I do not visit the north, it is the second home I return to, a part of who I am.
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Across the lounge table sat an older fellow, Thomas, whom I had only met an hour earlier. I sipped scotch while he enjoyed the local beers on tap, and before long he graciously offered to buy my steak dinner. From Minneapolis traveling to Plummer’s Lodges on Great Bear Lake, we were two anglers who by happenstance crossed paths heading in rather different directions. Thomas, on his own, had originally planned to fish alongside one of his friends on a Canadian fishing trip, but that friend had recently passed away, and so he continued on alone. A fine meal and drink shared, we yammered on like a couple old school chums exchanging great stories from our fishing lives, until the glasses emptied a last time and we said our goodbyes.
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Come next morning I was downstairs in the lobby pouring a coffee and surrounded by several dozen anglers all heading off to Plummers. Thomas was there, and even my friend Seth could be seen through the hotel window waiting in a shuttle bus for the Yellowknife airport. It was quite bittersweet really. I had hoped to guide Slave or Bear, or even visit the lodges as a guest this summer, but those plans kinda fell apart. What I was left to do was pick up the pieces by taking a month long contract in Kugaaruk Nunavut, the same remote Arctic community I first visited this past winter. Departing five days early to stay with new friends prior to my actually starting work, the idea was to first enjoy four days exploring the tundra and some fishing, then afterwards use any time away from the job to keep on casting for arctic char through the remaining month. Yellowknife to Gjoa Haven to Taloyoak and finally Kugaaruk, during the flights there was plenty time to think about the coming days.
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TO BASE CAMP.
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While at home during the weeks leading up to Nunavut, using Google Earth I studied the area around Kugaaruk. Plotting maps into the phone, I broke the destination down into various sections pinpointing fishy-looking spots of interest along the way.
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There had been a looming feeling that this was to be quite a significant undertaking. Uncharted waters, unknown hazards, unguided God’s country, miles and miles of river, lake and sea and char unlike any other I have ever fished, in the very least with some mapping and forethought, an approach to it all could come to exist and my mind should find some ease.
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Stepping off the plane I was instantly swarmed by mosquitoes. Tiniest little black skitters they barely seemed to buzz or bite but, they were surely choking thick. Inside the small terminal, a couple different folks had come to pick me up. Two Nurses from the station were there and so was my expected ride Mick. Happy to see each other, I turned to thank my co-workers for coming then explained I was in town early without any intention to work until the coming Thursday. I would likely stop by before shifts begin but, I otherwise had place to stay with Mick and would be out on the land until then.
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Feet up at Mick’s place we spent the evening catching up. His wife Cheryl; who had been the N.I.C. (Nurse in charge) at the Kugaaruk Health Center during my last contract, was unfortunately out of town, and I would greatly miss her there. Both she and Mick are gracious people whom I found a quick connection with, and it was very kind of them to offer up a bed for the short time planned before work would start. Fishing began early the next morning.
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THE ASCENT.
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Mick gave me a lift just outside of town. Heading up the river there was an immediate sense of wonder and a feeling like I was already waaaay friggin’ out there. Casting a couple deeper pools with different spoons produced no bites, but leaping over rocky ledges, wading the waters, taking in the vistas and soaking up some arctic sun pushed me happily along. Going as far as believed necessary in the one direction, turning towards town I began to retreat to the ocean, fishing several spots while dropping back. The river was something else…
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There was no telling where the tide was at. High or low I didn’t know, but it surely did appear to be down and out. Still no fish to be had either… I was making my way along the riverbank adjacent to the road when a vehicle pulled up and a fella stepped out to say hello. From town, Mick had sought out someone who would give me a tour, and this fella Gerald was kind enough to oblige.
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As it always does, the tundra amazed me. Ocean views leaving town behind, the road turns inland to follow eastward along some high south ridges while the views ahead and north span out to cross flat lowland plains. Scattered rocks lay everywhere, dragged and deposited from the hills by ancient glacial ice-packs from eras gone by. Treeless, the eyes can gaze far across vast distances and horizons, focusing in on anything that may be wildlife. It is otherworldly, strikingly immense and quite exciting.
