This past summer I took a job guiding in northern Canada. Fueling the idea was much curiosity, fishing experience and one overwhelming urge to challenge myself in an entirely different way. At age 39, with twenty years devoted to work and study in healthcare, recent changes have opened doors for new opportunities… And so it came to be, that with some nervous anticipation I boarded a July flight destined for Plummer’s Lodge on Great Slave Lake, with hopes to become a guide…

Grab a coffee or a scotch and read on if you like.
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INITIATION.
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A talkative angler sat on the plane next to me for our flight to Yellowknife. At first Trevor carried much of the conversation, excitedly explaining how he loves muskie and all things muskie fishing. Within his descriptive stories he held quite a confidence and passion for it, making all that he said quite easy to believe. When he slowed down enough to ask about my fishing it only served to open up a giant can of worms, one which lead to several beers and hours of us rambling on and on. Waiting for him at final destination was his uncle promising pike, lake trout and the possibility of inconnu found upon Great Slave Lake. A nice fella to meet and share unexpected time with, we’d part ways on the ground. Trevor planned to stay two weeks in the city and explore outward from there, while I had another flight to catch the following morning.

A year earlier Brenda and I upon Great Slave had fished that same grand stage ourselves. Third week into the Plummers fishing season as guests we were treated to exceptional fishing. While forest fires blazed across the Territories, some continually encroaching upon the lodge, we happily inhaled the threat as one unique part of our experience. An angler, what intrigued me most about this fishery was its jig bite. I love and prefer to jig, and no other trophy arctic lake that I have fished does such a quality opportunity exist at even close to the same caliber. Slave’s underwater topography of vast differences and enormity, greatly inspires possibilities for catching giant lake trout lurking anywhere beneath its surface.

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My buddy Adrian had been traveling alongside since Ottawa as well. Sitting back of the plane I can surely imagine during the flight he kept one ear aimed towards his beloved German Sheppard Ranger, riding in the tail. Luggage and dog retrieved upon arrival, we were greeted at the airport by another guide who landed in Yellowknife that same day. All together we made our way through the city to make stops for last minute items such as booze, toothpaste, soap, snacks and more booze. Once finished we hit Monkey Joes for some grub before making our way down to the Plummer’s floatplane base. There we’d divide into shacks to crash part of the night before an early departure.

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I was just settling before midnight myself when two unexpected Great Bear guides came busting in. “Who’s that?” Someone called out upon barging into my room. “Bunk,” I answered. “Never heard of you! You guide at Slave,” the dood asked? “Yeah… and I got an early flight too.” “No worries man! We’ll keep’er down,” as the door closed… Not twenty minutes later the tunes were on. A half hour later they were quarter cranked. By forty minutes I was joining them for a beer cause there was no way in Hell I was gonna get any sleep with the dance music thumping and bottles clanking. The Bear fellas with later flights, three and some hours passed when at 3:30am I kindly asked they keep it down a little after I try and turn in. They were finished too. We had good fun and all but the hope was to get an hours sleep before having to wake, fly and work the rest of the day.

The burnt lands from the previous summer were rather extensive. Myself and several other guides on route stayed glued to the plane windows peering out at charred tundra forests below. Forty minutes in total, we were circling the landing strip and Talthelie Narrows.

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Manager Owen along with guides Bob, Frank, Bryce, Ray Ray, Jimbo and a most familiar face Eddie, met Root, Adrian, Vid and myself on the runway. It was a warm but short welcome for the Lodge was expecting new guests in soon, and some guides had to quickly get back to take already present anglers fishing for the day.

Once up in “Guideland” each went their separate ways to lay claim to a home. The furthest trailer back was completely vacant. I inspected three different rooms, all of which were purdy gnarly. With time through the morning I would dust, sweep, mop, scrub and wash everything, find a decent mattress, make a bed, fix the door knob, add a lock, take out trash and, break a couple times to meet planes for offloading luggage and supplies, and also greet guests. There was still time before lunch to assemble the sonar and rods, choose a boat, test the WIFI and meet the remaining staff, Chef Chris, along with Linda, Celina, Claire, Trudy, and Sookie.

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More to do in the afternoon I needed to organize and test out a boat. An 18-foot Lund Alaskan with lucky #7 was my choice, and despite having had been told it’s one of the slower boats I believed a tribute to late Great Bear guide, Larry Willett, was perfectly befitting. As he chose Lucky 7, that was it for me too! So, first I installed the sonar, then found a decent net which was made even better after sewing closed the holes, taped me up a couple damaged seats, chopped some shorelunch wood and traded out the cooking grill for what I guessed would be an even better one. Pimped that ride right quick actually.

Once the guests returned from fishing and after our dinner, the boat slipped offshore and I fired up the 30-Merc. Blazing around finding the feel for a deeper V and playing some to adjust the sonar, rod in the boat I dropped jig to bottom on a few arcs and within five minutes on the water was reeling in a nice little low-teen laker. The fish nearing the surface, and suddenly and seemingly seeing in slow-motion, I watched the leader knot unravel with the mainline while both were on the rod and then, the two separate and leader line begin inching out of each eyelet. At the tip, I grabbed that almost lost lead and carefully hand-bombed that first fish in. It was awkward but kinda funny.

Retying, I shut down and was on the drift when in the distance a boat from the lodge was coming towards. Another guide waved me to come in and I received the message giving a thumbs up. Him turning and heading back, when I tried to start the motor it wouldn’t fire. Tried several times and nothing. Checked fuel and lines, plug caps and battery connections and all were good. By this point the other boat had turned back around and was coming towards again. Before reaching me the engine fired up and I was good to go. The gear lever was the issue, and there would be a trick to it for the remainder of my weeks ahead. To start the motor you’d have to give it a little wiggle and find that sweet spot while turning the key same time in the ignition. When arriving back at the dock the other guide gave me a good earful, “we don’t just go fishing” he barked, but I explained nothing and just accepted it…

With a little more than an hours sleep in the last forty, when finally retiring back to my room I’d unwind with a good dram-full. Boom! Lights out… well, not really, the sun still had hours to go if it was even gonna go down at all that day.

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Cool air always makes for the best sleep. I rose before the 6:00am alarm and expecting to guide come afternoon was wide awake as the group assembled for breakfast. Through some morning work fixing coolers, running motors, sorting rods in the shop, helping dig holes to cement in some new poles for the flags and Plummer’s sign and of course chopping wood, during a little down time I chilled out with the new manager Owen and other guides Jimbo and Adrian. Fish and hunt talk was the deal until Owen gave word that the ten guests expected in much earlier had indeed cancelled out by this point in the day. Watching some others already out there catch fish right in front of the lodge most of the afternoon, being kept off the water was kind of a let down, but part of me was actually enjoying the other work. I was outside and working, something refreshing about that.

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A hot shower and a hefty scotch for the days efforts, the workers prime rib supper greased any kinks and aches. Chosen company, getting to know 49 year veteran guide Frank and Ray Ray from Yellowknife was a meal time well spent. Brenda had sent a Facebook message from back home highlighting what would be our eldest daughter’s new cell phone contract, although a rumor of the lodge having more guides than guests later in the week and my possibly having to stay off the water longer was more concerning at the time. “Everything in moderation” I had told Bryce back in the No Tell Motel earlier, not guessing then I’d maybe end up eating those words.

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Brushing my teeth on the stairs to the trailer an arctic hare hopped by to say good morning. Humidity lingering heavy it was easy to sense rain was coming, so first order of business for Jimbo, Adrian and I was to saw some logs, split, and get ‘em into the shed to keep dry. One would think that with all the attention to the wood there’d be stacks and stacks of it already, but this wasn’t easy wood to get along with. Singed from the forests fires a year ago it was still kinda punky and fresh, making it surprisingly difficult to split.

Owen, Chris and the girls hatched a plan that Jimbo and I head out for a little fish time around 11:00am or so, we catch a couple to bring back, then Adrian give me a shorelunch lesson while we cook for the camp staff. All sounded good to me except that the fish didn’t get the memo. Two hours it took to catch two lakers, so by the time we returned some staff had given up and gone ahead and eaten. Beside the dock, honey garlic and Cajun fried over an open fire in the spitting rain, Adrian kindly gave me a hurried crash course with my first shorelunch at Plummers.

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Bob was by to fix the diesel heat in the trailer once back from guiding and it was appreciated for that one cold night to come. Only a few days in and already I liked both Bob and Owen; head guide and manager, as they’re each approachable, hard working and smart people. With most of the group too I was fitting in OK, although by days end I was usually exhausted and keeping to myself. Linda had let me pick out a book from her little library in the laundry and the one that caught my eye right away was “Ordeal By Ice,” by Farley Mowat. A history of Arctic expeditions the read was a good suit. Chapter one wrote of Pytheus the Greek and possibilities of the Irish or Scots being the first to see Greenland in 300AD. It continued on about the Norse and Eric the Red in 800AD encountering the “giant statured” (but nowadays long extinct to the smaller Thule) Dorset Eskimos of our Canadian north. And, the book also wrote of fascinating archeological findings in Ungava which placed Europeans in North America 1200AD and earlier.

Only four guides with guests would head out next morning. A big group we raised the new Plummer’s flag down at the dock then later hung the Great Slave Lodge sign out front at the narrows. Running a little behind, by lunch I had to race out onto the lake to meet Bryce and take in a little more shorelunch practice. Payment for his services was to fill his wood and restock his shorelunch box, a good trade for me, remembering how much I liked Bryce’s fish.

