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The huskies were barking and yelping to themselves, “now where does this fella think he’s going?”

On the outskirts of town, back up north in Coral Harbour, I set out on one of the few walks my time from work permitted. Earbuds shuffling through some quick-stepping tunes like ZZ’s “My Head’s in Mississippi,” and Zep’s “Ramble On,” I never really stopped to wonder if drowning out the tundra sounds was a good idea? Afterall, on these relatively windless days it’s either silence, the snow crunching sounds beneath the boot, or the warning footsteps of maybe something else, like a prowling polar bear sneaking up behind.

Those huskies did ask a valid question though, “where am I going?” And it’s this walk, just like many, many before it that there isn’t a solid answer. It’s just a walk! A walk usually with some hope or purpose, but just a walk nonetheless.

Never overly far from the village, out to the east I was coming off the sea ice back onto land when finding a caribou’s track.

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Before long those lone steps joined with others.

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And like that, just a walk found it’s hope and purpose. Armed with the camera, music playing and some good energy we got the giver going in the legs and made haste.

Over the next gentle ridge of rock stood parts of a local caribou herd. A half dozen animals had already broken off and headed north but, some remaining beasts waited around curiously to see what the hell I was all about.

Out in the open, rather near and totally exposed to their fixed eyes, there was no creeping in closer for better photos. The herd took to hoof, exiting stage left, leaving just a trail of snow dust to wisp my way. At only at a trot, can they ever move! I followed…

Over another slight ridge, across the town’s dump road and walking another kilometer or so northwest, the tracks lead me right to their next resting spot. A rock pile between myself and them, I might have surprised those few bous when popping my head up because they didn’t seem to know which way to run at first. Clickity click!

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Those caribou have the fuel to just keep walking. Nothing on this earth walks further than they do, it is their entire existence. On this day I quite enjoyed walking with them…

About a week later from my office window the caribou appeared again. Out there amidst the snow and stones, rooting up whatever grasses they could, on this afternoon they weren’t even a mile from town. A day off-call, I couldn’t wait for my shift to end.

After quitting time, my buddy Brody gave a quick lift in the truck up the airport road. The drop-off was close but not close enough. A spine of rocks running to the caribou, on one side I ducked low and crept quietly as possible to the herd just over on the other side. Had this been a real hunt I’d consider it close stalking range and successful.

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Once one stopped and spotted me, the rest paused a minute too. Then they split!

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In the coming weeks there would be one more walk to photograph caribou. One a 30-day contract though, I actually had to work or be on-call every day while north so, it was usually only brief windows of time which allowed for wandering off.

The month of April passed quickly. My solid work brothers in Brody and Mathew, we kept busy looking after people in the health center and finding things to do together in the evenings. New to the northern lifestyle, Brody was great company the entire time north. Found friends, in many ways he reminded me of myself in early career. Everything to him is fresh and exciting, his energy and curiosities to tackle new experiences abounds. We would spend plenty hours talking about possibilities.

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Understanding his choices and very much alike, he was me 16 years ago. Coming from southern small towns and city work lives, moving to the isolated north much is given up. All friends and family are left behind, the enjoyments of usual socializing and conveniences vanish. All movie dates, restaurant dinners out with friends, concerts, big sports events, the freedoms of just driving some place, many holidays, birthdays, popping in to visit your folks or buy some quality food at the local supermarket for a reasonable price… all of it is gone. Instead you’re left with a full-time job that often becomes a full-time existence. In town you are what you do, 24/7/365 and there’s no escaping that while there. And although it might be a little easier today to stay in touch with the world back home, as the clock ticks by so do the lives and any chances missed. You give that away whether wanting to or not. Yet I remind Brody of the flip side. That what he’s doing is like double-triple time within his chosen career and, it’s so vital and empowering. He’s young and has the energy now, with the opportunity to fast-track for any wanted life which he may seek ahead. And, he is also provided the work and means to occasionally enjoy much more than those who cannot do what he is doing. In the arctic, a place which can continually inspire and lead to amazing personal stories and memories to carry forth, one learns to enjoy more simply what each day may bring. Brody is realizing this I think, making his choice, and the building of it all starts here for him…

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Coral Harbour has some beautiful and incredible people. No shortage of talented carvers and artists, and experienced outdoors folk, having the opportunity to immerse myself in that Inuit culture on a daily basis is a great reward with doing my job. Usually with each contract I look for a few keepsakes to remember the time by. Several days a week different carvers come into the health center to sell their art. Two carvers impress me especially, Daniel and Jeffrey.