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A creek flowing under the road Gerald stops to fill his bottle with fresh spring water trickling out from the ground. Green grasses and dishpan ponds soak in the depressions where gaggles of snow geese gather, and tundra stone, lichens, and a little ice cover the elevations above. The road is rough and it takes nearly a half hour to travel just twelve kilometers to a bridge laid out in the middle of nowhere. Gerald and I talk plenty about his lifetime spent in Kugaaruk, and we share of our fishing as well. The same age, for two Canadians raised so differently, what was found would be a quick mutual bond through an appreciation for wild experiences and the outdoors. He speaks of whaling, char fishing, family, working, hunting, happy days and even harsh tragedies, and he does so like we have been friends forever.
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Beyond the bridge the compass points south to follow along the Kugaaruk River another eleven kilometers, to where it finally meets Barrow Lake at another crossing. Having traveled up and over gentle rolling hills a time, here and there the odd camp is found scattered along the way. In the distance, once finally reaching the second bridge vehicles must climb with the road into some mountains where the D.E.W. Station and an old runway alongside the lake are located. Getting to this place takes about an hour depending on how hard one wants to beat their vehicle. Strangely it is all how I envisioned it to be.
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Little time was taken for fishing through the afternoon but the tour was greatly appreciated. Gerald would be surprised a few times before reaching a spot, as I would begin talking about it as if having been there before. Eventually, I confessed to having researched the area before coming to Kugaaruk.
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Gerald and I fished a few spots with no action to be had. It was quite a windy day which was helpful to keep the bugs off, though after awhile I began to wonder why the fishing was so slow. Gerald only chucked the local lure combo while I tossed all sorts of different spoons and even some spinners from the box. “The char ran here already,” Gerald explained, “you’re about two weeks too late. Fishing is good early July.” My heart sank. Not at all the info I had been given. Not at all like the timing it would be at the Tree River or in Kugluktuk on the Coppermine.
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Returned to Mick’s place that evening a little deflated, a lot exhausted but overall very happy. Gerald did catch one char and I had lost one as well. Mick had pulled some of his fish from the freezer to thaw and I fried it up sweet and sour to lay on a bed of buttered mixed veggies and scallops, over basmati. There was an offer on the table as well, to head out whaling the following evening, but I semi turned it down. Honestly, I wanted to put forth a bigger effort for the char again. In the morning from the hospital, hoping to borrow a vehicle for the day, I planned to ride about and hit many more spots we just didn’t have time for. Figured there would be little chance of returning for 5:00pm to go chase narwhal on the ocean. Guessed Gerald wouldn’t mind, and that he would extend this great invite another again.
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A co-worker who obviously gets it, offered up his wheels next day.
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Touring straight out of town I started the day shore casting for lake trout. Really, really, really difficult to do even with a wind at my back. Casting an 8 1/2 foot spinning rod rated for 1/4 to 1-ounce lures I was pretty well emptying 15-pound braided line from a full 3000 series spool. The 5-piece Lawson travel rod was a dream to use, holding together through 1000’s of hard whips during the month. The brand new Shimano reel unfortunately had some issues. Casted Pixies, Crocodiles, Cleos, Strobes, Ridge Backs, Devle Dogs, Cyclops, standard Len Thompsons, Twister Tails, homemade spinners and spoons, and even tried the local spoon and Gibbs spinner combo. Despite many long bombs from along the lake’s shorelines, I lost the battle. It is super shallow a great distance out, and different locals would later tell me that the fishing is best there when the ice first recedes from the land leaving open water gaps out to the mid lake sheet. Still though, there had to be five feet or more depth where the lure was splashing down, and at this latitude that’s plenty deep and cold enough for cruising lakers.