That afternoon Vid would give me a very quick tour out onto part of the lake, most of which I had seen before. Not sure how many times in advance he told me that, “we’re not fishing,” but by tone alone I gathered the first time that he really really meant it. Hoping to guide soon I was still sorta waiting and wondering when that time to dial in would come. Back at the lodge before dinner, scratching my itch whipping a few casts from shore on the light stick, I’d take a little dose of some grease tuggin’ for that buggin.” Soothing it was…

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Woke at 3:03am tossing and turning ti’ll 6:00am. A heavy fog had rolled in overnight, delaying a morning flight. Waiting it out I downloaded the Magic Jack app to my phone and made a first call home. Tough to stay well connected, the little time there was to hear the girl’s voices was certainly needed. Shortly afterwards Bob came through with some news as well. Having worked out a guiding plan he was putting me in action the coming Saturday to Saturday and, Saturday to Wednesday. All bookings hold, I’d be off the water a few days then back on again for another Saturday to Wednesday. Basically, eleven days on, three off, then four on again. And as well, Bob gave me the nod to take some time in the afternoon to show a new guide coming in the lay of the land and boat some fish too. Best news all week.

That heavy grey soup which spilled across the region was too stubborn to dry up all morning long. With some down time I wandered around taking photographs knowing that eventually the fog would lift, and a plane needing to be offloaded would arrive on the strip. The new sign looked awesome, Frank and Ray Ray a hard working duo had much grit invested into those stripped posts. Chris and Claire an often busy team too, they were long prepared for guests to arrive, so in the meantime they appeared to have the right idea to just chill with a coffee in the main lodge. The two kindly waved a top of the morning to me as I strolled by.

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Early afternoon blue skies brought the plane in safe with the new guests and another guide Darryl… or “Miami,” as he would soon be known. From Ontario, we now had him, Adrian and myself representing, for many of the other guides were from mid Canadian provinces. Once the guests and Miami had settled into their cabins, armed with rods and some giddy-up to go for a tour, two of us made our way out onto the lake. Three and a half hours and sixteen fish later Miami and I would return rather happy to a pizza supper.

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Bob, Owen and Bryce all wanted different jobs done today. Being new it was fine by me to take them on, although it was truly only Bob and Owen I was required to answer to. Through the morning six boats needed prepping for incoming guides. Baled, seats repaired or replaced and fully stocked meant, safety kit, baler, three seats, two paddles, batteries, grill, two folding chairs, fish box, wood stocked, nets, fry pans and motors tested. To get this done there were some new chairs to assemble, nets to stitch and I even charged a battery or two and switched out Jimbo’s and one other boats props.

After attending to my laundry and lunch, Miami and I rode off for a couple hours out on the lake so I could show him some spots. Once returned, Owen was waiting on shore. Four older boats had sold and a barge would be by to claim them in the next day or so. Our job was to get those boats in the water with the tractor lift and shuttle them elsewhere for pick-up. All jobs done and a bit tired after the day, by 5:00pm with the dogs Ranger and Tree alongside, I walked down to the shore and rattled a couple lakers on my line.

Poor night sleep it was a groggy start, and found I could only pick at breakfast. During any meal it was common enough to hear this one guide run off at the mouth about how guys from Ontario are idiots. I’d usually pay no mind but this day it was already old and annoying. Finishing up Bob came over to ask if I was ready to guide today. Some guests wanted to shuffle the deck a little and this was going to put me in the game. Man did that perk me up.

Oddly I’d have thought I might be nervous but that wasn’t the case at all. Fishing is fishing. But, when Derek and Al from Winnipeg walked down the hill to the dock to greet me and they both same time said, “so, you’re the guy who’s gonna put us on the twenty pounders,” I will admit to feeling a little pressure. To make it worse, on this their last day in a group of thirteen, they were two of only three that hadn’t caught twenties or better. That didn’t really help. And finally, when they then asked how long I’d been guiding, that didn’t really help either. For them my best and honest response to all this was, “I fish a lot! And I’ll put yas on some water with big fish.”

Derek and Al now on their third day, knowing exactly what it’s like to be a wishful guest I hoped for the best. Out of the gate we toured up to a good jiggin’ hole and quickly hunting out some arcs the fellas tried dropping down. It became apparent they hadn’t done much of this type of fishing, if any at all, and both would happily confess to the same. Their sticks spooled up with mono too, it didn’t take long before my gear was in their hands to try and better the odds. Just not happening fast enough on this last day of their trip, a guide decision to troll until noon was made.

Sun coming out it got plenty hot. The entire corporate group wanted to eat together and so a big shorelunch meeting was planned. The guests fed, happy and chilling out having drinks, the guides took some down time to break as well.

Frank da man!
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It was my seventh day in camp by this point, first day guiding. There was no rest for me, inside I was riled up and wanting to put my guys on good fish ASAP, but, I wasn’t really thinking one bit when asking the group if they wanted some photos of them all together. Yeah, of course they wanted that, and in a flash everyone was up out of their seats and passing cameras to me for the shoot. In mere minutes it was over though, and instead of sitting back down to relax everyone made haste for the boats. Having disturbed our herd of guests, my fellow guides were put back to work sooner rather than later. Back at the lodge come dinner, I took a little gentle sarcasm while one would point out my rookie mistake.

Derek and Al were catching on quick. The afternoon bite was certainly better than the morning. Although the fellas blew a couple fish boatside that would have been twenty or better, Derek managed himself a 20 and 22-pounder. Al on the other hand could not keep his biggest of the day on the line and was forced to settle for a 16.5-pound best. Extremely happy with their time, back at the lodge they handed me a tip for three days work, said I earned it and to keep it all or split it up if I want. I divided it fairly.

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Before dinner and the days end a plane arrived carrying six new guides into camp. Al, Art, Doug, Rob, Wayne (and off the top of my head there is someone missing) were all veterans to Slave. Now Guideland would be hopping, but while people settled in, relaxed I read on in my room… Interestingly the book wrote next of Frobisher, and his late 1500 expeditions to seek out a Northwest Passage, find riches or both. If I remember this right, his exploration lead to several encounters with the Thule Eskimos. Christians, the sailors looked upon the “savages” as a lesser people, although it was they themselves who in times of need, greed and even peril, looked to the Thule for goods or guidance. Our Arctic people are after all, one of our greatest testaments to human survival. Yet despite efforts, differences those days were too many between the cultures and the two could never achieve a peaceful co-existence. See, it had been thought by Frobisher that some of his missing men were taken captive or killed by the Thule. Leaving such question, Frobisher’s beliefs only lead to mistrust, and later he was proven rightly so when the Thule attempted to sneak aboard and steal from his ship. Hostilities arose, before finally the Thule chased Frobisher out…

The next morning was a rough one. The Ontario three, Adrian, Miami and myself were up and having coffee well before breakfast when one of the old early bird guides barged in and started ripping into us. You should be doing this and you should be doing that! Aside from his being a dick, the jist was he wanted us down the hill at the dock to change out a flat tire on the truck. We three were game and went to check it out, arriving to find three other guys already standing around looking at us to get busy. I’d changed a flat tire before, who hasn’t? Jack was there, so was a spare, but Adrian got to it first. Next five to ten minutes or so, the older guide pissed and moaned and gave us the gears. Didn’t matter at all really how we were going to change that tire, we were going to be told we were wrong and to hurry up until the job was done. Heck, in the time it took buddy to come up the hill and interrupt our coffee, that work could have been done. We did it.

Finished up with the tire and was just about to grab a plate and pile me on some hot breaky when Owen asked for a favor. By the docks outside the freezer were some boxes he wanted broken down and taken away. Arrived there and saw this wasn’t just a few boxes, but quite a pile of them. Thick buggers and well taped, looking at 15-20 minutes of work to bust ’em up. I zipped up the hill hoping to find a willing partner but in the lodge every guide was sitting eating breakfast. Back down I went, found a case cutter and took care of the job.

By the time I returned everyone had finished their meals and the trucks headed up to the airport were pulling away. Lesson learned, it doesn’t pay to get up early. Inside I nabbed what was left of some cold eggs, poured a coffee and sat down alone to eat. When the truck came back one guide along with the truck tire guide shot their mouths off at me because I was supposed to be on the trucks with them that went up to the runway. Getting chewed out in front of the other guides there didn’t sit so well. For the first time after a week of their BS, long after it had been said to me that I “was a guest who’s gonna see what it’s like to guide,” I finally fired one back… And that actually seemed to help end that right there.

Shooting for two now, the rude truck tire guy who spews on about guys from Ontario being idiots and often enough insults myself and others, he was another story. Some guides had warned me about the guy early on too. An hour or so later, I caught up to Truck Tire (think I’ll just call him Truck Tire from here on) as he was walking down to the docks. “Listen,” I said. “I have no problem with work and you can come to me anytime and ask nicely for help or a job to get done but, what I won’t put up with are orders and insults. There’s no need for that at all.” His exact reply, “we all know you’re an intelligent guy, so the best thing you can do is keep your f’n mouth shut and do what you’re told.” I walked away.

Owen quickly out of the store came up on me next and I was fresh and reelin’ pist off. “What’s the matter Bunk,” he asked? My exact reply to him was, “one f’n baboon around here is gonna go home in a body bag” … Cooling down with Owen, being fair and understanding he gave respect.

