ego is often stripped free, any and all filth and shit is washed clean, and what merely remains is one’s raw self within any and all moments of your own making. Being outdoors with both hopes and abilities too, often leads into such enlightening and fulfilling experiences.

.

.

.

.

.

.
\
.

.

.

.

Returning to the Health Center late that evening it was impossible not to strike a deal with Manyon for the following weekend. He needed braided line and a few more lure choices and it so happened that I had an extra spool of 20-pound PowerPro and plenty jigs. Casting his mono on a short rod wasn’t giving him quite the distance he could get with the narrower and stronger braid, it was a no brainer, he needed better line, and being that he was on-call the next Saturday and his ATV would be free, we figured it would be a good trade.

The week that followed was one I will never forget. The days shortening quickly we barely had time to notice the solar eclipse that the news people down south seemed much to enthusiastic about. It was this day, nearing the end of our shift when two boys were run down by an ATV, both very badly injured with one left clinging to life. An exhausting job that left my back killing me when all was over, after some rest and a half day shift, Nellie and I took an evening at Sandy Point and German Lake to cast a little and unwind.

But later on, after Jennifer playfully reminded for the hundredth time that I am a “nerd,” all would seemingly get happy again and back to normal. Watching the coming weather online, Saturdays rainy forecast kept fluctuating all over the place but one thing remained constant, it would be grey. Manyon slipped away early on the Thursday and returned from Middle Lake with some good and bad news. He caught his “red” char and that was a monkey off his back. Looking at the picture it was smallish but on par for that spot, it certainly was a red and with its up-turned jaw kind of kyped-out, and so it appeared he had a male too. That’s a great catch because those boys can be hard to come by. The lousy thing was, on a full cast afterward he got snagged and had to cut off half of that new spool of line. That’s karma for ya!

Manyon and I would fish one last afternoon together and so before I write of the Saturday fishing to come, after his midweek char he and I would return to Middle Lake for a short few hours on the Sunday afternoon. Doubling me on his quad the two of us first drove up to the Redfish River where it meets the ocean. So wanting to see this spot and check out the fishing there, our ten kilometer ride took us along the sea shoreline and through an odd and out of place rock field the locals call “Mars.” A number of personal camps are spread out on the route, some of them quite colorful and cozy looking.

There was a strong cold north wind at our backs while we cast spoons a country mile out into the ocean. The mouth of the Redfish and the river itself was very shallow, in fact, the river would be too dry for any wintering char to swim up just yet. Staying a short time, the spot produced only one cod and so we left making haste to Middle Lake.

The cold felt even colder still. Offshore gusts picking up, the air seemed to cut right through into the skin. Middle itself though was hot, and once finding the motherlode of fish Manyon and I went back and forth, teasing each other as our numbers caught climbed. Just a couple hours left to play we made the best of it. The fish were all on the small side although they were spunky. Both hooked several char each to take home for a meal but otherwise the lake trout kept us much busier. Kind of an unexpected afternoon turned into a real bonus. Manyon is a great guy and it could be the last time we see each other. It was a good way to end things if that’s the case.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Manyon’s first red char!

Thirty chicken breasts, six small pork tenderloins, six steaks, three pounds bacon, three pounds back bacon, five pounds mixed frozen vegetables, two pounds Jasmine and Basmati, a pound of butter, two pounds of cheese and four dozen eggs, aside from a little more semi-fresh produce, a couple boxes of cereal and a weekly bag of chips, the rations for my stay north were dwindling down as a reminder that time was nearing its end. Beyond excited, when Saturday morning arrived I was greeted with cool but calm and the chance of a millimeter of rain through the day. Manyon met me downstairs in the garage to see me off shortly after 8:00am. The tundra mine alone I set out for Netsilik with hopes of the same great char fishing we had found the week before.

Standing at the bank only a few minutes, two approaching riders on ATV’s stopped to say hello. The first fellow introduced himself as Jordan and the other Eric. As I moved forward to extend a handshake and introduce myself Jordan interrupted to say, “and you’re Moosebunk.” Somewhat taken aback, Jordan revealed, “I have been reading your stories online for years, since before your first Arctic Expedition.” Rather humbled, especially to hear this from a stranger found talking to me now at the top of the earth, I had to know more. Turns out Eric is from Windsor but Jordan is from just down the road near Sharbot Lake. Teachers, they spend the school year north in Taloyoak and summer in the south. Recently returned and now out and about looking for caribou, both love hunting and fishing, and Jordan himself follows along at the Fish-Hawk and OFNC forums as FishN’Hunt. Parting ways left me grinning from ear-to-ear for much of the morning, as it was quite an incredible chance encounter on a tundra lake in the middle of nowhere.

Shortly after they left, a small herd of caribou slipped by while my back was turned and casting. The clear water I faced was flat calm, the early hours warming. Tiny bugs must have been hatching as the lake’s surface would often dimple from feeding fish. Now and again I would spot the pink or orange glow of a chars fin breaching. Stickleback schools were holding into the shallowest of sandy pockets and several times I did spot small lake trout rushing in from the depths to push and swipe at the bait against the grassy cuts of the shoreline. Another huge caribou would eventually wander through on the tundra behind. Not a whisper nor a noise these ghosts would often stop, stare and quietly move on. For a couple hours try as I might, no cast could produce a char, only the small lake trout were eagerly attacking the offerings. I began to hope a little for that rain to fall or a breeze to rise as the char were all too keyed in on insects. Conditions could use a change.