Making haste I fished nearly a dozen mapped spots, probably putting fifteen or more kilometers on my legs and packed back. Didn’t take enough water either. High wind, no bugs, some selfie pics, big vistas, a couple playful siksiks and a local friend on her ATV checking up on me, plenty photos were snapped but never a lure. No fish at all. It began to play into mind that I screwed up this opportunity by planning on the wrong dates. Also feared that with the forecasted low staffing, the work shifts to come and the on-call, that future chances may be few and far between. Maybe should have taken up the offer for the whale hunt too?
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Third day of four came hot and sunny. Only spots I’d yet to try were in town. Had been told to fish the low tide which would be along mid afternoon but I couldn’t wait. At the first spot by around 11:00am, an outgoing flow exposed more and more shoreline to fish, enabling me to wade further and further out into the river mouth. It didn’t take long before spotting several small, silvery char follow my spoon to foot. Several casts later I would catch my first.
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The remainder of the day fishing in town was an arctic scorcher. No one else around, I hopped several times back and forth from spot to spot, fishing plenty of the spaces between. The advantage of waders was key, staying on the move was necessary, having a couple rods rigged was helpful and, laying off the drag once hooking these fish was a must. Being a very calm day the shoreline waters at low tide warmed under the hot sun. Baitfish like sculpin could be seen moving in and out of the rocks and over shallow muck, attracting very small char. Bigger char like two to five pounders cruised just off shore all within less than a half casts distance. And beyond a full cast, maybe there were belugas, who knew? Once hooking and releasing a fish though, I quickly learned it was of benefit to move a little ways away. The school in that spot would spook and I’d either have to wait it out for the next run or, go find fresh fish. Having the chest waders meant skipping along shore and crossing wet pools was made easy and, I was able to reach places that most locals wouldn’t even try to in only shoes or rubber boots. Occasionally I saw some five plus pound char roam through, a few even looked greater than ten. All were bright chrome silver and all were lure shy. From a high vantage point, I was able to view how some char reacted to different spoons under a bluebird sky. Often, they simply ignored lures and just kept swimming onward upriver, the few that did take interest would follow to shore then bugger off. Of fish I did hook, probably half came off. It is a rocky river and I changed out nearly all treble hooks for single siwash thinking I would take less hang ups. Maybe it did save me some snags but it was a mistake, the few trebles I did have proved better and the reason being was the fish hardly took spoons presented along bottom at any depth, but preferred nabbing them just subsurface. Current either kept the lure high in the column or where there was less current there was more depth. As well, the rocks in all parts of the river were covered with a thin layer of algae or some soft-like gelly growth that I would often detect the lure hitting before it actually had chance to embed into anything, and this would save me hardware constantly. So, the char were really the only thing to consider with regards to hook choice. Many fish were followers and nibblers getting hooked just inside the lips, and this is why a treble proved best. The hard hitters, well, they make little mistake anyways, and so trebles again certainly did better keeping them pegged until I ran out of them early on. Started with only four in the box.
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From this day into the next and five more beyond, I would fish the town spots a total of seven times over the entire month. Only two long days, the rest of the attempts were short outings of a couple hours during the evenings when the tide was right, and I was either off shift or second on-call with more freedom to roam. This day, day one, remained the best by far for numbers. The weather and ocean breezes nor my schedule ever allowed for the same prefect weather, tide and timing to play out as it had this first day. I caught 14 or 15 fresh silver char which pound-for-pound put most anything freshwater I have ever caught to shame, and I surely lost that many fish as well. The town outings afterwards I would catch zero to six chrome char, including my biggest. Several times over I took company as well, sharing the banks with two other nurses and one night a couple of fun teenagers who followed from town. To catch char here on the Kugaaruk was always a test, as they’re not stupid fish by any means. In one favorite spot I could wade out well past the middle of the river standing at the head of a rock garden and face downstream. Over any glass waters, schools of a half dozen to a dozen V wakes would be seen entering the giant pool and run, and swimming towards I could wait and then cast right onto them. Rarely, would they pick anything up but when they did, holy hold the fawk on for dear life.
