Exiting the plane in Rankin Inlet it hit me, that fresh, crisp, clean ocean air. In the distance under a blue sky, remaining see ice clung for life along the slow taper of the tundra’s barren shorelines. For early July the contrast between these two conflicting seasons was a rare sight to behold.

I was at the beginning of a work and play trip to Coral Harbour, Nunavut. No stranger to this small, Inuit community atop of Canada’s Hudson Bay, it would be the first time visiting absent of a winter’s icy grip. Expected ahead were days of long sun, the warming, life-giving light shining through clouds of blood thirsty mosquitoes.

I had been told the people were “rodding” char now. Necessary food for locals and a prized quarry to southerners, many fish were finally being set free from their long dark slumber beneath lake ice, and now running streams to feed in the ocean for the short summer season. I could hardly wait, certainly not giving much thought to any work tasks ahead.

Treading for arctic char through some hillier parts in the Kitikmeot region of Nunavut, this was to be a new experience in the Kivalliq. The terrain here more flat, hard and with plenty water in some places, I would guess that the rivers and lakes would require some substantial headwaters to form much flow. The whole of Coral’s world reminded me somewhat of the James Bay lowlands, minus the black spruce and poplar forests, soft muskeg and the mighty moose. You see, flat land is flat land, a rather straight line across distant horizons. That much of Coral makes it seem similar to the muskeg. Rather featureless, so vast, and so… challenging, I guess it is some place at the end of this endless description where possibility, wonder and adventure could begin.

I came over onto Southampton Island from its northwest. A short, first stop just inside the Arctic circle at Naujaat, the plane which had departed Rankin would soon afterwards drop all bound for Coral Harbour on a returning loop south. Our route I would also fly over such foreign, inaccessible and difficult to pronounce Canadian Parks such as Iqalugaarjuup Nunanga Territorial and Ukkusiksalik National. From the window I watched as the polar sea ice jamming Repulse Bay, opened up and dissolved to the great floes of sea and remaining bergs between mainland Canada and Salliq. (SouthHampton Island) Within just minutes we would soar over the Roe Channel of west Hudson and pass on through Duke Of York Bay before crossing north to south on the island, touching down finally on the gravel strip ten miles outside of Coral Harbour. Eyes opened more and more with interest, in places Salliq appeared to be just as much water, as it is rock, with still plenty snow and ice seen covering places too.

Leaving Rankin.

Flying into Naajuat.

Duke Of York Bay.

Southampton Island over north mountains.

Southampton Island over south flatlands.

The end of week work complete I spent Saturday morning in the garage. My friend Brody’s bike albeit new, had seen a bit of wear and tear in its first year. Both right side tires near flat and difficult to start because of reported battery troubles, I was curious of the bike’s reliability to ride. First thing found was no issue with the battery or ignition, it was just the gear shifter was temperamental and in order to start the machine it really needed to settle into a sweet spot. Forcing it too often to change gears had likely been enough to bugger it up a bit. The starter itself seemed a bit troubled too. Once running the engine got hot quick though, so I checked the oil only to find tar, and it was well below low on the dipstick. Luckily, Brody had a half liter of Yamalube kicking around to top it up, but there wasn’t near enough to perform a full change. The tires were inflated and it would be good enough to go for now.

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Through the afternoon I made a big pot of sweet and spicy pork soup. Sorting the fishing gear that evening it began to pour rain so I snuck downstairs to check the weather online. No social media or personal email sites allowed, it hadn’t been decided yet on just taking the month offline entirely, or not. However, GoogleMaps that evening helped out with the next days planning a little, for I snapped some pics of the areas of interest, keeping them for a viewing reference on the camera.

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The light fixture over the dining table exploded. Following a loud buzz, sparks fell before one of the three bulbs started smoking. Helluva wake up with coffee in hand. The rain the evening before absolutely hammered down ti’ll the early sunrise Passing into the living room space with breakfast in hand I felt a drop of water get me right on the cheek. What the…? Ceiling is leaking! This apartment is getting a little dangerous.

Every morning since arriving in Coral there had been a heavy fog, this day was no different. Lingering until about 10:00am, when finally it began to clear I was ready with all gear and snacks to go. A balmy three degrees with a “feels like” nega-one, my lips were gonna flap in the freeze breeze while riding away.

Up a well conditioned gravel road I came to three forks. The most used was easy to tell but still I decided on checking the maps I had saved on the camera. Unfortunately they were not at all there to view. So, figuring the GPS was on I picked door number two and headed down the rabbit hole. Wasn’t long before falling into wonderland.

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The plaque read Kirchoffer Falls. Bridge built August 2007 and so on. The raging river running through I could not imagine there ever being a crossing before this. The amount of land to travel west beyond this obstacle is staggering, so only snapping photos for now I pressed on further to fishing ahead.

Only a few short miles I found the next stream. This one nothing like Kirchoffer, the road through continued on across it yet there was no bridge. The huge downpour the night before and the fact that Ida our housekeeper had warned me her boys nearly tipped their ATV trying to make a crossing, I drove in ever so cautiously. Forward here, nope, reverse. Try this way, nope, reverse. Some attempts to slip the ATV in at what looked to be shallow spots was in fact just a bit too unnerving for me. Not my bike to drown and probably fifteen miles back to town. Hopping off I further checked by wading in myself. Nowhere could I find a crossing that didn’t nearly dampen the crotch… well shit!

Truth be told I thought I was where I wanted to be anyhow. Rocky Brook was said to be not far beyond Kirchoffer, and a difficult pass with the spring waters being high for now. This brook was certainly full of rocks everywhere, so maybe it was the place. The fishing was rumored to be near the mouth. Noticing tracks heading downstream towards the ocean, I followed.

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Mind-numbingly shallow as Rocky trickled thin over the sand and gravel bars at a low tide. Walking and wading about, the river bottom beneath the boot would have the odd soft spot but most was otherwise solid. A narrow trench cut deep enough through the beach to make it impassable. The whole scene may have been prettier I guessed but, all this water appeared too much a waste for fish. It was very shallow and devoid of life here, did not take any casts at all.