Decided to leave the lake be awhile and go check the river. After packing up I headed a little cross country and soon caught up to the magnificent bull caribou seen passing by earlier. We danced on the tundra, our eyes always engaged, moving slowly to and fro, sharing moments captured through the camera lens. For awhile I forgot all about any fish love and purpose, the reindeer dance carrying me to some other happy place.

Pushing on I reached the river spot where several nice lake trout had been caught the week before. Like I find char, the lake trout in these far northern lakes and rivers often seem most active during the afternoon and early evening hours. At 11:00am in this place, there was still great chance some would be ready. For a brief minute on arrival the air thickened and the sky spit down, I sipped a juicebox and nibbled a granola bar while piecing together my rod and reel, and in that time the rain stopped. That would be the day’s total precipitation.

A half hour of casting yielded a number of lake trout. Nothing huge by any means, at home I would still consider most of these fish trophies for some of our back lakes. Caribou antler trees litter the landscape here, for as said before the river narrows, making it an obvious crossing for them. Unaware of anything once fishing, a barren ground grizzly, wolf pack or polar bear would have had little issue sneaking and stalking over the ridge behind, so when I turned face 180 to the ATV to retrieve a different lure a family of caribou quite startled me. Placing the rod on the ground I quickly went for the camera.

Four smaller bou picked up their pace away once I mounted the ATV. Engine started it was then that the same bull from earlier crested the top of the ridge and strutted across the skyline like it owned the world. Here at this reindeer grave site crossing, reunited to dance again, I rode eagerly up the hill towards him, but he wasn’t in the mood.

A trot turned to a gallop and he kicked hoof to catch up with his family. Awkwardly, I had somehow slipped the quad out of automatic and into manual so it was a little slower to keep up in first gear until figuring some shit out. The chase only lasted moments though, for the reindeer cut down the hill fast to the shore where five Micheal Phelpibous hit the swift current of the narrows and began free-styling across. Myself reaching the bank, all but the bull had made it over, and there I snapped the last few pictures I could.

The whole day was busy, the grounds at the crossing with the herd and the many played lake trout was especially so. Another river laker caught afterwards, my wife some weeks later would remark that the fish photo taken of me holding a lake trout through caribou antlers is, “kinda busy!” And she’s right! Zoomed in on the picture, more sets of antlers can be seen laying on the land, and so with this skull and huge rack sitting right near the shoreline, I felt a one-of-a-kind photo would surely pay tribute to the moment.

Mid afternoon I returned to the lake. Approaching the fishing spot, from a distance a mother and her two boys could be seen there. She was fishing and the children were playing in the field behind her. Once I arrived she stopped casting and appeared to begin stowing things away on her ATV, although she did not leave to go far. Minutes into hours passed, and while I resumed fishing in the area the boys could be heard playing atop the hills not far off. Now and again, looking over my shoulder the family would move a little, up to the cliffs, down to the waters edge, nearer then further away, and sometimes more caribou would just wander through between us. Always I could hear the laughter from those boys in the air, a lasting fun that echoed off the tundra grass and rock. And while fishing I thought on this and that, and happily enjoyed it. These children outside, I would imagine all day, at their family’s camp just down the riverbank a mile or two. A watchful mother allowing them the freedom to roam while keeping them safe from her distance. Surely their summer was spent here at Netsilik, and now that school is back in I guessed it’s the weekend getaways that they must now long for. To be kids of the north, raised much more from the land, wild and free, it is the reality for most youth of Nunavut. And to find myself here at Netsilik, with a family nearby embracing life as Netsilik, this positively leaves great cause to reflect.

At one point a large, orange char’s back broke the surface. A fish two full and impossible casts lengths away, it gave motivation to keep trying. Every so often water would dimple and I knew those char were still dining on bugs, but man, I wanted one to take a lure so badly. The lake trout kept biting and by days end more than two dozen would be caught and released. It was funny but the greys liked spoons of silver and pink or silver and red, while I found the char liked silver and orange, or gold and orange. Each fish seemingly preferred to eat the matching colors of the other. On this day I tried every trick and everything I had in the box to entice a char, but they just weren’t into it.

Not until the evening arrived and after the millionth cast, did one long bomb get struck hard. I knew it was a char right off the bat because not only do they fight at least twice as hard as any lake trout but, this one went screaming across the glassy surface like a salmon and finished with a triple salchow. After that it was hard runs and reel peel from the depths below, leaving me rather nervous from beginning to end… When finally tailing her in the shallows she was something to behold. An absolutely stunning orange hen, ripe and fat, beautifully colored. Remarkable really, she was a Taloyoak treasure from head to fins, a most fulfilling experience and that perfect reward for my all efforts, hopes and ability. A day of fishing to truly live for.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.
.

.

The remaining time at work passed quickly. Once you know you’re going home, the last couple days I find the fatigue really sets in and you become ready to leave. Had it been two weeks or six weeks, that feeling always seems the same right near the end. Finishing touches on some work I would say goodbye to Nellie, Manyon and Jennifer and surely hope to work with them all again. There has not yet been a place in Nunavut which I haven’t truly loved being, and Taloyoak is no different. In fact, it could be the most scenic place of all too, friendly, and the fishing is as other-worldly as I often find the arctic to be. It is an arctic town and people which I surely hope to serve again soon.

Thanks for reading.
.

Bunk.
.