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Whether the take was gentle or not, these ocean-run bullets would tear off like little salmon soon as feeling the tug. It became imperative to loosen the drag a little after the initial take or you’d pay for it. After that initial peel was done some fish would go aerial but most would turn and scream off in another direction. Bigger fresh silver fish bested me a few times as well. One in particular, reminded me of my first time chinook fishing in B.C. It just left a missile-like wake across the surface, ripped off down stream before cutting in behind a garden of big boulders and snapping my line before I was nearly spooled anyways. Mulligans were par for the course with these salty char arriving only minutes into the river from the ocean.
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Of all the lures used in the town spots, hands down the best was the BlueFox Strobe for fresh chromers. Having a few different patterns I quickly learned (and coveted) the one 3/4-ounce sized silver spoon with the little bit of red. Once the finish began to wear off I would later find a red Sharpie at work to doctor it up again. In fact, there would be other spoons needing a touch of red in order to make them produce too. As I said before, mainline choice on the 8 1/2 foot Lawson rod was 15-pound braid with a flouro 12-pound test leader of 10-12 feet. Why so long a lead? Because the uni-to-uni knot tying main line to lead should be well on the reel for every hard cast, trust this if you don’t want your spoons splitting off and landing somewhere at the north pole. This hardware bombing set-up worked really well overall. Once or twice I wondered if I was under-gunned for those few heavy tanks I hooked and lost, but for standard issue char on the Kugaaruk it all felt perfect. When other people were around fishing it was evident that quality ruled. Being able to cast 30-50% farther by having super lines and great gear, as well as having the waders shuffle me further away from them and the shore, it paid dividends. Most evenings I was able to return to my hospital apartment with a fresh meal, and often share with co-workers some of Pelly Bay’s best tasting char. It had been a goal of mine this trip up to catch my first pure chars (will explain later) in both sea silver and full orange and red spawn dress, the fishing around town helped check the silver chromers off the bucketlist.
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Some of the river and ocean scenery and catches from around town… and you’ll note that spoon hanging from plenty mouths too.
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Final day of the initial fun four before starting work was rather chill. Took six hours to cast the town spots but didn’t push it. Wind and weather would have it that the fishing was tough anyways, and I only managed a few. Come evening back at Mick’s we had a great meal and I prepared a little to move out and into the hospital apartment that following morning.
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CLIMB TO THE SUMMIT.
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Work and on-call over the next four days proved to be a busy start. At 75% manpower, walk-ins, appointments, handovers and urgent care needs were at the forefront. A new N.I.C. would arrive and we were happily relieved to hear it. Taking the reins in that capacity just wouldn’t suit me. Being new to Nunavut there are regular Nursing care programs and procedures which should be learned first. Fumbling through administrative duties so soon and without certain foundations built, I believed would be a waste of my experience and skills. Emergent, urgent and community patient care is where best productivity lies, and so during our period of short staffing it made more sense to soldier on within a role best trained for.
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But then a funny thing happened The Prenatal Program, Well Woman Program and a Chronic Care List of about forty patients were assigned to me. Being that it’s work which has to be done I was fine with it all, but will admit to being nervous. All programs there are rather foreign so far, and so I was required to learn the basics. Chronic care being organized enough would be fine, but Well Woman would have to go on the back burner as, the Prenatal Care patients take a higher priority.
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Midwifery came in early in the month and saw all the expectant mothers in the community. This was a relief as we were able to sit down afterwards and map out the care needs for all these patients through the coming month. Just days later a community MD arrived and she visited with several Prenatals again as well. Just like having prepared to fish char by mapping out a plan and finding the right mindset, under guidance then building a quick foundation for this new work undertaking, helped in the same manner. Over the next weeks I would meet with all thirteen Mothers-to-be, visit with several Post Partums, and as well as add four new Prenatals to the list. Each and every pleasant and patient young woman truly made the experience wonderful for me. Rust over the years had certainly accumulated with pregnancy skills and knowledge, and although some were reluctant with a male Nurse, all were gracious during our appointments.