Hunters had been here too. Making snowgoose wings and flower art was fun for about three seconds before I looked on over the horizon. There was no going further west and crossing Rocky Brook. Behind me along the coastline, in the distance, stood a lone, white cabin. Much of the shore traveling over there looked like smooth ridges of gravel or sandy beach. That next spot it was easy to tell it was at the mouth of the Kirchoffer, maybe there would be some fish to catch there.

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The cabin was vacant except for a mangy dog tied to it’s leash. Barking and kinda unfriendly I chose to bother not. Outside the door on a table had been left a fishing rod, the lure tied on a Five of Diamonds. On the picnic table it looked as though someone had been practicing their Origami with different animal bones. A generator with a long extension cord heading into the cabin was left out with the fuel beside. The owner couldn’t be too far off..?

Their little piece of the world was inviting, except the dog. Indeed it was the mouth of the Kirchoffer and Holy Mother of God did that current power out of the canyon there. For a second I thought it would be an ultimate whitewater trip from the Falls down but soon remembered how cold that water is after dipping my hand for a sip.

Taking a walk along the sloping river edge got the wildlife up in arms. I first flushed some very punky looking, kinda duckish bird off its nest, then did the same to two seagulls. Hanging around for photos those gulls were actually some pissed and they kept dive bombing me. Across the river from the cliffs, these two angry shit hawks had sprung a couple very territorial peregrines into flight as well, and now by sea and air was a total Blitzkrieg of fowl fighters and bombers about. On retreat I nearly tripped over a casualty of war. The stench of death wretched, a small caribou under my feet had fallen victim on the battlefield. It’s innards well pecked out. No wolves to be said on this island, no grizzlies either, the only carnivores here are Arctic fox and the polar bear, but this was likely a victim of winter, that after thawing out became bird food.

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Following along a high ridge brought me back to the main road and Kirchoffer Falls. The light a little better now it seemed the perfect time to snap a few more pictures of this beautiful, arctic place.

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Picking along on the route back to town I veered off now and again to explore. A spot on my GPS marked “point” had a well beaten trail down to the oceans edge. So far the waypoints I had plotted from Google Earth into my Garmin were pretty accurate. Several cabins were there in the area, some of them recently visited. A cooler wind was really beginning to blow. Unfortunately the shoreline was not fish-able at the time.

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Before reaching town I checked out Snafu. Many camps on this area just outside of Coral, only a few days ago people were jigging cod between the cracks in the ice here. The tide beginning to rise, ice chunks stuck to shore were being lifted and set adrift. Nothing much to hop out onto, here and there in some empty pockets did I find enough open water to try some casts. It was wishful thinking really, trying to salvage a fish-less day with just one cawdfeesh.

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While taking those casts an older fella happened on by. It was Willie! And Willie is a wonderfully friendly and nice guy. Having driven by earlier he came back round again after thinking it through. “I realized it was you,” he said with our handshake. There are just some people you meet that when they smile or speak, you instantly remember their good being, their name is only a formality.

Willie explained that just over the hill is a dead seal, and yesterday some fellas chased a polar bear away from the camp. “My head has been up aplenty Willie, looking over my shoulder too,” all the while wondering if this was his way of warning me. We talked about the fishing as well, him telling me that once the ice is completely gone from the shore, that a week or so later the odd char might start swimming by. He asked if I tried fishing the mouth of Rocky Brook too, cause that’s a good spot when the tide is low. (I am a dummy) Then he said, “you should go to the Ford River tomorrow.” “Can’t, have to work,” I replied. “Don’t think you do,” Willie corrected, “Nunavut Holiday.” Turned out Willie was right!

A gale force north wind to wake up to next day, the flags outside the window were being torn off he pole. Beyond this, I spotted three teens passing a breakfast bottle of hooch outside the school. Downstairs a baby was screaming in the treatment room, whoever had the call shift was already up too. Thankfully it would be another twelve hours before my shift would begin, so all I needed to worry about was making a coffee and getting ready to head out on the land.

Travel was made easy on a new, gravel road. Single lane, the odd washout and washboard, curvy and scenic would best describe this route. Today was east, yesterday west. The terrain for the most part was flat as a pancake, rock, sand and gravel. Littered along the way were caribou carcasses and boulders left like marbles on a wood floor. Purple and yellow flora got a head start on most other things green. This land was a desert really, ninety-nine percent of its life could never grow past my boot. Strangely it was still wonderful to view.

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The Ford River where it meets the sea is quite an enormous estuary. Wherever the river would form to a single channel I would never know, because it was here the road kept going but water wouldn’t allow the same for me. There would be no crossing this day, for even at low tide, when reaching the narrow main channel it was swift enough and deeper than the bike high. The only spot really with substantial flow. To go around would be taking some chances on terrain that appeared scary enough to swallow me up whole.

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Back tracking only a short way, I veered off the road and toured toward the coast. Pretty sure where finally parking that after a short walk and wade I did reach that channel again. Here a small man-made rock pile provided a clue as to a potential fishing spot. The water there was fast, the channel deeper, an exposed sandbar on the far side that with all my effort and a strong wind at my back, I could still not quite sail a lure on over to it. But it was close enough. This had to be the best spot, the water so perfect a riffle run with nice eddies to each side.

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No fish. Peppering every part of it with a heavy spinner and spoon, top to bottom it was all covered. While sitting to have a snack I began to wonder if Coral would even grant a single fish this trip. So far three rivers in two days all said to have fish were a total bust. With nowhere to go but back to Coral, I called it a day.