Had been in camp a week to this point. Put up with some insults and two guys riding my arse almost daily but got along with everyone else. Kept my head down and did the work that was asked of me. Watched on as two other rookie guides came into camp afterwards and neither of them were pushed around in the least. My thinking was it didn’t pay for me to have been a guest the previous year. But things were about to change…
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GUIDING.
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Bob, Bryce, Jimbo, Wayne and myself had ten anglers making up half of a big group in to guide for. Standing together outside the store, the first angler to stroll down and greet us was a pretty young little fella. “Who wants the boy and his dad,” it was asked? All others quiet, I piped right up quick, “I’ll take ‘em!” And to that Bob agrees, “they’re yours.”

I was just super stoked to get the kid. Not for a second did I worry he might be a brat or anything like that because you just knew in a place like this, out on Slave with those big tough fish, along the way this lad was gonna have the time of his life with his dad. Introducing myself first I was answered in turn with, “I’m Keith and this is my son Tyler.” “Well guys, whatta ya in for? Looking for lotsa fish, looking for the big one,” I ask ‘em? “Whatever comes,” Keith replied, “here for a good time.”

Of all the twosomes that could have come my way I felt lucky to get Keith and Tyler, I really did. Had Tyler been three, four, five years old or so, that could have been different but, that 7 to 10 age is magical for most kids. Even in a clinic or E.R. room setting, elementary school age are usually pretty good to work with. Tyler was eight. And the fact Keith seemed quite laid back and more concerned with his boy’s fun, I knew we could pull it all off easy peezy. “OK guys, we’re gonna go for a bit of a tour before we stop, and Keith, it’s cold on the water, make sure Tyler has a couple extra layers and a touque.”

Coming off plane I opened my box of hand-tied Holy Mackinaws. “Pick a color,” I asked Tyler. “BLUE!!!” Glad he picked that one, was surely interested in the damage it might do. We started trolling and Keith popped a small laker in like-seconds. It was giving him a good little run and he was thinking of passing it to Tyler but it was almost boat side already. He enjoyed the heck out of it I could tell though. Not another five minutes passes by and my rod gets hammered. “Come here Ty, quick!” Tyler steps to me and passing him the rod he begins reeling in the first laker of his life. I keep one hand somewhere on or near the rod at all times and one hand on him, and coach him through the motions. He is in wonderland until the fish is in the boat, as Ty is not yet ready to hold ‘em for pictures.

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Kiddo on the board with a long lean fish well over twenty, he doesn’t miss a beat after the release when he asks, “Hey Bunk. How big is your biggest fish?” “About 450 pounds,” I tell him. Keith laughs. “A 450 pounder!!!” one shocked Tyler shouts. “That’s not a lake trout,” Keith tells him… “Okay, okay… okay Bunk, how big is your biggest lake trout then?” A curious clarify the little Ty asks. “Thirty-three,” I confess. “Well then I want a thirty-four,” he announces. Well I howled first and then still laughing told Tyler he’s gonna make one heck of an angler.

A perfect morning it was, plenty fish and sun. Shorelunch with the big group was the plan everyday, and this first go I kept my end simple with a honey garlic baked lake trout. The crew I was working with were great too. Myself still a noob to their ways, Bob, Bryce and Jimbo were camp cook ninjas, while Wayne only in the day before had to merely polish off some rust. The guys with years of camp cooking experience; and someone like Bob probably a thousand lunches or more under his belt, they were all good with me while learning.

Back on the hunt come afternoon it must have been the big meal and fresh air that tuckered Tyler out. A real trooper this boy, all day long wide awake, wonderfully happy, energetic and inquisitive, until he hits his mere two seconds of cranky then passes out. Nice and quiet a short time for Keith and I, we were loudly interrupted by a real cracker. (this is a cool pic with Ty napping during his dad’s new PB laker)

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The day stacked with plenty high teen fish, two PB’s for each angler and Keith’s 28-pounder taking top honors, about thirty fish total graced the gunnels. Sometime during the afternoon, Tyler asks his dad, “is Bunk gonna guide us all week?” Before Keith can answer Ty finishes, “cause I want him to.” It was an unforgettable and surreal day for me thanks to the both of them, I sure as shart hoped they’d keep me on the job.

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Armed with breakfast sandwiches and my IPod tunage, the fleet blasted off from the dock on an early departure into the way out there.

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The group had requested pike. With the winds down and forecast looking good, in the safety of a five boat convoy, all together we would cross a big expanse of open water aimed at our target. Once arriving, the area looked awfully small to me for five boats to cram in together for a day. Tentative about moving in too close to the others, I held back in the shallow channel which lead into this back-corner pool. Beginning there, Keith and I (for Tyler) began casting both shore weedlines, but nothing was biting. For about twenty minutes I kept one eye on us and one on the gang. All others were into the fish and it appeared there was space enough between them to keep things respectable. Unable to watch it go on any longer, once a pocket opened up within the crowd I sheepishly snuck in. Right off the bat Keith and Tyler started hammering fish.

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It was an odd little pike utopia back there. The channel entrance was about a foot or two of water much of the way in but, the pool itself was a bowl burrowed to a depth of nine feet. Like some alpine resort hot tub orgy, the pike were on top of one another bathing in some perfect feel good conditions.

Only a few times elsewhere in my life had I been in a spot this loaded with pike… In fact I’ll take that back, and say maybe only once, on the Ekwan River had I witnessed anything like it. Incredibly it was hook-up after hook-up, and with the action this intense it was easy for Keith to enjoy himself while I helped Tyler make some of his own casts. Non-stop for over three hours we were all busy releasing pike, just like the four other boats fishing around us.

There in plain sight floating right on the surface was a biggun. “Keith,” pointing to the fish, “flip a cast there.” On cue he tossed a Money Minnow smack on the nose of the pike and it bit down. Hard setting the hook it merely pulled the fish towards him, it didn’t do anything to fight. What the fudge I thought?.. Keith reeled his pike right to boat side without an inch of reel peel. Gazing down at it a second while it sat there calm as can be, I noticed this fish looked sorta beat up. Mottled some, slime greyed, wondered if it was tired off the spawn, not thinking then that it may have been a fish already caught. Systems a go I stretched down, slid my hand under the pikes gill plate, took a grip, freed the lure when then suddenly it went berzerk. The fishes entire fight I swear was while it was in my grasp, and I tried to hold on best I could but it tore out from of my hand. Looking at Keith he was still smiling. “Sorry man,” I said. “It’s a caught fish, no worries,” he assured. The pike about 46-47 inch range with average girth, it was a lost quality photo-op of his PB too. The cool thing was, not everyone is as concerned about photos and such, so we got right back to fishing.

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By the time we quit for lunch we would probably guess our boat released seventy or so pike. All adult fisherman paired up with the other guides, they would have caught even more. Between everyone, at shorelunch the group figured 450-500 pike had dental surgery that morning. Biggest caught too was a 46’er and that left me pondering… had the wily one I dropped in the same area of the pool been that fish? It had been caught before we hooked it too…

The pike grounds totally ripped to shreds, a couple of the boats agreed we’d start back to the lodge after lunch, stopping where we wish for lakers on the way. That afternoon we trolled less as I tried to get Keith more into the vertical game. Hooking up with some fish this way it was easy to tell jigging was growing on him. Tyler too would try, but it was harder for the lad. Only his second day, the efforts were there though. Not wanting to handle fish Keith and I convinced him to lay a pike on his lap and that was a start. Casting in the pool on his own as well, that was a start. Jigging with me, it would take a little more time and patience but, learning to pull rod up then reel down and repeat on his many fish so far, that process was coming along nicely too. So nice in fact, that after initial hooksets he muscled through most of his lakers on his own. He was doing great! With barbless much can go wrong to lose fish and Tyler was able to get many of them to the boat. This one his new best, a prime example of his budding skills. Keith even got his courage up a little more to hold it.

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Back in my trailer I took a few fingers of a highland malt medication for one sore hand. A second knot failure connection, that evening I decided on retying all my leaders and, added some glue to each knot. I’d also left the rods out in the boat night before and with the cool morning dew found one of my two spinning reels was a bit sticky. Decided then after each day fishing I’d take the gear up with me, keep it dry and working, and check the leaders. A guest to such places before, it is a practice I would keep for myself, and if Keith, Tyler, or any guest is using my gear, it would only be right that their possible fish of a lifetime have a better chance of making it to the net.

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Wind was up a little next morning.

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Cool and overcast it never really came to blow. The fish were down and sulky. Trolling up high and covering some distance the boys were able to pop a few for the morning, Tyler nabbing another over twenty.

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Second half of the day Keith swapped out with long time guest Dave. A relatively quiet man, I wasn’t sure how to gauge him at first and this intimidated me a little. Keith, Tyler and I were overall doing great putting fish in the boat, but now the bite was slower and Dave comes aboard. Did he have expectations or didn’t he? Coming from the head guide’s boat to mine, could I measure up? Was I being graded? Will I get an A+ on my report? Can I go to the bathroom ma’am? Before too long I realized it was all in my head and just childish thinking. So we went fishing. And although it was slow and Dave recommended an immense area covering several miles that I had little to no experience at, things worked out. He and Tyler caught some fish but even better, I began mental mapping and GPS’ing spots that later on would become paramount to me for other guests.

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Hot air and hot bite we warped onto fish early and destroyed them all morn long. Giving Tyler pick of his weapon come start of each mission, this day he selected a jig of mine I call “Rogue.” A superhero she got right down to slaying villains with her lethal kiss, all the while Tyler masterminded the complete assault and Keith powered through suicide greys to capture his first over thirty bad guy boss.