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The job is always a grind though. There is never enough time in a day. During my stay, three infection control Nurses came and went for the community was amidst an active tuberculosis (TB) outbreak. This northern reality always creates a greater strain on health services as, testing, tracking, treating and teaching becomes highly important work. Thank goodness this task did not fall on myself and the other Nurse. As well, several other early stressors, (not at liberty to discuss) almost lead to my early departure. It can be a roller coaster up north…
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After several days and beyond the Civic Holiday I trudged through sixty patients and well over a hundred hours on shift and call. Missing the girls at home we had the chance to talk on occasion, but otherwise when free of duty I would totally disconnect. That first week before the Olympics started I watched season three of Banshee and all three Hobbit movies as well. Managed an afternoon on the holiday for a little chrome char action and began plans for a couple fall fishing trips and 2017 vacations too.

Colder weather moved in. More east and occasional north winds began to blow. Initially swamped at work the call shifts thankfully allowed for some better nights sleep and daily flow was becoming rather routine and productive. Day to day life in the Arctic is so different than anything usual, and there are always periods of adjustment at both ends. One had made comment that northern Nursing can be like working in a war zone and what follows you home later is similar to PTSD. Admittedly, it is a challenge unlike anything else I know. The hours and expectations are incredible. The responsibilities, policies and unique variables make it almost seem impossible at times, yet I will rarely meet another Nurse doing it that wants to do anything else. All contracts up north my back and stomach troubles go away, I lose weight, eat better, sleep better (when not on call), think better and feel more energized and happy to work. But in the end, it is the 100+ hour work/on-call weeks which are often coupled with rough stints of higher patient loads, short staffing or emergencies that can crush your physical or mental stamina and pull you down fast. Community and politics, odd or difficult co-workers, and making any mistake are common factors that wear you out too. How anyone can Nurse in these Nunavut stations for years at a time baffles me. It is not a system easily suited for any longevity, nor would I consider it very healthy beyond certain limits. For me though, two, four, six weeks at a time is no issue and in the not so distant future when maybe Bren can be alongside, a team I think we could easily work two, four or even six month contracts.
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Come the weekend I started the Saturday as 2nd on-call. Taking a portable phone down to the river in town, a windy, rainy morning and higher tide made my two hours of fishing impossible. Come afternoon I visited with Mick at the store and had an airport run to pick up staff coming in. Then I veg’d right out.
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Now and again thinking about the run of fish I had hit on that sunny day well over a week earlier, and remembering what Gerald had said about returning fish, I took off from town with higher hopes. Hike, explore, fish, repeat… this was the routine. A Nunavut Nomad’s hunt for Arctic char. Fish or no fish, each trek out under northern skies and over tundra grounds the experience alone is worth every bit of the sweat and effort. So much to take in really, it is endlessly interesting and inspiring.
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May have just covered every inch of the land near Kugaaruk, I hiked all over, taking a thousand photographs at least. Over the span of the month every chance for rest from work, if the weather allowed it I chose to fish and explore instead. The energy was there, and the motivation to find some red char kept building. Lost almost fifteen pounds by the fourth week, living right, eating plenty of fresh fish and putting miles of tundra and hours of work behind me.
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As was said, I wanted a red at this point so bad too. Actually, I wanted a big fish even more. As understood, the way char can often operate prespawn is that many males enter the rivers first, sometimes weeks to even months before the females. They set up shop and lay claim to preferred spawning beds. There in the lakes or rivers their color darkens from silver, to pink, to vibrant orange and some even go crimson red. Males during this time will still feed but do so considerably less than usual. Their lower jaws also hook. Many smaller females enter the rivers and lakes later on, and in time the dance begins. Char usually spawn mid September to November.