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My buddy Brody arrived home from his ten week vacation. That’s right! A full-time Nurse in Nunavut he got a “ten week” paid vacation and even more in his first 18 months of work. He had been all over the bloody globe too. Staying in his place we got to talking about fishing and that lead to him preparing some of his gear so we could begin getting out together. Later that evening I was showing him on the SAT images where I had been so far. “That’s not Rocky Brook!” he says. “It’s just one of two creeks. They go nowhere, no wonder you didn’t catch any fish.” We scan through the photos and when I get to the Ford River and where the high water forced me to stop Brody laughs, “that’s not the Ford River. I know that spot but it’s not usually anything. The water is incredibly high this year,” he goes on, “the Ford is about another half kilometer or so further. No wonder you didn’t catch any fish there.” Sitting back in the table chair I sighed heavily. “Well I’m going to bed, goodnight,” my roommate nods. Sitting back in the table chair I sigh heavily again, thinking to myself quietly in the dim lit room. I have been so wrong. I have seen nothing yet. There is still much to come.

Monday to Friday the weather was incredible. Daytime highs of 16 to 21C, much blue sky and sunshine, the children in town spent many of their afternoons into late evenings swimming. Still snow visible along the rocky hills and ridges outside of town, arctic ice floating in the bay along the sea shoreline, the water in the rivers and ponds would not be much more above the freezing point. Yet here, the children play in the cold flows happily for hours, eventually having to be told by their parents to get out, or otherwise be sent home by the twilight.

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The mosquitoes arrived too. Few places in Canada have I seen bigger blood sucking mozzies than those here on Southampton Island… aggressive buggers too. One thing that I had begun to notice out on the land was the absence of sik-siks though. All other past summer forays upon the tundra, these furry, squirrel gophers have been abundant. Turns out here on this place; a Hudson Bay island bigger than some eastern Provinces, the sik-sik isn’t present at all.

Another thing we learned from a team up north to tag snow geese was that this year there would be no young. These arctic flocks returning can be very fickle to weather change, and a two week late May blizzard was all it took for the island’s geese to abandon nesting. Birds of prey must have got the memo too, for snowy owls were nowhere to be found and peregrine numbers way down as well. Without young geese and a low population of cyclic lemmings, much food being scarce they had likely flown on elsewhere.

People like to talk of polar bears too, as do I. With a trip into Polar Bear Provincial Park the coming month, asking different people about the bears to educate myself I looked to kinda help prepare my mind for what was possible to come. There is no shortage of bears on Southampton Island at all. Truth is, not one person of many I have talked to would say populations are on the decline, they would all agree in fact that there are more bears today than there ever has been. Some older folks can’t remember there ever being so many. I have also asked about the size of bears too because, a study I had read of research done from the more southern Churchill area in Hudson Bay, claimed that there were less bigger bears today and that they have been shrinking overall in the past thirty years. Those studying the bears believe that because of climate change shortening the winters, that bears have less time to feed. Some lesser, thinner ice seasons too, bears are also expending more energy in travel during their feeding seasons. Less caloric intake and/or more calories burned resulting in less growth, it seems simple to understand. But, ask any person from Coral Harbour what they think of this research, and my bet is they’d say nicely that, it’s bullshit, that the bears are just a big as always. I did have a couple conversations too about bear behaviors, the two fellas I spoke with both concluding the same thing. They think that many more bears today are less scared of humans, even more so than ever before. Because Southampton is pretty well a land bridge for migrating bears going south to north and back again during their winter feeding times, some of those bears may actually be migratory from more populated summer resting spots like Churchill, as a prime example. Bears there meet human site-seers quite often, and any bears that do are never threatened by the visitors. The bear and human relationship in those situations is peaceful, often occurring during the season when the bears are actually more docile. Well, fast forward into the ice and winter seasons when bears become mobile hunters at the top of the food chain. Now you have a more aggressive, hungry, and yet conditioned animal which fears humans even less than what that bear might have normally; which is still hardly at all. I am no bear expert by any mean, but do talk to people about them more than the average Torontonian likely does. One thing I have learned for certain when out on the land anywhere that polar bears might be present, you gotta always be looking over your shoulder.

Work for me went well. For some reason I have great luck during the after hours. Over six days of on-call I had a measly two patients and helped out with one other. Also had to make a couple drives to the airport to pick up Paramedics coming and going for other Nurse’s patients being medevac’d south. Unbelievably, all the others had busy shifts between those times and I didn’t, one with three emergent patient transfers out in one night.

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Managed a bit of time fishing. One evening along the ocean for about an hour I caught nothing. Did have a tiny char and one cod follow the lure in, just no takers. Another night Brody and I got out for four hours. The drive to the fishing spot and back ate up about two of those while uneventful fishing took care of the rest. This time I would actually make it to the real Rocky Brook, a small river that at the right time looked like it would be so mint to fish. Plenty new to see on this little tour, from here on out in this report many of the photographs included are compliments of Brody. The lad has both a great eye and the luck to be in the right places, at the right time.

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While the waters had been high from the thaw and heavy rain the past week or two prior, it is likely by now that most fish running have already escaped to the sea. Does not take starved winter char long to push down these fast, swollen rivers with the sole intent of feeding in the salt come spring. Intercepting them is timing, for Rocky Brook and probably other places too, I was beginning to believe any chances had been missed. Moving inland to find hold-over fish in the lakes or any bigger streams would maybe be the best bet now, or the only other option could be casting lures into the tides and simply hoping for the best. With the weekend coming after just one more day of work, Brody and I were both off and planning a big, all day escape… until we saw the forecast. For the second Friday night in a row the weather was calling for 30-50mm of rain with winds gusting to 80km/hr. Coral Harbour luck was really beginning to piss me off.