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That’s how it was with Tyler sometimes. A good thing I read lots of comics as a youngster, because today the whole Marvel Superhero craze with kids is more popular than ever. My nephews are over the moon for anything Spiderman, Captain America or the Hulk. My wife is in love with the guy that plays Thor in the Avenger movies, while my daughters have watched those X-Men flicks over and over again. Myself, from childhood to now I’m still a Spidey and Wolverine guy. Tyler and I in the boat, we often appreciated discussing them all.

Bob’s chowder, a Hawaiian baker, dill baker, salsa baker, teriyaki baker and heaps of breaded fried fish along with, beans, corn, spuds, deep fried bannock cinnamon donuts, caesars, sangrias, beer and pop… ten guides harvesting, cleaning and cooking sixteen fish from the time they landed on shore until the first person helped themselves, all involved had this entire feast prepared in under an hour. A most unbelievable spread of shorelunch in my history of shorelunches, along with the camp staff who brought the drinks to the party, nearly forty people dined like lords and loved every minute of it. Thumbs up to guests and guides alike, because without everyone to participate, nothing like this could ever even happen. What an experience!

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Ten boats in a two hour afternoon tourney was how the day would finish. Money and bragging rights on the line, specific boundaries and a couple boats with officials for live release weights, it seemed to me like a fun idea for group. Waiting for the start, Keith and Tyler were up for the challenge.

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We hooked nine fish and lost seven. Jitters, pressured fish, I dunno? Very happy to see my buddy Jimbo and his guest take top prize. $1500 for a 25.5 pounder that we wouldn’t have beat with anything we caught. Might have maybe nabbed third for an 18’er though.

At dinner that evening Jim had one mile wide grin going, it was funny stuff. Now that I was guiding during the day, spending more time on the water and hanging at shorelunches with Bob and our crew, this all helped some with getting to know others better back at the lodge. That first week for me had been a bit of a kick in the arse. Not used to that work and even working with so many guys for that matter, each evening whipped I mostly just sought after some quiet downtime. Into the second week though, it was also more enjoyable to sit out and shoot the breeze with different people before and after dinner awhile. No urge to go stand at the shore and cast for lakers either. Things were looking up. Guides; but only to name a few for now, like Miami, Root, Jimbo and Frank, and staff such as our Chef Chris, and Celina too, them and more, different people at different times made lodge life better and better each passing day.

Learned early on in the showerhouse to leave a foot out from under the bathroom stall door, otherwise ya might get company open up on ya when doing business. A 3:30am wake up call to meet two planes coming for 4:00am it was a shizitty start.

Off the plane a couple midweek guests arrived and so to did a new guide, Alex. A friend with friends I watched on now and again through his first couple days as a rookie, a lucky guy he got the good treatement, and admittedly I was a little jealous. Turned out in the coming weeks getting to know him that he is certainly worth the kindness. Absolutely great guy who like me, spends a tonne of time chasing fish.

As usual the morning bite was rocking but it slowed in the afternoon. It was cool out and we had to prepare for rain so, under the bow of the boat I stowed a long raincoat for Tyler in case he needed a big shell to keep dry under..? We would need it for awhile.

It was mostly small fish before noon although Ty reeled in an over twenty and a beauty redfin. My gear with this lad was taking some abuse.

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By days end with probably 25 fish or so, I could sense Keith wanted more. The thirty plus pound best he caught previous morning had up’d the ante, and with two days left I wondered if he was one who would begin to fall victim to a big fish fever. Feeling those sweats and chills coming on for the boys myself, we got to medicating early next day.

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The original Holy Mackinaw was on fire and it was fast becoming a great numbers day. Three fish over twenty also came aboard by lunch. Quick stop for a meal with the group, I was put on potato detail while the others whipped up some Cajun, pineapple and maple lakers fried and baked. Tyler loved my candy treats all week as well. Best move I made was smuggling up all sorts of goodies and using that to my advantage. Kids will behave for things they crave. Keith totally cool with Ty getting sugar, my Fuzzy Peaches, Nibs and Swedish Berries disappeared pretty fast. Tyler and his dad liked those Swedish Berries the best. Found the one big sweet Keith was looking for too, and Tyler and him split it on the way up. The kiddo got it about half way and spit out so dad chewed it up from there. Great big fat bubble gum lump for the pair of them, just an insanely tasty looking laker.

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Chris cooked up chicken wings of every flavor for the staff that evening. Myself and the little Ojibway Queen Celina, we chilled out awhile too. It was another day in paradise I thought. Every minute on the water I was loving it. How anyone guest or guide could ever come to such a place and feel anything but great is beyond me? Slave country, at this historic old wilderness lodge, its feel, its fishing, when all are happy and there’s no drama it has one truly wicked vibe. I cracked a new bottle of Aberlour back in the room and toasted myself to just that.

Bear poop on the stoop leaving the trailer at sunrise, I was left to wonder if maybe it’d been our furry friend that freaked out Truck Tire by leaving a big nugget on a throne seat. News of both business certainly got the gang all going at the breakfast table. A bit of growling though mostly chuckling over that stinky business, down at the boats like it is many mornings, the guides enjoyed their few moments of time before all guests would arrive after breakfast.
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Final day, dead flat, Keith and Tyler, let’s get it on! One triple and two double-headers right off the hop. Tyler loses a GIANT and Keith at boatside an over 25 for certain. It was close to a forty fish day with plenty opps at some big pigs, except that they wouldn’t stay on the line. For the first and only time in my short guiding career at Slave, we didn’t boat a fish over twenty pounds. The best we could muster was a 19.5’er… and I can’t and won’t round that up.

Having these two for my first week of guiding I will never forget. Like many other firsts, this experience will travel with me a long ways down the road. Keith was such an easy man to guide, laid back, happy to be there, in awe of everything. And Tyler, seven grueling days of fish and play from beginning to end, the little guy had maybe a total of ten minutes on tantrum time-out the whole week. I’m a father and know that is friggin’ amazing for any child. Honestly, one of the best behaved and funny little kids I have ever met, and I’ve met and looked after 1000’s of them in my other job. Do hope I see them again on Slave one day, maybe guide them as well, if Tyler still wants me too.
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Rumor back in Guideland was that a 74-pounder had been caught on Bear and, that Adrian picked up a fifty here on Slave. Needing to vacuum the boat, wash out some slime, restock the shorelunch box and make a call to the wifey, I didn’t take much time for chat with new guests expected in next day and a 3:45am wake-up call ahead. That sunrise alarm came quick!

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Napped 5:30 to 6:30am between the two luggage runs for incoming and outgoing guests on different flights. As usual morning exercise was chucking bags, pulling carts, hauling gear and tuning out the Truck Tire. Lord knows, there’s plenty fools who would rather take people down a peg than raise themselves up…

Kevin first came down to the docks to greet the guides. “Who’s Bunk,” he said with a smile. “I got Bunk!” Mimicking his very slight southern drawl I answered a quiet little, “I’m yer Huckleberry,” but I don’t think he heard it. “I’m Bunk. Boat lucky #7. Nice to meet you,” I followed up. “I saw the name Bunk on the board for our group and knew if I picked that name things were gonna get interesting.” To that I had no follow up at all. Grabbed the cooler instead and said lets get you a rod and reel and some beers for the day.

Coming out of the store I had to ask who else we had with us. “Freddie,” Kevin called out, “you’re with me right?” One big boy answered with a “yep,” then made his way over. Holding out a hand, “Freddie,” he says. “I’m Bunk,” with a shake.

Off the shore it was apparent I’d picked up two big fish fevered hardcores, Freddie especially. Fifteen years of traveling to Slave they had time and lakers under their belts some years before I had ever even caught my first lifetime lake trout. Both curious they asked the same question the others had, “how long you been guiding?” I would give the same first day answer as I had the others, “two years spent here on Slave, but I fish A LOT!”

Kevin is Freddie’s uncle. Traveling in the same group is Freddie’s other uncle Chuck and his son Charlie. There’s also Freddie’s younger brothers Nick and Bucky, his sister Jackie and his mother Michele. Eight in all.

The game plan with these guys was laid out plain and simple shortly after they got in the boat. There is $150 and bragging rights on the line for the big fish every day between all six of the boys. Big fish of the week gets an additional $600. They would like early mornings to fish before breakfast and Kevin wants to beat his brother Chuck every day and at all costs. This was totally Twilight Zone to the week I had before, though I was good and game to give it a go. “Let’s play fish boys!” Kevin was going to remain with me all week and it was full on tourney trout fishing for him, and Freddie and all the other guys I’d come to learn were just as hungry within their family rivalry.

Bigger chop on the water we toured out there pretty far to get beyond most other guides. In fact, on the spot we fished almost the entire morning, we were without anyone else around. It was rolling and so were the guys, they were hardcore into it. By mornings end we’d boated nearly twenty fish and quality. Kevin popped a 22 but Freddie got the best with a gnarly 32.

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Kevin, who also goes by Herb and K-Herb dialed in during the afternoon. With all his trips passed, he kept saying that this was the best days fishing he had ever had. A good start then.

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Promised the guys we would be fine to do a 5:00 to 7:00am fish before breakfast for the week, and that I’d stay out to 5:00pm for ‘em each night. On this first day though, I was done. That 3:45am wake-up and work followed by the full day in big water beat me up. Called it with the rain at 4:30pm, only minutes before Freddie’s cousin Charlie trolled by him in front of the lodge, while Freddie was walking the shore to his cabin. In his face Charlie catches a 33-pounder. What a burn for Fred, he almost had the $150 in the bag.