Coral’s best and most renowned carver is Daniel Shimout. Google search this man and you will see some of the most interesting pieces imaginable.

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Of his works, Daniel’s merman and mermaids inspired through Inuit folklore may just be his most sought after pieces. When his wife and son arrived one day selling at a steal this intensely, unique carving which really struck me on a personal level, I could not say no.

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About a foot long, the face and base are a soft soapstone from Cape Dorset, Nunavut. The body is walrus bone. The two spines in the merman’s back are baleen, (whale teeth) and the straight stand is caribou bone. Those exaggerated carved teeth strike a stunning resemblance to my own.

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The other carver is Jeffrey. Using harder, darker, local soapstone, this up-and-coming carver arrives several times a week to sell his fun and ever improving carvings. On a previous trip I had bought a grizzly bear from him, and although during most of this stay north I was holding out for the town’s best knife maker to make me an ulu, when he couldn’t get that job done Jeffrey arrived with this cool little kayaker creation at the right time. A nice touch with the caribou bone paddle too. To also add to a collection, I found two more polar bear canines at a fair price.

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I had packed a couple ice fishing rods and a dozen jiggin’ spoons with the hopes of trying for arctic char. Unfortunately, with the schedule’s limited days and needing to rely on others for this chance I just couldn’t make it happen. Brody on the other hand did find the time to tag along with friend Marty and his wife, experiencing his first long hours of travel, ice fishing and a freshly prepared caribou meal while outdoors on the tundra. The dood was absolutely exhausted but beaming happy upon his return to work. Here’s Marty in action and one from a net…

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It hasn’t seemed to matter which community I work in the north, they so far have all been extremely interesting and friendly. It’s a rare thing to find a job that suits an adventurous spirit, steps so far out of the ordinary and rewards in ways so plentiful beyond a usual measure. If able to keep up with this one, I’m thinking I will. Looking forward to returning to Nunavut again.

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When I had left end of March this was the scene out back of the house. Spring surely seemed to arrive but as I have later found out, it has a long way to go.

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The boat had been serviced in the winter and was ready to roll. Chomping at the bit to get fishing, on the first decent day I pulled “The Bomber” out of storage to vacuum, scrub and spit shine it perfect. Mechanic at the local marina did say a month or more earlier that considering it’s coming into an eighth season of use, that the thing is in great shape.

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Unfortunately I wasn’t in the same shape. Trailered up to a favorite crappie lake and put the boat in the water. The Yammy started easy but when putting it in drive I heard metal on metal and stopped. Took a minute to diagnose but figured it was the prop pretty quick. After it’s service and in a hurry during the winter, I’d put the prop back on without the spacer between it and the seals. Actually, had lost that spacer somehow. First day of fishing ended within minutes.

Finally, and just two weeks ago, everything would come together. The spring season had begun. A first solo tour for crappies followed up awhile later with the girls, the big pannies were on. Leah got a couple of bests with a 10 1/2″ bluegill and a 12 1/2″ crappie while the outing before I had bucketed home half a quality limit after fishing through about two limits to get it.

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Don’t fish the pannies much. The one midweek day slaying them alone was OK. Had posted an empty seat available online but couldn’t get a taker last minute. The day with the girls on the other hand was awesome. The bite wasn’t as fast but we steadily picked through fish all afternoon. Going out for brunch and finishing with a later dinner of wings made for the perfect family outing. Leah has become a helluva good caster too.

Being that I had dumped some of the fish scraps a couple times under the apple tree out back, one evening Bren calls me up from the basement in a hurry. Behind the house just off our property is one big beauty of a black bear, the first we’ve ever seen around home. He wasn’t scrounging for meat at all but instead eating some fresh grass. Brenda begs, “you gotta go outside and get a picture.” It is a nice, healthy looking bear. Clickety click!