The Health Center apartment walls were shaking the following morning. A vibration in through to my bed, rocking in a cradle I woke to whitecaps in the toilet and another kinda shitty outdoor scene. Coffee to the side, sitting at the laptop the forecast read this… Today. Rain. Amount 10 to 15 mm. Wind east 40 km/h gusting to 70 becoming northeast 60 gusting to 90 early this afternoon. Temperature steady near 8. Tonight. Rain ending this evening then cloudy. Wind northeast 60 km/h gusting to 80 becoming north 40 gusting to 60 late this evening. Low plus 5. Sunday. Cloudy. Clearing late in the afternoon. Wind north 40 km/h gusting to 60. High 14. UV index 3 or moderate. Of course the weather would go on further to note. Monday sunny, high 13. Tuesday sunny, 17. Wednesday sunny, 14. Thursday & Friday sun and cloud, highs of 15. The bet being the week will stay great but the weekend will bring a blizzard this time. Still, tomorrow wasn’t calling rain and 80 gusts… so we lose this day and wait it out ti’ll tomorrow. By bed time the rain had ended, the skies beginning to clear a little… Glory glory hallelujah!

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Well it was gusting 77 when Brody and I saddled up on the Kodiak to ride off into the west. A 930am departure we were faced with a two to three hour ATV trek. The heavy rains day before our fingers were crossed in hopes that the rivers would not be too blown out to pass over.

The destination was a lake well into the interior of the island, Ivitarulik. Able to navigate across land through a network of small lakes, streams and the river itself, Arctic char will winter in Ivitarulik and several other waterbodies of equal size found in the area. Our travel would be different of course. Staying on higher ground Brody and I would run through gravel deserts, flat or gently sloped tundra fields, over some shallow washouts and ponds, and across a couple of flowing rivers. Once reaching new parts of Rocky Brook, the path never seen beyond was truly a unique and eye opening escape.

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Rocky Brook.

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Rocky Brook.

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As the crow flies it is 70 kilometers from Coral to Ivitarulik but we were forced to take the 10,000 mile winding road. Yes, there is a road, and that road continues to go about another 50 kilometers beyond where we planned to stop. Every year a little maintenance gets done and overall the route is just great for an ATV but would be more difficult in places beyond Rocky Brook for a truck. Washouts and river crossings would likely pose some greater challenges in the early summer season. Still, other than the rain making plenty of puddles to slow the two hour drive down to near three, Brody and I made good progress across the land with only one hiccup.

Rocky Brook is the toughest river crossing. No fresh tracks ahead of us that morning we arrived there with a bit of nervousness. Being in full chest waders I first walked across the river, the depth and current was just enough at its deepest to soak the crotch of my pants. That is some pretty high water with a strong flow for an ATV but, Brody was convinced we could do it.

Entering Rocky everything was fine until the middle and beyond when the water reached up over Brody’s boots. We had just enough clearance above the top of the water for the engine to run but at the back I could hear the exhaust bubbling away. Almost there it looked like we were going to be fine until my fat arse weight on the back started popping us a wheelie, then the front end just suddenly dropped into a hole once Brody slowed us up a bit. A quads width to our right we would have been dry but we would have hit a big rock. Two quad widths to the left is where we needed to be, but where we were was just enough of a pit the size of the machine to drown it. The engine stalled out and we both jumped off quick enough to hold the bike up afloat, keep our packed gear dry and begin pulling the machine up onto higher shore. In waders I was fine, but wet to the nuts I betchya Brody found that water a wee bit chill. Got it all on GoPro!

The ATV up on land Brody’s first order of business was to dry off and change clothes. He was smart to pack a second pair of pants and socks. With some worry he next turned the key in the ignition and pushed the starter button. Vrooom! Right away the motor fired, what a relief! Believing that the water would only be dropping through the day, I still piled some rocks atop a black boulder in the river which was sitting level at the surface. This way upon our return we could mark any change in depth.

From there on out the going was pretty easy. Speed up, slow down, take a corner, maneuver some puddles, hop a washout. The winds having been blowing upwards of ninety kilometers the day before and still seventy now, rounding the shoreline ends of some churning lakes the water was quite high onto the road. In a few spots I walked across first before Brody would follow that safe route through. Finally atop some high ground and almost there, up on a ridge we would spot Ivitarulik.

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We were fishing in short order off a point right at the outflow of the lake. Bombing a Cleo into the deeper blue side, within a few casts I reeled in an unintended but exceptional little fish. On the end of the hook was a three-spined stickleback of about five centimeters long. An interesting baitfish indeed, if memory served I had only ever seen nine-spined many times over, so this was something new. As it would turn out, Ivitarulik was polluted with them in the warmer, ankle deep water which flooded over the thin shoreline moss and grass. Plenty of char food!

Not feeling the spot I was quick to walk up over the hill to see how Brody was making out on the other side. He had just moved into a position at the outflow and on his first cast popped the cherry. A sweet, silvery hen was pulling line and leaping in the current, Brody saw me coming and was lit up with excitement. It was a great first char, one we would gut and keep for dinner too.

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A quick change in spots we traveled up the lake to the inflow. Brody started nailing fish there almost immediately. I on the other hand, dropped my first two and snapped off a lead and lure. It was a good and bad start for our team. One of the fish Brody caught had some great size and color to it as well, so he took another for the table. Little better than fresh Arctic char, in more ways than one. Had to tell Brody I needed a little more E.A.P. out of him if he’s gonna turn Pro. He was quick to ask what the fawk E.A.P. is, and what other requirements he’d need to be a Pro? Told him he’d need a sponsor and I could do that, a custom jersey and hat, one decent catch, many hashtagins, plenty ego and a lot more mouth. Ha! Good to go he got to work on it.

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After two weeks of searching, miles of riding, hours of casting and pouting through nasty weathered weekends, I finally hooked and caught a first Coral Harbour char. Any and all worries and doubts beforehand suddenly disappeared. It never ceases to amaze nor grow old for me, how both the pursuit of fish and the prize finally coming to hand, can create such a euphoric feeling. There is much more to fishing than just a fish caught. He was a beauty of a broad-shouldered, strong-jawed, orange male.

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Finding my groove the char started hitting and staying on the line. Brody was using an orange/red/green/white spoon I had never seen before, and it was on fire. Had switched out to match his colors as best I could too, and with a smaller 5/8 ounce Bluefox Strobe in a perch pattern the hook ups came often.