Back in Guideland before dinner I drank one thick gin & 7 and it obliterated me. Gonzo!

Pouring at 4:30am. Doubled up on the rain gear, only our lovely Linda was up working in the main lodge setting tables and perking coffee. Poured three to go and kept sleep walking down to the boats. Freddie and K-Herb weren’t far behind.

The before breakfast time is guide time. Along with the anglers we can fish because we’re giving up our time to them. I’d still stay in guide mode, netting, taking fish off the hook, weighing or whatever but, there was always rod time for me fixed into the deal. With Kevin and Freddie my actively fishing wasn’t ever at all an issue. Unlike the week before when Tyler actually required me to fish, with these fellas I was plenty content to just let them at ‘em. Early morning always, sometimes during slow periods in the afternoon, and now and again to experiment with lures on tough bites, those would be the rod hours I’d keep if any. Besides, two anglers in the boat that know what they’re doing can keep a guide plenty busy enough.

First part of the day Freddie, Herb and I did well. Big fish for everyone, including me. (Had taken so many pictures of this family with their catches over the week that I really had to force myself to filter much out. So with that in mind, expect to see some of the best of the best on their days)

At lunch I got to work with our new crew, all about ten year give or take veteran guides at Slave, and you could tell. All the guides, probably every one of them, cooks a better shorelunch than I do, but these three were insanely good. Feeling totally inadequate all week, head guide Bob would say to me a few days later, “don’t try and keep up with them, they’re too fast.” It wasn’t just that, they were all fast sure but, the meals they prepared were gastrogasmic good. Stuff you wouldn’t expect so good. The chows and innovations and especially the fish tacos, were the best I have ever eaten in my life anywhere. It was a week of merely trying to keep up, trying to clean fish quick, contribute a decent addition to their masterpieces and wash dishes as thanks.

The wind picked up out of a weird direction during lunch and I didn’t really notice. When all other boats left heading towards the lodge and calmer shores, I did the opposite. Freddie had been swapped out for his younger brother Nicky. This lad was a riot. Everything was for a C-note. Bet this… I’ll do that… Hows ‘bout a C-Note if… he was fun, and SERIOUS! Man that boy wanted to beat his brothers bad and take home the $150 for the day. Well, we took a pounding on one side of a point and nabbed Nick that fish, then we snuck in behind into some settled waters for a picture to take the prize.

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Five laker pre-breaky bite the next day, with Freddie back on board he pops a tank first fish!

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K-Herb coaches us that money is on the line, we can’t let Chuck win, we got the big fish yesterday and our boat has gotta keep the momentum going. Right after breakfast Nicky jumps back in the saddle with us again. The kid is hungry for hooksets and raring to go, but it’s his uncle that has the hot stick all morn.

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Because we blanked on catching a fish small enough for shorelunch the day before and I took a ribbin’ for it, we made sure enough that one was in the box. Turned out, all the guides kinda-sorta up-sized and brought extra trimmings in case I screwed things over again. Too much food was the result. While cooking, Nicky on a C-note took a dare and went for a swim. Good steal for the lad. His brother Buck banked four C-notes on a haircut dare night before though, so he was was still ahead in earnings. Come afternoon, Nicky would add another $150 to his tally for bringing home the big one of the day. Two brothers tied it up for the cash, but Nicky was the one rocking the big lakers.

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It was my daughters Sweet 16 back home but the Magic Jack wasn’t magical enough for me to get through. Did however find out via FaceCrack that my wife cut the lawn with the riding mower for the first time, even the back acre with all the rocks. Was praying I’d still have blades on the deck when I got home.

It was a dead start come the next day. Bob and his guests from another group, nabbed a hot spot we’d been on for a couple mornings and I figured it best not grease the boss. After breakfast Kevin’s sister Michele joined us. The matriarch of the family, Michele surely was a joy to have aboard. Any Mom that would plan something like this trip for her kids is one special woman. “A real keeper” we fishermen might say.

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As far as the fishing was concerned, Michele was a little more laid back than all the boys. She had no money on the line, nor do I think she cared about bragging rights. That said, there was something she must have given away that cued me to believe she still wouldn’t mind catching a big one or two. On a glass calm morning, it was perfect condition to assess her vertical game. And even though she’s more a troller/sight seer like my own wife prefers, she still had the skills.

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And my buddy boat Captain K-Herb still did too. He was shredding ‘em up!

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Our shorelunch destination was a lengthy cost away but worth the price. Before we’d get there Michele would need a stretch on shore so we stopped at one of my favorite places on the lake for some sight seeing, Stromatalite.

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A great choice. Arriving at the Café we were all in awe. The coolest little cabana in all the Territories just out there, in the middle of nowhere with not a soul around. We had to sign the visitors book, watch our guests enjoy the beach, and all chow down at the saloon. Even Bob’s group when we passed them by didn’t want to miss out on this shorelunch party.

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Shorelunches are a huge deal. Look back in this report to the big group lunch we had, a time for everyone to come together, relax, enjoy themselves and sample the fruits of their fun labor… From a meal between just a guide and his guest(s), to a family picnic like this one shared by all, many traveling anglers to Slave, Bear or anywhere, look forward to this daily ritual as much as the fishing itself. I think many do even more. And with this family, the trip and it’s lunches were certainly significant. Michele lost her husband five years earlier, all the boys and Jackie lost their father. He was the man who started their family’s annual tradition of coming to Great Slave Lake every second summer, to create memories together that would last a lifetime. All the kids were incredibly happy and grateful to be there, a pleasure everyday we were there guiding them. They had stories of big fish and an even bigger history and connection to the place. What a special and unifying experience. A toast to them all and their late father.

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Phone still wasn’t working when I got back. Three part connections through to her I could hear Summer but all she could hear was static. She told me later she believed it was me calling to wish her a Happy Birthday, and even though she couldn’t hear me saying it, she knew I was.

Next morning bright and early 5:00am the K-Herb waltzes down to the boats with a wide smile. “Your fish yesterday held on didn’t it,” I asked? “I’m in the money Bunk. We got the hawt boat buddy, we got the hawt boat.”

The before breakfast bite was at a crawl again. It was mentioned early to me that the family had decided they wanted to head way out in a direction I hadn’t ever been. Later, we would all travel together, the pack of four boats spending a couple hours just riding the glass waters into the unknown. Earbuds in and a take-out coffee to go, youngest buck Bucky jumped aboard our ride to join the Herb and I on the tour.

Into the second day of what would become a nine day heat wave, this one just like the rest warmed to a scorcher. Coming off plane behind two of the other boats, a vast area of shoreline back-bay was begging to be explored. Cruising well past the others I skipped from subtle point to subtle point until deciding that was more than far enough away to start. On the troll, keeping a good eye on the sonar to watch for fish and structure, we cruised the depth-lines I guessed best and in no time were slowly picking off fish.

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Kevin picked up an over twenty shortly after dropping one as well. The fish got it deep and didn’t come out of the water for pictures, I only took a net weight, turned it over and let it swim away leaving a little blood trail into the deep. Bucky was plucking the odd greaser as well but we could not find that one good fish for him. The kid was impressive. All the boys and even Jackie (who I only had a couple hours to fish with one morning) were well mannered and fun. Although the lakers weren’t jumping in the boat, it turned out Bucky liked to tie his own jigs. There came a moment of show-and-tell in the boat and when it was my turn I pulled out my tray of Holy Mackinaws and one giant fly. Eight patterns, tied three of each, the bucktails were about 5 to 6 inches in length and loaded with life. The lone fly itself is a foot long and over three inches wide in parts. It was a six hour tie with about $20 in materials thrown in, two single hooks and a length of 0.60 gauge wire which provided the skeleton. The back hook is free as the tails are inter-changeable by a split ring. Pulled behind a dodger or by itself, using snap-weights it makes one colossal, lively, laker rig. It can be fished without the second hook on it too, as only just the 9-inch white part of the fly. Sad thing is, this beast never saw the water.

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Jigs you tie shank forward to head beginning with what materials you’d want for tail through to neck. I like to start with a dozen or so long saddle feathers stripped clean at the base of the stem. Wrap them in tight with a little flashabou too. Then, add some bulk with good sections of marabou and cover with a little bucktail. More flashabou, and another dozen or so saddle feathers next, cover those again with more and bigger portions of bucktail. To finish by the neck I’ll most often add a little red to the underside to mimic blood from the throat. Otherwise, some bright golden pheasant tippet, a skinny died hackle feather, or even some synthetic fish hair adds a little extra shine to the bottom of the lure. Finally, wrap two thick schlappen or saddle feathers to create a nice finished shoulder at the base of the head and you’re done. Use glue, glue and more glue to secure your threads through the stages. Biggest problem with industrial tied lures, they often only use glue merely to finish, and that’s why their crap falls apart in no time.

Bucky was blown away, told him plenty practice over the past decade tying everything from micro midges to foot long muskie bucks is a labor of love. You get brain damage sniffing all that glue too. Catching fish on your own creations though, is an often rewarding feeling. He loved Miss Piggy, so I gave him one. I name all the jigs. In the pic below, these one’s left to right from top to bottom are, Miss Piggy, The RJ, Firetiger, Clown, Blue, Rogue, The Original and Rusty Rat.