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After blanking on a rainy day fishing outing with my friend Christine, the new season and timing about right for trout it was no surprise that Mike and I reconnected. Probably the most regular fishing buddy, we hadn’t whet a line together in over a year. It’s his fault too. Haha!

Not so busy now, Mike planned to take me fishing first then I’d repay him a week later. He had long cached an old boat but hadn’t revisited this lake in years to fish. No cut trail anymore we rode up in the truck, offloaded the quad heading onto the trails and later parked it before bushwhacking our way in. Turned out everything was intact except us. Achy muscles and sweating buckets we’re both rather outta shape. This was also the first day of the annual blackfly hatch. Not a bug going in but a swarm heading out.

In the years Mike’s been fishing he’d never had it so good. We must have timed things just right. His first laker hooked was eight pounds! By days end we boated a dozen, six a piece with some other fish up to five pounds. One thing we couldn’t get over either, is how colored the fins were. Both of us had never remembered seeing that before.

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While cruising around the shallows something outta the corner of my eye got our attention. Upon further inspection we found a fully submerged dog with a radio collar had drowned along the steep shoreline there. A casualty of the fall deer hunt.

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Planning to return the favor of that great day spent, during the week I set off in search of gar. The flooding on the Ottawa and the cold weather and water temps, there were no high expectations. The first few spotted fish of the season were of a much fatter and faster variety.

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But eventually some pockets of gar opened up later in the day, allowing me to catch a couple half decent fish.

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The first outing had been tricky. Must have been some rust but there were four or five bigger gar that just easily shook the hooks free. It was frustrating actually. No guarantee with the weather, when it was Mike’s time to go again we (me) kinda hummed and hawed about it a little. Cold days and the gar can be shut down, another option was Lake Ontario for some browns. Seeing wind gusts forecast there of 50 kilometers it was decided to take our chances with the gar. Were we ever rewarded with that!

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Mike was thoroughly satisfied with his repayment.

Overall this May has been miserable with plenty rain, cold and wind. Taking advantage of every window opened has lead to some great fishing though, and none more so than that on this past Wednesday.

After checking with the old notes it appeared the last time out spring specking in the float tube was 2012. Remember that day well actually, took a skunk but the ride into the lake was an intense quad up a steep mountain trail and it was picture perfect at the top. This week I set off early to try finding one, two or even three new brook trout lakes which would hopefully produce better.

Hardly sleeping a wink the night before, by 5:30am I had already run over a little deer up on Snow Road and nearly hit another too. After a couple early morning hours of mud bogging and hill hopping with the quad, I set off through thick bush on foot ti’ll pretty near dying it seemed. Afterwards I turned back, toured out of there and hit the next trail over that worked just beautifully. Some scenic stuff for a morning commute, the girls at home were likely just getting off to school.

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You had to keep moving this day though. Walking or riding, the minute you stopped either one you were swarmed. Once finding the first of the three lakes and needing some minutes to unpack and prepare, there was no choice but to dawn the mesh head net. Intense blackflies!

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For steelheading I had made some spinners awhile back. They are bullets. A number 3 french blade, for their size I added heavy parts so they’d cast a mile and get down a little deeper in fast currents. Also dressed the single siwash hooks with a little white and colored combo bucktail. Being all silver parts I did and didn’t like that for the specks. Kept the bodies natural but with a red Sharpie painted the blade and added some black dots too. It was just a guess but the specks liked it.

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They are a devil to photograph if planning to release but I snapped a few shots by luck.

Come end of the day, all of those lakes ended up totally tubed and fished, catching at least a speckle on each. Best overall area was an incoming creek into the second lake, it was there I plucked four fish and lost one. Suffered “a” blackfly bite on my right wrist and likely a little more deet induced brain damage but the day was all mine. A great one at that! Surprising five years had actually passed, for float tubing has been something enjoyed annually for well over two decades. Exploring new lakes, having the forest seemingly all to myself, the anticipation once you finally arrive, the quiet kick of the flippers around the shoreline, the fish co-operating and that much more of a reward when you find them… it’s a great way to fish.

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So a good start it’s been. Nunavut life and now two weeks of fishing in with a variety of species and people to join along, the remainder of spring will certainly see plenty more. Will keep on chasing a wild life, even if the bears and blackflies might pick at my bones.

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Thanks for reading. 🙂
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Bunk