The retrieve was interesting. The fish wanted it a little slower than usual and they’d let you know with a bump on the lure. Feeling those subtle taps, sometimes they would do it again and again or maybe get hooked but, if wanting a better shot at enticing a stronger strike, soon as feeling a bump it was better to pull or reel the lure away faster for a quick second or two. Speeding things up, the char would naturally think it’s their prey trying to escape so they would go after it with more vigor. The end result would be a better and more lasting hookset.

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Brody and I wouldn’t end on the inflow. So far, anywhere I have been lake fishing for char, inflows and outflows are safe bets to start with. Char seem to just gravitate to moving water and the hope for a stream of fresh meals drifting their way. But in and outflows certainly aren’t the only fish worthy spots. Bottlenecks, warm back bays, shoreline points and areas affected by winds can all be good too. Last year in Taloyoak it was a deep, protected narrow back bay, tucked away between two ridges that held fish. When the water was calm there the char could be seen feeding on emergent bugs at the waters surface. When the winds were blowing, the ridges one time funneled the water right down into the shallow end of the bay, surely pushing bait in and causing the char and lake trout to feed heavily in there as well. Brody and I moved over to such a bay to try casting. The wind and lake more calm, the fish were a little spookier, little more cautious to bite. But, that didn’t mean they wouldn’t follow fast on a lure right to your feet. After a good number of long bombs, two breaks offs and a nice heavy fish lost, I pegged a good and strong bullet, a real pretty gem of a char. By this time a standard red and white patterned Strobe was the damage doer.

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Pressing on to 5:00pm the bite started to slow down some. Best time for char is the afternoon, saying 1:00 to 5:00pm peak. Whether it be overcast or sunny, they seem to prefer the best light and temps of the day, with usually the brighter the better. Been my experience anyways. We got a few more in the two hours before tying down our keepers and gear to the quad at 7:00pm.

The wind had died to nothing for the ride home. An incredible evening, warmish around 12C, many puddles on the trail had shrunk so we shaved a half hour off our return time. Along the trail we raced a couple arctic foxes that looked so tiny without their fluff white winter furs. Rocky Brook had dropped and settled down too. Without the heavy downriver wind the current had eased off a little and the rocks marking depth showed the level had fallen a couple of inches. Taking a moment to plot out a better route that didn’t include sinking into a hole, Brody crossed much more easily on the second attempt for the day.

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While fileting our char back in Coral it was impossible not to feel the heavy fatigue and achy muscles settle in from our day…

The week of work snapped by in a flash. Easy peezy kinda stuff, nothing critical for my end. So once Saturday morning arrived Brody and I were both well rested and ready to go.

Another Nurse at the clinic was wonderful enough to offer me up the use of her ATV for the day. Not having to ride two-up on Brody’s Kodiak would be mint. At 8:04am we left the Health Center with Ivitarulik Lake once again in mind. Both of us figured it best to start where we left off, get up there before any else might, and slay those beauty char!

The single rear axle rougher riding Honda and its gear shifting isn’t foreign but it does take a little getting used to. Last year in Taloyoak I had driven the same, they are tough and reliable machines. Taking my time on this different bike, refreshing as I go, learning that the rear foot brake was out of order and making the adjustments, Brody and I managed to crawl our way through the tundra in okay time. Somewhere after Rocky Brook I had missed them, but two caribou had been laying beside the road and after I passed they sprung up to run. Brody caught them with his camera. I didn’t miss some other wild things.

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It was about two and half hours to Ivitarulik and once we arrived all of the worlds mosquitoes arrived with us. Hordes of bigger than usual, black blood suckers swarmed but a quick deet bath before dismounting the quad sent them all Brody’s way.

Wasn’t long at all before he and I were hooked up. Not gang busters like the previous weekend, most of the fish were smaller and nibbly. The kid was seemingly talkative though, getting competitive with me and shit, so against my usual rules we put a bet down for $10 on the biggest fish and another $10 on the most. Normally luck would screw me out of $20 in this case, but I actually wasn’t too worried either way, especially after popping a quick leader out of the bug clouds.

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But now Brody wasn’t giving up too easy and while stalking around a bit more he was setting some hooks. The wind was offshore and a few char were giving themselves away on the calmer shoreline where they could be seen surfacing for mozzies, or maybe those shallow sticklebacks. He would admit that he’s not new to fishing at all, but would probably agree that there is still much to learn. Arriving in Coral we got him outfitted with some braided line, floro leader material, went over a couple new knots, talked about better fish locations, spoke of other kinds of fish and fishing, etc., etc., and when I would look over and watch him on Ivitaruik it was becoming quite obvious he was starting to love it, maybe even in that more sick and obsessive way which I do. Fishing can be like anything to certain types of people. The more you know of it but come to realize that you still don’t and won’t ever fully know of it, you just wanna keep reaching out for more. I was only a couple years younger than he is now, sort of suddenly finding myself in the remote north surrounded by endless wilderness, when fishing became a means to more. More adventure, more study, more practice, more time away from the headaches of work and stress, and all the more reason to want more… Brody at this moment was beginning to catch more, and seemingly loving just that alone. I’d take some ribbin’ while his numbers surpassed my own. He smiles so innocent but the dood is a total beast.

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A couple local girls staying at a nearby cabin stopped by to fish. One smitten with Brody, both girls were giggly and playful, intent on catching a char too. When one got her lure snagged up she would call for him. Being much closer I offered to get it free but she managed to pop it off the rock herself. Moments later I heard her call me “annoying,” so I kept my back turned and had little to do with them afterwards.

Other people were beginning to pass through the area. A popular fishing spot, Brody and I figured we had fished it hard enough over a couple hours and it had begun to slow right down. Another place nearby we decided to move there but when Brody tried starting his bike it wouldn’t turn over. You’d here a klick, there was battery life, but no ignition. It was something we both knew was coming with that starter.