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Stomachs were all growling when we broke for shorelunch. An island oasis, we were warned to be careful exiting the boat to go ashore, but that didn’t stop Kevin from taking a fall on the slippery flat rock. K-Herb suffered a rather deep almost inch and a half long laceration to the palm of his hand. Deep enough, his subcutaneous tissue was protruding outward like cauliflower from the wound. Little bleeding that was fine, but it was too big a portal on too crucial an appendage not to risk having it cleaned right, and closed. My first aid was back at the lodge. A small box it is jammed full of the right medical supplies, another guide on the other hand kept a pouch of relatively decent tools suitable for when in a pinch. Retrieving that for me, the fellas attended to shorelunch for all others while I fixed Kev up.

An un-open water bottle, a couple dry sterile gauze, scissors, bandaid and some kling to wrap, best we’d do for now is to flush with the clean water, dry, cut thin sticky strips from the bandaid to make what are basically steri-strips, and use those to pull and hold the wound closed awhile before adding a guaze and kling dressing. Kev found a glove to pull over and wear for the remainder of his day fishing.

Back in their room I begged several times that if going any further to fix the laceration that, I not be held accountable if any complications arise. Not involving my employer I was willing to take responsibility if it ever came to that as well. Essentially, it was a medevac-able, trip-altering, insurance claim of a wound, being that, it needed to be closed right and soon and, it was his dominant hand. K-Herb put all trust in me and didn’t want to leave Plummers for Yellowknife. Having nothing but the right tools available, he gave the assurance to go ahead. Had to tell his nephews that no, they could not GoPro the surgery and post it to YouTube. But they still wanted to cheer their uncle on.

With lidocaine from a sterile needle I froze Kevin’s palm after prepping the site with some betadine. A fresh water, I dropped several more betadine swabs into the bottle to shake up an even more sterile, diluted germ cleanser. Once his hand was frozen I explored wound depth and looked for any foreign bodies before pulling several 10cc’s of the clean solution to flush out the laceration. Over a sterile field, wearing sterile gloves, with a sterile 4.0 Prolene suture, I managed to push Kevin’s subcutaneous tissue below the dermis and stitch the wound closed with seven sutures. A quick cleanse again, a dab of Polysporin, a no-stick Telfa, several 4X4 gauze and some kling, he was dressed and ready for discharge instruction. Nicky offered up a clean sock to cut up and make a stockinette to better secure the job. I was happy and the family was happy. Kevin just saved himself several flight costs and probably a significant insurance claim, and better yet, he saved the end of his trip. “You keep that clean and dry for 48-hours then we’ll reassess and change the dressing,” I ordered him. Heck of a day for the guy it was. His fish even held on as well, and second day in a row he scooped up the $150.

Only Freddie arrived at the docks next morning. Turned out K-Herb took a little too many non-prescribed liquid pain killers night before. Sun in our eyes, warm on the skin, just the big guy and I took to the water alone.

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Freddie is a gentle giant, a real good young man. I quite liked the time just the two of us and I think he did too. Half way through our before breakfast ritual I asked if Freddie wanted to guide me, and he was all over that. Despite suffering through my worst ever gall bladder attack that morning, the two of us absolutely pounded the fish. We had four over twenty in no time, and Freddie hooked three of them. A big boy as I said, he’s just out of college where he played as a linebacker for their football team. Fish didn’t stand a chance against his mass and muscle.

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After skipping the morning grease and popping a couple T3’s with a Gravol, the aching did settle well and fast. We got the K-Herb off bed rest, fed, and healthy again too with just the right kind of anecdote. The man is back!

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It was turning out to be such a slay day that the boys pulled me off the sidelines to be in on some action. Freddie crushed a few more tanks before noon, Kevin was getting fish after fish, and I had a couple over-sized giants too. We were on our way to an incredible day.

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The whole gang wanted to have shorelunch at a particular spot which is memorable for the family. A favorite spot. Because the boats spread out in the morning, for us it was about an hours run there, but that would only mean we’d have plenty fresh spots to try on the way back later.

The other guides outdid themselves again, and this shorelunch was another contender for best in my life. Sashimi lake trout appy, fish tacos with tortillas made fresh and the salsa and dill sauce done perfectly. Another whipped up a pesto-feta lake trout baker, I covered a mexican baker, we all helped make fresh french fries and the fellas popped out a bottle of tequila for everyone to enjoy a shot. To make it even better, Bucky volunteered to do dishes while Michele gave me a great back scratch. HEAVEN it is! This family is amazing, adopt me?

Finishing out the day we put eleven fish in the boat over twenty, and there were two others during double headers that could have been as well. Kevin also picked up a thirty plus buzzer beater PB, nudging out the week long runner-up Freddie by a couple pounds. Poor Fred, every single day he was second place for the money, and now our boat wondered if K-Herb’s fish would hold out for the win.

It was final day, and bright and early as always Freddie and Kevin met me down at the boat for 5:00am. Kevin was beaming. “Three in a row,” I guessed? “We got the hawt boat and the hawt guide! We’re killing it Bunk, killing it!”

Freddie knocked a goody before breakfast.

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We fished all over the bloody place until noon and it was slow, so much for “hawt.” Yet, still in the thick of the dog days, after lunch Freddie started turning up the heat a little more.

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A great expanse of water loaded with peaks and valleys beneath, I’d spent a bit of time nearly every day dissecting this area more and more. By this point, well over a week of mapping had gone by and in my GPS I had a solid little milk route plotted, and there was still much more space to explore. Along that trail though, one GPS waypoint stood out above the rest. It was on that spot if a fish was going to be caught, it would be 25-pounds or over. It didn’t let me down ever, and a number of times it produced two or three lakers that weight or more. On this final afternoon the guys were perfectly aware we were headed to 209.

And 209 did not disappoint.

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In less than an hour the boys nailed a 33 and two others 25 and 28. Freddie was on the hunt for a win. Burning down the clock they had about forty minutes left in their trip when the big guy set into a mule.

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The laker’s shoulders could barely stuff into its own head and neck. On the scale minus hoop it hit just shy of forty at 39, beating his previous best laker after eight trips to Slave by three pounds. Thick top to bottom and side to side, plenty muscled both the fish and angler, Freddie held it up with a giant smile, the K-Herb at his side.

Twenty or so fish it turned into one grand finish. Our first day was a loss by a pound but the next six days lucky boat #7 took home the money. Freddie’s fish earned him the $150 and he won the $600 for big fish of the week as well. Couldn’t have worked out any better for the guy, especially after all his second place finishes. Charlie one, Nicky two, K-Herb three days, and Freddie the knockout blow final round. Sweet!

After a quick follow-up on Kevin’s wound and a new sterile bandage it appeared as though he was healing without issue. I said goodbye to Kevin a little later when coming into the main lodge at his request. Having hardly set foot in there at all since arriving it felt kinda weird hanging around even a short time with all the guests. Several handshakes with an invite for my family to stay and receive a tour of Washington D.C. if ever down that way, Kevin was more than thankful enough for the week we shared. A month or so later he sent this email…

Sunday, September 6, 2015, 8:10 AM

Bunk,
Thank you so much for the photos they went viral all over facebook. Stay in touch, that trip was truly the best fishing/catching I had ever done and it was you that made it all possible!! Also thanks again for reattaching my thumb, it’s healing very nicely and I can hardly see the cut now.
Kevin.

Was chilling out back FaceCracking on the phone when Root said, “heard Freddie got a good one today.” “Did he ever,” I told him, “new best for the guy.” I liked Root. A teacher and a straight-shooter with a wildly quick and dry sense of humor, often sought after by repeat guests, and a wicked guide too. “You got a pic,” he asked? Passing Root the camera he took a look and instantly grinned, “ahhh what an awesome fish for Freddie. He’s a great kid, he’d be so happy.” Truck tire who had been sitting quiet on his phone reaches for the camera from Root and says, “lemme take a look!” With a skeptical snort he pipes right up, “Not even close to 39! Lucky if that’s fifteen pounds. Look at he way he’s holding it out, you can’t do that with a big fish. Not even a bag of flour.” “You have seen the size of Freddie haven’t you? He’s a big boy. We’ve got it all on video too, them checking the weight with me,” I answer back. “Well you’re lying if you think that’s 39,” he ignorantly retorts. “So you’re calling me a liar then?” “Yeah, and an idiot too,” he says. At that time Root stands up from his chair as I come in a little closer. “You’re an ignorant, arrogant f#$k who thinks he knows everything about fishing,” I say quite firmly. “I know everything about everything,” Truck Tire smugly answers. I just shake my head at that, as Root is starting to block our path calling out, “ladies, ladies!” “You’re a fool, I won’t ever bow down to someone like you,” but yet I still turn to leave and walk away before things get worse. “Yeah! Go work on your shorelunches,” Truck Tire finishes. My thinking is he should really go work on his fishing.

Back at my trailer I poured probably four fingers of malt and took some time to cool down. The Ontario boys were around and they helped me let off steam. Adrian assured me that some of the older guides still ride his arse too, but that it does get better. But me, I see no point in that kind of bullshit at all. Never do I approach people and life so ignorantly, unless I am provoked to do so. Never would I choose from the get-go to make it a point to be an insulting prick to people I don’t hardly even know… Anyone can become a better man, anytime! And people who don’t try, and so choose to instead insult, belittle or even bully without reason, they are this world’s hippocrates. Those who might do it to inflate themselves, they are cowards. If it stems from their jealousies then they are simply weak, as jealousy is more often than not merely a reflection of one’s own shortcomings. Be a better man! Don’t justify or perpetuate some shitty behavior as part of some guide initiation or way to let off steam, because the bottom line is being a dick is simply being a dick. If you just don’t like somebody, don’t bother with them. There is no excuse existing that proves being ignorant and rude towards others for no reason has any worth.
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There was a pounding on the wall below the window of my trailer. “BUNK! BUNK!” From sound asleep to half asleep I met Adrian at the door sometime after midnight. “Why is it all locked up,” he asked. “Because I’m staying in here alone and there is a bear that’s been coming by every night. “Ohhh yeah, right! Well, we have a medical emergency. It’s Sookie, and we need you to come down and take a look at her.” I followed Adrian to the lodge where Bryce, Miami and Trudy were waiting with Sook.

There was little question she had broken her wrist or hand. It was deformed and swollen but she was surprisingly tough at times and seemed to be able to move it well. Add some resistance to her range of motion and she was crying. “You won’t be able to do your job,” many told her. Not convinced herself, after finally finding something suitable enough to begin splinting I explained that in my time I have seen more ankles sprains with swelling than breaks, but more wrist fractures with swelling than sprains. Again, there was little doubt she had something broken and this would mean leaving first thing in the morning on the next plane to Yellowknife. We heard back later that same day, she had indeed broken her hand in two places.

Bobby must be able to read minds for I was loving his picks for me. First Tyler and Keith, then Kevin with family, and finally this one big fella for my four remaining days. Should of had him jot down some Lotto numbers for me to play as well.

A solo angler, Richard (the Red), or “the Viking” as I was quick to name him, came to us all the way from Norway after adding four days on Slave to part of his three week Canadian vacation. Impeccable English and even better demeanor, a wonderfully funny and intelligent guy we hit it off instantly. He might have been bigger than Freddie too.

Not sure of his fishing skills we stopped nearby the lodge before trekking out too far. “Do you fish much,” I asked. “Some weeks ago I spent several days fishing Atlantic Salmon in Norway but, I didn’t catch any fish.” “So you do fish then?” “Ohhh yes, quite often,” he answered. “Have you jigged before? Vertical jigged?” “I have done some for ocean fish, yes.” “Well, we’ll do plenty of that and some trolling too,” I finished.

Preparing to demonstrate the way it works, after a five minute ride to spot one, Richard had his back turned a second to retrieve something from his bag as I dropped on an arc. When he came about face, I was holding my rod out to him and offered, “here’s a first fish.” He was chuckling away reeling that one in. “Oh my, just like that then.” “Just like that, and there’ll be lots more too,” I assured.

The Viking required no jigging lessons, he was in tune with it from the start. Nor did he need any more powerful a hookset, he had that down real good too. Within the first minutes after the hand-off fish, he popped a perfect laker of his own. Loving the fight he was over the moon when it landed.

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209 was fine to me day before so I planned to get Richard there next. On arrival I think we had the place all to ourselves. Not caring to fish alone he had already expressed earlier he wanted a fishing partner in the boat, and you bet that was an invite too good to pass up. I explained to Richard that any fish hooked by me is his to reel in, and I’d let him know if I thought it was a big one on the line. That was an invite he wouldn’t pass up. Heck, I wouldn’t be there guiding at all if it weren’t for the paying guests, so he owned me, the boat and every fish in all honesty. On 209 though, Richard dropped jig several times onto some finicky arcs when finally one took the bait. A beauty 35. What I told the Viking right then and there is that this big laker might just be a tough one for him to beat. What a morning!

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After two weeks shorelunching in a team it was finally time to give it a go on my own. Plucking a nice eater for two we beached at a nearby island. While unloading the boat Richard insisted he wanted to help so I asked if he didn’t mind just collecting some twigs and spruce hair for fire starter. By the time I had our laker cleaned he had a raging bonfire going in the pit. “I have always liked making fires,” he tells me.

Bryce was the first to teach me this one way to batter and bread fish, so because it’s my favorite way to have it fried I’ll always consider it “Bryce’s fried fish.” Laker into flour and seasoning, then dipped into egg whipped with milk, then Panko coated. It sizzles up crispy and delish. A million guys probably do it this way, I just never did. Adrian got Brenda and I on the honey garlic the year before, and because that was also a favorite I wanted to do that with the fried fish too. Fish cleaned and cooked, spuds, veggies and beans, time to eat, dishes washed, fire out and back loaded in the boat, an hour fifteen. My biggest concern at this point with shorelunches after having learned enough recipes to get me through at least a week, was to do them fast enough and not waste my guests time. Had I been too slow, I would give it back beginning or end of the day. For this first effort, thanks go to Richard for the fire as well.

The afternoon was slow. We retired at 5:00pm and a short time later I met the Viking in front of the lodge before our dinners. We took a few casts to catch some grayling. Told him then that he could meet me at 5:00am at the boat if he wished, offering extra hours on the water each sun-up until the end of his trip and my days guiding. He was all over that idea.

Another clump of fresh bear skat at the base of my trailer stairs early morn, I could almost smell its musk still lingering in the air outside.

Often chances for photographs, on some long rides out and back I would regularly pass along some high cliffs and eagles nests on route to fish. With Richard on board for his first run, I thought it best we stop for a look.

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(this eagle is banded)
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A cooler morning that did warm quick, from 5:00 until 11:00am we could barely get a fish to bite. Richard had hinted before our breakfast that he would rather sandwich it for lunch or even having nothing at all, because the meals were so big at the lodge. He also confessed that he’d come an awful long way for a once in a lifetime fishing opportunity, and he’d prefer to spend as much time fishing. My kind of guy, almost… except I’m always eating! Unable to find everything needed for a pack lunch, I threw in some cooked rice, onions, peppers and salsa. The fishing so slow late morning, I explained we’d have to cook a meal one more day, and that from the spot we’d eat he could probably catch lake trout casting from shore. He was fine with that.

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A quick and dirty dinner, I added a small fresh laker in pieces to some rice, salsa, cajun spices, diced tomotoes, corn, mushroom, bean, peppers and onions and made quite a heap of what we could kinda sorta call paela. Start to finish we were done lunch and a little R&R time in a buck twenty. However, while I had been cooking Richard told me he had played six little lakers to the shore.

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The reason I had pushed for the early meal was not because I was hungry then, but because the fishing was so slow. Other boats in the area, most will often break off for lunch between 12:30 and 1:00pm. My hope was that after eating the bite would turn on while most; if not all, of the other anglers would be off the water. The plan paid off perfectly. As we were all set and dropping lines by 1:00pm’ish, the fishing did in fact pick up, and it was quality over quantity with Richard and I nabbing a 25, 22.5, 21, 19 and several more high teeners in a little more than an hour.

Stuck in the calm, hot and sunny week long heatwave, the bite had been becoming tougher each day for the guides and their guests. Now it was a weird bite too, and we were resorting to tactics that were completely adapted from a strange earlier happenstance during our 5:00am to breakfast fish. Several things were adjusted actually, and if we swayed from those changes at all, we couldn’t catch fish. Can I tell our secrets… Nope! Who knows if they’ll be needed again?

The Viking and I both had lines down. Crawling along on a drift my rod began to gradually bend in one perfectly slow and steady motion until it was loaded right up. Almost forgetting to set the hook I half swept it high overhead feeling the rod just slowly reload again until the drag peeled. No bite, no run, just weight like a snag, making the pass to Richard I said, “feels heavy,” and we exchanged rods.

Well fer jumping Jesus on a pogo stick did the big Viking have one helluva time with it. The fish just would not budge, and it held bottom for an eternity it seemed. No big drawn out mile ripping reel screams but several hard hammer-downs and headshakes instead. What Richard was into was one prime example of a dog fight, a true test of a real strong and heavy laker on the line.

When we saw it near the surface I puked in my mouth. When reading the scale we both howled. When we held her in our arms, I swear we both laughed and cried and laughed some more.

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She settled the scale with hoop minus a handle between 49 pounds and 7 to 12 ounces. Minus hoop and mesh at 2.1 pounds dry we called it an easy 47 pounder. The Viking Richard the Red just caught and released an absolutely mind blowing incredible lifetime laker on Slave, and I hadn’t even told him yet how close that fish was to actually becoming unbuttoned. Skill and luck played a huge role in the top to bottom battle with this one.

The release took probably two full minutes. Surface temps were 60F. So nobody asks, no we didn’t take length and girth measurements. Weight and plenty photographs as quick and best we could, with the hot air and warm top water the fishes best chance for a good release was to make it as quick and painless as possible. It was a sight watching that whale finally kick itself back down to the depths.

Right on tilt I don’t know about Richard but I was shaking. We were giddy as school girls the pair of us. His second day ever fishing lake trout I wasn’t quite sure he actually knew yet what a catch he had? But I knew.

We fished a short time longer before beginning the ride back. Along the way we spotted another boat off a shoreline and it appeared they were watching a bear on the land. Richard had told me the day before that while in Canada he hoped to see his first bear. Although he camps and spends enough time outdoors in Norway, the country’s population of bears is only about 400, to see one is quite rare. And, after traveling from Calgary to Vancouver spending time sight-seeing on the coast and in the interior, he had still not had that chance here either. Well, talk about putting a cherry on top of his day!