Some friends of Brody’s were passing by at just the right time so he flagged them down. Tommy, Darryl, Eli and Gina were all super friendly and quick to help. Tommy and Darryl had the panels off the bike in no time, quick to diagnose the starter as the problem. When finally able to just get at it, someone was giving it a tap while trying to turn it over. The bike thankfully fired up. The brushes were faulty, but we at least knew a little better at that point we had a questionable amount of time and potential to keep fishing. That’s when Tommy and others asked if we wanted to join and follow them up the road further to another lake.

“How much further,” I would ask? “About an hour, maybe an hour and a half,” Tommy would say. “Forty-five minutes if I didn’t have to wait on these guys,” I think it was Darryl who laughed. By then another local fella who works at the Health Center with us happened on by. Asking Harry he said matter of factly, “yeah… it’s about 30 miles.” Tommy looked to Brody, looked to me, looked back to Brody and so forth, obviously looking for an answer. “Well, we don’t have the gas to get there and back to here, then back to town,” I hummed and hawed. “I’ll fill your tanks when we get back, don’t worry about that,” replied Tommy. “Well,” I said to Brody, “it means I’d bet we add four hours of driving to our day, taking that away from fishing, half of it during the prime time right now.” “So you guys coming,” Tommy asked again? “You heard ’em Bunk,” Brody continued, “it’s bigger char up there, could be worth it if you get one. I’m game to go but I’ll leave it to you to decide.” “C’mon man! You said you don’t have to work tomorrow! This will be an adventure. Few visitors like you ever get to see this far a place here,” Tommy persuaded. “Okay” I conceded… “let’s get going then.”

As I figured it would the ride stretched to two or more hours. The longer it took the more I just wanted to get there and fish, and that is my own stupid damn fault really. Because when my head was up off the trail and able to gaze out over the landscape I was quite happily impressed. We would first pass beside some lakes, then high along the side of an impressive ridge, before finally traversing into a valley that crept closer and closer to the islands distinct mountain range. Having actually had more time to stop for photos would have been a blessing, but this wasn’t some planned excursion, we were impulsively on the move. An incredible amount of ponds, lakes, creeks and rivers covered the flat, tundra valley west of the mountains. We would zig-zag our way through those lands.

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Another couple had joined in along the way, Alex and Stephanie. Pictured above is Darryl, Gina, Alex and Stephanie. They were all great, Eli and of course Tommy were too. We arrived safely together at our destination and by then were in much need of a late lunch. Tommy had a small cabin there on the lake. While Brody and I munched on a couple chicken wraps, some others helped themselves to coffee and one of our fresh char; of course it was eaten right off the skin, cold and raw. A weak stomach like my own just can’t seem to do it, although I still think it wonderfully impressive to bear witness to. The decision to go those extra miles was the right one.

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Two lakes divided by a small stream had similar names in Inuktitut. Isuuralialaaq and Isuuralik lakes, I think to make it easier it’s best to just stick with one. Isuuralik it is!

Loving our luck at inflows, Brody and I set off on a ten minute ride over to the further lake and began casting where the river waters trickled in. The spot was very shallow quite a ways out from the river and the wind was blowing sideways to our casts parallel along the shoreline. One saving grace for allowing our lures to reach the fishier waters were our waders. Able to walk out to our waists, upwind from where the river came in, gave us good position. Once the others showed up, unable to get too far from shore in just boots, some of their casts could only reach the distance we were already standing out in the water. Brody and I caught all the fish. Braided lines, longer rods, fully spooled reels, the casts using the wind could soar for miles.

A surprise for Brody and I were the fish being caught. Not char at all, this water actually had lake trout. We plucked a good number of them from out of two to four or five feet of water. Some on the island had told Brody that there weren’t any lake trout at all, but Tommy knew better. We offered some of those catches to our fellow travelers but none were interested. However, Brody was, he had never caught lake trout before so this was a first.

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It was lake trout after lake trout for the both of us. I regained the lead in the numbers and was pulling away nicely with the big fish still mine too. On a long bomb I got creamed early by a bullet that peeled me out on a hard northbound before turning and doing the same bearing south. Thinking I had an overly energetic big laker on, it was a good while of back-and-forth with it winning the race, before I finally caught a gleam of silver flash at the waters top. Just an instant rush seeing this great char, I started heading in shallower to land it, announcing “good fish” to everyone as I did. Brody was the first to get excited and congratulate, and as always was ready with the camera to make the fish look great. Super stoked!!!

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Tommy and others were happy as well. “That’s a big one,” was said several times. It was a lean char, a silver bullet, and it was real strong, healthy and measured 32 inches nose to pinched tip. Tommy said that for their winter derbies they measure to the fork, so I got 31 by that means, and he went on to tell me that usual derby winners are about 34 or 35 inches. In other words, like me, he was quite impressed too.

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Quick to bleed, gut and get it on ice, I will be looking forward to its filets off a cedar plank with some garlic butter back home with family.

A short while later noticing Darryl not fishing I went over to chat. He hadn’t only broken his rod but he lost half his line too. He and Tommy earlier, having been interested in my gear I went over it with him, explaining why I like it and find it best for casting and char. Figuring it may help them again if reading or, may help others looking into char fishing, I’ll break it down.

A long rod is best for throwing lures greater distances. There is a reason why surf casters use insanely long poles to throw lures far into the ocean, it’s because of physics. For the places I have been I prefer my 8 1/2-foot Lawson spinning rod. It’s rated for 1/4 to 1-ounce weights and is more of a medium to medium-fast action. It is a quality 5-piece stick that never fails and is perfect for the suitcase. That said, a two or three piece would be fine if having a travel tube, because everywhere you go in Nunavut, it usually means you’re traveling by air to get to land and land to get to char. There have been times though that a second shorter, faster rod like a 7-footer has been handy when fish are more stacked in tight, or when jigging along bottom.