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The Lodge’s new manager Owen was there to greet anglers and guides back to the lodge every day after fishing. I liked Owen, a friendly, fair and established man. New to this place, the people and the operations, he would work from early to late all day long, and if he did complain or tire he wouldn’t show it to us. He and I got on well too. Quite handy overall with most things, if he wasn’t, he would try to learn by doing. Respectable guy in my books. This day like many, he came out of the shop to ask how we did. A very happy Richard walking towards Owen told him right away. Once I was out of the boat Owen announced something like, “The King Fisher does it again” or, “we’re just going to have to start calling you the King Fisher.” Fast and direct I asked him to stop that.

Second last in for dinner while plating some grub Bob quietly came up behind me, “heard you guys got a big one today.” “Yep.” “How big,” he near whispered? “47.”

After dinner Alex, Root and Miami approached at different times and gave their congratulations while viewing some pics. Three of the best guys one could ever meet really. I thought a time about not wanting to risk the same mistake by chancing another Truck Tire moment, but Owen wanted to see the pictures too, so I showed them off privately to him and Bobby later on. Other than that it was another tiring and long day, and much like I had been doing since beginning the early wake up routine to fish before breakfast, I retired to my room around 8:30pm, had a nightcap, wrote a few notes about the day, then crashed out. Early morning comes quick everyday.

Richard was somewhat out of sorts next morning. His girlfriend waiting behind for him back in Yellowknife, had suffered a little scare at her motel the night before. He was considering leaving a day early to meet up with her sooner. He somewhat regretted her not having come along to begin with. “I get that,” I told him.

Before I was fixed one way or another about where I was planning to guide come summer, unable to win if entering a contest for a trip to Slave, my wife got right ambitious to enter that contest herself. Trying to tell her these online things can get vicious, my fearless purple belt Brazilian Ju-Jitsu tournament fighter wouldn’t be deterred. While last winter I was working in remote Attawapiskat and barely online, before I knew it she was running away with the contest through the help of mostly the Mushkego Cree Nation, her Martial Arts club, her work and University friends, her big family and, to some degree people who knew me. All had been going well for her throughout, a couple thousand supporters by the end, with only one Ottawa jackass who would throw punches her way. Bren and one of her Facebook friends put him in his place before I was even involved. Once she had just taken the lead in the contest with a few days left, another contestant suddenly received over 1500 “likes” on her Facebook photo, and all within about ten minutes. Needless to say the contest went to crap from there on out. I felt bad for Bren who ran the honest race and was leading before it went south. Turned out, the winner had received votes from some kind of online vote generator and despite it not being in the rules that she couldn’t, she did steal the contest… It would have been great had I been able to possibly guide my wife while she came up to Slave with one of my daughters or maybe my dad… but ohh well, ces’t la vie!

Aside from thoughts of his girlfriend, on the big fish front Richard was on cloud nine. Once he put his name and a 47 up on the lodge trophy board evening before, the remaining guests kept him busy with their congratulations and further inquiries.

Our third round we kept a full count, although neither were taking much too seriously. We had the tunes going pretty well the entire time, we were joking around, playing with different lures, trolling more, and on another scorcher we pulled off a 37 fish day with a 32 from the early morning taking top honors.

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No shorelunch we still beached the boat for a stretch. Richard opted to eat his sandwiches while I took a hike for some pictures. Once gone the Viking set sail and seemed to be lost awhile. Returning up the shore later on to where I was waiting in the boat, he tells me he released a dozen fish off the nearby point.

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Alex and Root were still congratulating me on the 47 job well done from the day before. Now other guides knew too, and most all were being really cool about it. Felt good I will admit. Other than one bad apple, all the guides were good people and I quite enjoyed spending time and trying to get to know them all some. t

As answered to my guests when they would ask how long I’ve been guiding, “I fish a lot.” And in that lot back home in Ontario, lakers are a favorite. Through the ice or from the boat, big lakes to back lakes, and most as pressured as they come, it’s the finesse, multiple tactics, and time taken to learn to catch our deep finicky greys that helped make finding good success on Slave that much easier. Gotta dial in on ’em and adapt to the guests wishes, for I tried as best possible to put them on the big fish they were all hoping for. As a rookie especially, and having been a guest many times over myself, I certainly didn’t want anglers coming into my boat to feel cheated that they were given me, a newbie, as their guide. A great experience fishing is what I would want for me, and that’s what I was determined to give every day to the others. Worked for it and wanted it for them, because it was right to do. End of each day I was exhausted having tried. Guiding in fishing is not something that I have been paid for before either, it’s never been a job, but it is definitely something I have been doing for years. Through my work in healthcare the past two decades and as a father I “guide.” As well, a hundred and more days annually on the water, people have joined time and again to receive the best I have to give, “guided” for free. What is a guide simply? It is a person who advises or shows the way to others. So, if you’re decent and experienced enough and to do that in a good and giving way, then I’d say you qualify to be a guide.

Our final day to come but Richard unsure of his early departure plans, he gave the okay for a normal start time in the morning. Usually an early bird at both sunrise and set, some extra drinks with several of the fellas in the No-Tell-Motel was long overdue.

Couldn’t even sleep in if I tried, being conditioned to a 4:30am wake-up. Joined the other Andrew for breakfast, a younger fella and second year guide who had come in a couple days earlier. Truck Tire was spewing out his usual garble about “guys from Ontario” being idiots, but I didn’t much pay any mind because the coffee, french toast and syrup was just too good. Lord bless that chef Chris who made all our lives that much more palatable every day through every delicious meal served. Amen!

Standing outside the store with Andrew before the guests arrived Truck Tire saw his chance again and he called out, “Hey Andrew!” Then looking at me says, “Not you, the intelligent one.” I’ll give it to him, that would have been a good dig, if I believed for a second he didn’t actually mean it.

Finally the final day of guiding (and this insanely long report) Richard comes around the guest cabins to tell me he is going nowhere but fishing. What seems now like day one hundred of the heat wave, we pull away from the lodge to face another baker and put some more lakers in the boat.

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It is tough sloggin’ once again. Some guides think the weather needs a change to get the fish going, and I agree. At this point though I do feel dialed into the lakers enough to make good days keeping happening regardless. I’d been reading their moods on the graph quite well and if 15 to 40 fish a day isn’t enough, then maybe another 20, 30 or 40 plus pounder will make it all seem okay. One of the benefits of fishing the same fish in the same areas for days and days on end is you pattern them. I would jig or troll on Slave usually depending on the guests request first, but if they didn’t care or just wanted to chase down bigger fish, then I’d almost always hunt arcs first and jig’em unless we were rolling in waves. Once over top of lakers, how they respond to three or four drops when in a certain area, usually indicates how hard you’re going to need to coax them into biting. The harder they are, the more intent I am on trying to read them better and do all the things I can at my end to help anglers get one on the line. It’s fun fishing and guiding!

Two red beards together we did a rapid run and gun program plying plenty waters the Viking hadn’t really seen yet; and I hadn’t been on for days. A good showing we boated 17 with a one over trophy before heading back to the lodge. There, with some minutes to spare Richard wanted a couple laps in the narrows pulling a smaller lure on his 5-piece, 9-foot travel spinning rod. Spooled up with some fresh 6-pound mono the average eight pounders there were fun play. On one good fish he gave up after a short time and handed me the rod, a ten pound laker stubbornly kept me reeling for a good long while. Through the course of the month I surely got my fill of fish though, playing a role in many catches and boating some of my own.

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Richard was a great soul to have for the final days. Bob had figured I’d be okay with guiding the only solo angler in camp guessing that odds would bode well my guest would want me fishing alongside him. He was right, and this was an awesome way to end my time on the water.

Much to break down and pack up that evening, I retired to the dock at 5:00pm to get started. Before long a final gin and 7 poured itself into my hand and I was well on the way to chilling through the last evening. Supper passed and Richard hunted me down to add my pictures on the Nikon to the many photos he had taken on his camera as well. After the upload he offered a generous tip with a present as well. “I saw you eyeing the rod a few times and want you to have it,” he said. Very cool gift to me and perfect timing too, he had no idea I’d been looking out for a new travel rod to pack with me on my work trips into Nunavut. Richard only owning quality, his Lawson 9-footer made in Norway, is the perfect spinning stick to fit in my suitcase, assemble riverside, and bomb spoons and jigs across shallow rivers for arctic char. Looking forward to the days ahead when this will happen. Extraordinary one-of-a-kind gesture, I hoped Richard and I would stay in touch and he visit, if ever back this way in Canada.

Finishing off more than enough remaining scotch, Adrian, Miami, Bryce, Root, Jimbo, Trudy, Claire, Chef Chris and myself closed down the No-Tell-Motel that evening. Root and I among other guides on the morning plane out, it was a farewell for some.

Thanks were made to Bobby and Owen and the morning goodbyes were quick. Before blinking twice I was in Yellowknife ripping around the city on a street legal side-by-side, with friend Susan and her little sweetie Briar. Later my buddy Dan got off work and took me for an evening jetboat ride up the Yellowknife River then way out north on the lake to a friends new cottage, it was the perfect way to wait out my flight home the following day…

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Would I guide again? Yes!!! … and I will, if not back at Slave again, somewhere else. My experiences on the water with the guests and working alongside the other guides were real, character building and unforgettable for me. To stay at the lodge, travel the lake, fish and have this opportunity, I am fortunate. Incredible guests, witnessing happy moments and giant lakers, everyday. A great thing to be part of.

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My hat off to Plummers! For three times a guest and now once as a guide, they have again and again made mine, my guests and many peoples fishing dreams come true.
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Bunk
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