A 3000 series spinning reel is about perfect, 2500 or 4000 would be okay too. For char in most places, 15 or 20-pound braided line to a long 8 to 10 foot, 12 to 15 or even 20-pound floro leader, is what I find best to spool up with. With the Lawson on a 3000 series reel I have 15-pound PowerPro to a 12-pound, 10 to 12 foot Seagar floro leader. Reason for that lead being so long is because the uni-to-uni knot connecting the PowerPro and Seagar must be on the reel when casting, to avoid breaking under the stress.

For lures have variety. Kugaaruk’s ocean silvers liked the BlueFox Strobe more than anything. Upriver near the lake, the red fish there preferred white twister-tails on jigheads, or otherwise Len Thompson style spoons. The Tree River is a bigger fish game but there the 7/8 ounce Pixie, half ounce Twister-tail and 3/4 ounce Eppinger Devledogs are favorites. Last year in Taloyoak, Devledogs and Johnson Shutter spoons worked best for me, but local anglers like Little Cleos too. Here in Coral, hands down it has been the BlueFox Strobe again if picking a brand, but some homemade style spoons worked really well also. I couldn’t buy a fish on a Cleo or Pixie this trip, haven’t yet tried a Shutter and unfortunately can’t find Devledogs too easily at home and if I do, they are just too highly priced over all else. Love the Dogs, but toughest lures to lose to rocks. Strobes are cheaper and effective, and fast becoming the best producer anyways.

The last couple pieces of equipment to make char fishing easier are waders and boots. Being able to walk out into water up to your waist in so many places gets you out a half to full cast distance off of the shore. If seeing fish really shallow, don’t wade out into them obviously, but if nothing is visible, there’s a good chance they are there just beyond the depth of water you are looking into.

Brody and I didn’t realize it for a time, but we were holding everyone up from returning home. It was shortly after 7:00pm, we were all eventually going back to town, and that ride was about 200 kilometers over rocky tundra road. By best guess we figured five hours with the odd stop, as that’s about how long it took us to get to where we were now.

Along the way Tommy and Eli would veer off here and there with hopes to “catch a caribou.” It’s a saying used only in the north it seems, “catch” as opposed to “hunt” or “kill,” and it actually makes sense if you think about it in historic or language terms. “To catch a polar bear, to catch a whale, to catch a seal or to catch a caribou.” Because, in the days of old, before ever killing any animal, people did actually have to catch up to it, or catch it first. No guns and bullets, no trees for bows and arrows, little land cover at all to stalk prey, the tools for killing an animal would have been very much close range weapons, so therefor you’d have to catch or catch up to any prey first. Anyone ever try catching up to a caribou, fox, owl or rabbit on the snowy tundra? I have in fact tried with all of them, and it ain’t easy, even just for decent pictures!

But this was something really cool to see on our return home. Darryl and Tommy both had taken the time out to show us some stone fox traps. Asking Tommy how old they might be, he replied to Brody that when he was a kid he asked a 93 old man if he knew who built the traps. That old man did not know. One hundred, two hundred, five hundred years… it’s not known. We were investigating a historic Inuit site of significant importance for survival, that much could be understood by the great amount of work required to build these stone traps. If wondering how they actually trapped a fox, you’ll have to ask…

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A 10:30pm sunset northwest of Salliarutaq Ridge showcased much of the incredible amount of water and little land we had so far driven back from. With still three hours to reach Coral plus the fuel stop, we were a long way off, and Tommy understood. “You lead the way,” he said, and so I did lead back to Ivitarulik where kindly he topped up both our bikes with gas to make sure we got home worry free. Helluva guy Tommy, and every one of them really, Alex, Darryl, Eli and the girls too.

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Only Brody and I set out on our own. In twilight, wearing our goggles dimmed our sight even more, so we had to ride slower. To go without eye wear is impossible, the dust and thick bugs would likely blind ya in no time. About half way back I noticed the Honda was acting up. It was whistling, then singing to me awhile pretty loud. About a half hour later, it suddenly stopped. The rear left wheel bearing was likely in trouble but it got home okay.

It was 4:30am after fileting and packing the char, that I finally laid my head on the pillow. Ten hours of riding for about six hours of fishing and some more hours exploring, the extremely exhausting long day was well worth every second it. Glad I was talked into it for so many reasons.

The week at work was super slow. Only news buzzing around was when hunter and T.V. personality Jim Shockey rolled in to town to go shoot some walruseses dead. Of more interest to us, by Thursday Brody had totally worn out his ATV. The black oil was low again, we discovered the coolant reservoir was empty, there was another leak of mysterious blue oil found underneath his seat at the air intake and, either his starter was screwed or the tranny or something. The Kodiak just wouldn’t go anymo! The entire stretch between fishing days I was in a total tired and sorta bummed out state too, both wanting to just finally go home or somehow finish the coming weekend of fishing already.

My contract ended. A Saturday to Monday remaining, these three days it had been planned to fish and even camp out on the tundra before flying home Tuesday. Unfortunately as it would be with Coral Harbour weekend weather, Saturday came with plenty doom and gloom. Besides that, Brody’s bike was nowhere near ready to go so we had planned to rent ATV’s by the day. At a reasonable $160 we decided it best not to waste our money with the bad weather but instead wait it out ti’ll Sunday and put one big, final day in up at Ivitarulik.

This would be my fifth month long contract in the span of a year and a half. Four times during the winter I would work in Coral, occasionally getting the chance to hike and take pictures out on the land near town. It is a great little northern community, the people quite friendly to visitors. All times here have been enjoyed, the working team a pleasure and some tough and interesting patient care cases that will never be forgotten. Local carvers Daniel, Jeffrey and Henry have kept my wallet a little thinner too, with amazing works I couldn’t part with; yet so many more that would have been nice to keep as well. And my buddy Brody I think will be a lifelong friend. He is one sinner with a smile and style that makes him a saint, a uniquely talented young man I am glad to have crossed paths with.

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The polar bear coat!

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Caribou antler goose and owl. Henry Nakoolak

Coral sea star, two polar bear canines and a stone and caribou bone kayaker by Jeffrey (Malu) Ell

Soapstone drummer. Malu.

Dorset soapstone, walrus bone, baleen and caribou antler merman. Daniel Shimout.

Soapstone grizzly bear. Malu

Dorset soapstone, walrus tusk and baleen narwhals. Daniel.

Dorset soapstone igloo and caribou antler drummer. Malu

Ulu… unknown.

Caribou antler, walrus bone, baleen and sinew kayak seal hunter. Daniel.

Brody and I spent a couple hours tinkering with his quad in the Health Center garage. What should have been a quick oil change and filter dragged on awhile without the proper tools. There had been coolant in the rad but just not in the res, and after topping up that, the battery juice, and givin’er all new Castrol, the bike did manage to start and test run okay around town. Happy it was at least going again, it was best guessed the bike maybe had a sensor that was keeping him shut down with the low, low, low and dirty oil. Still, the starter too was on its last legs but with three of us scheduled to go the following morning with three bikes, we had our safety in numbers.

At 7:00am on the nose Brody, myself and Rob; another RN working the clinic with us, all kicked up some serious dust on track to Ivitarulik. Our plan was simple, fish, fish, fish the shit out of that lake for the entire day. My last chance to enjoy Coral’s char I was eager to get to it, and Brody who had been up later the night before and skipped breakfast, well he somehow had even more fuel in his tank for the tour.

I had rented a CanAm and was rather happy about that because Honda’s are a different ride. Independent suspension and automatic is just easier on the ass and gas. The three of us made great time across the tundra, arriving at the first fishing spot to witness a small school of char basking in shallow current under the late morning light. Brody and I had no issue at all welcoming Rob to the lake.

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He blew up like a kid on Christmas morning. Laughing and giggling under a grin that stretched right across Southampton Island. I said something of its affect before Rob replied, “hope every fish for the rest of my life makes me feel this way.” Truth be told, every fish Brody and I would see him catch the rest of the day, was still just as exciting for him as this first.

From down the road of me residing in Pembroke Ontario, Rob was up in Coral a longer contract. Hard worker, E.R. and northern experienced, he is an easy guy to work alongside. When he arrived he didn’t have any fishing gear at all, despite planning to get out and fish. Rob often buys a new rod in town though, new lures too, and once he leaves he gives that gear away. That oughtta surely bring some good karma his way.

The fish were certainly around but it only took catching a few before the shallower schooled char pushed out deeper and became weary to our offerings. Still, over the next couple hours we; well now in reality mostly just me, plucked more. Some great looking fish too… but one not so much. The fellas still did well enough despite major gear issues.

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Nearing the noon hour more people from town started showing up. It paid to get up to Ivitarulik early, we kinda exhausted that hole for the time being, and we put five nice char on ice too. With other’s seemingly interested in fishing there, after a quick snack the three of us took of elsewhere.

Relocating paid off. Brody zipped down to the waters edge first to pop three in three casts. A few minutes later he moved and quickly landed three more, one turned out his biggest and best, colorful male char of the day. After a rough start to his morning the greasy little bugger was really cracking ’em good on one of my homemade spoons, I couldn’t keep up! Rob on the other hand had lost most of the line from his reel within minutes after catching his first fish. No extra spools between any of us, the entire time his casts were limited to about fifty feet at best. Already at a disadvantage to Brody and I, because we had chest waders and he didn’t even have rubber boots, Rob wisely would park his ATV in the lake deep as it could go, and from his platform atop the back rack perch himself on a casting deck. It worked great!

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Many others had arrived by now and they surely witnessed the clinic put on by the three Nurses from the Health Center. We were into char one after another, after another. At a time we had all been hooked up side-by-side on a triple header but I lost mine and ruined what could have made a memorable photo opportunity. Yet Rob’s pearly whites continued to shine through many char and one giant smile all afternoon, and Brody was more than pleased to finally give me a numbers thumping for a change. Although he did get reminded again who gets the bigger fish… 😉

It is quite liberating and peaceful fishing in the north. Coming from Eastern Ontario where far too many people or interest groups can get up in arms with regards to everything about fishing, in Nunavut simply no one cares, or they are happy and willing to share. It’s a beautiful thing when considering that the fish are of a much more vital resource as food, than they will ever be for some “likes” on Facebook or followers on Instagram. One could question then why these two societies attitudes with fishing can sometimes be backwards? I’ll leave that to the next Walton or Hemmingway to ponder…

A most satisfying of feelings came over me late day. Rob content to keep casting away, Brody fishing and mingling with local friends, the char slowing down but still biting, it was all just the perfect end. I stopped fishing, snacked, relaxed awhile and then just chatted with Rob, the two of us reflecting about the day, marveling over the place we were in, the lives of those who call Coral home and our most fortunate reality of being able to experience it.

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Butter and garlic pan fried char with a creamy dill sauce, breaded deep fried char and, a honey garlic baked char were the three choices to treat friends to the following night. Rice, roasted carrots, salad, apple pie and a cheers rounded out the feast quite nicely. Admittedly, I owe so much of this work and play trip to my buddy Brody. My arse may have never even made it out of town limits without his help and kindness every step of the way. We will fish again next year on Great Bear.

The days when Coral’s weather allowed us to breathe were absolutely vital and amazing to say the least. Atop Hudson Bay, on a gravel, rock and watery island bigger than New Brunswick, live a thousand people who have called this hard and beautiful land home for today and many centuries long before us. I have written it before, that our Inuit peoples of Canada are a monumental and magnificent testament of perseverance and survival through the ages, holding onto an interesting history and culture as well. Immersing myself into that world for even just a moment, if only by some slight and selfish degree through my work or fishing, to contemplate it and better understand a little, is actually a priceless, important and inspiring thing.

Blessed to be a Nunavut Nomad…

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Thanks for reading…
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