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What I believe may happen in the Kugaaruk is the first run of fish in July are more males, and therefor bigger fish. I was able to see the sizes of some caught at June ice out and taken in nets during the initial July run which I had missed. Their average length and girth was greater than what I had been catching on the river since arriving later. Probably three to four pounds more on average. Both the June/July run and later in August run, the fish caught around town were all silver and fresh. The few fish I kept from catches in town were silver too, yet all females if I remember right. This would help support the case that more males run first. But locals in Kugaaruk also speak of up and downward runs of fish in the river. Char wintering in lakes, come high spring waters run out from there and down to the ocean, while some fish are simultaneously running up. Still, landlocked for a full year in a lake, I would think the fresh water would turn and keep them just a little more colored, but locals rarely catch heavily dressed reds on any runs at all. This leads me to believe that any real reds are bigger, silver male fish that moved in early ice out and, changed as the days passed while swimming in fresh water. Generally smaller females arriving turn pink and orange but not nearly to the same intensity. And you’ll see later on in this report, how and why this came up with me at all.
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Most of the people take their seasonal char quota at ice out. By the time mid July rolls around many in town use every calm day they can to hunt muktok and muktuk better known to us as narwhal and bowhead whales. The experience sounds intriguing, but several men explained that it is hard work and long days. During the morning hunters head out to migratory whaling areas, cut their engines and float quietly, listening for the blow-hole sounds of any whales passing nearby. Narwhal make up 99% of the catch. If they hear whales they will race off in the direction of the sound. Arriving quickly is a must, as other hunters will be hunting as well, and locating those whales before they move on or are harpooned by another is crucial. Other boats almost always compete to harvest and the first whale is usually harpooned in the morning. For the rest of the day, those hunters who did not get whales will stay on the pod (of what is usually four to six narwhal) until all are taken. Kugaaruk never fills its full limit of tags for the season, in fact, they usually take about half the whales permitted, 80 to 100 or so. There are many narwhal I have been told, many more than are needed. To the Inuk they are like muskox, seal or caribou, or in our diet like cattle, pig and lamb. They are a resource, they are food. Nothing of the whale goes to waste, much is shared in the community, and the ivory also brings big dollars to families which can always use it.
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I see a great worth and appreciation between the human and hunted in Northern cultures, such as what is present in Kugaaruk. A working, functioning town with little alcohol abuse, even less hard drug abuse, and strong ties to the land and sea. Those not hunting whales are out on the tundra, always on the watch for caribou, and recently the return of muskox too. Polar Bear aren’t regularly hunted but if so they are near fully eaten and the pelt prepared and sold. Some will hunt the plentiful snowgeese but most don’t bother. The Arctic world around the Inuit provides, it is truly their farmland owned by all. A Christmas turkey shipped in can cost more than a gun and bullets, and surely all of our hormone treated, penned meats and preservatives are not nearly as pure and palatable as the animals which each Northerner has been raised on. I personally adore cultures which continue sustainable harvest and live traditionally. Respecting the circle of life, staying ever active, and teaching all in the family and future generations how to properly kill and prepare food meant to provide for a most basic human need. That shit is real I should have gone on the whale hunt too.
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I started where Gerald had caught his one fish weeks before. A plump orangey fish it was, but there was nothing swimming after it. A very windy day casting and wading was made a little more difficult in some spots but I stayed the course. After a couple hours and having made my way to the lake, through the waves near shore was a flash of red at my lure, but nothing took. The eyes didn’t deceive me, it was the red I’d been hoping and searching for. A couple casts later I hooked up with a chromer.
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For the remainder of the afternoon I would catch a half dozen lakers and a half dozen chrome char. As far as lakers were concerned, future trips they became easy to catch and always around, but a two pound char puts a four pound laker to shame in fight, looks and taste. Char was the game.
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Hours after the first red sighting it happened again, but still no take. I had been tossing spoons for ages and really having to whip the casts into the wind, but there were fish around and it was worth every effort. The silvers liked the Strobe and one homemade casting spoon, while the lakers being lakers loved the Cleos and Devle Dogs. Having left several bags of twisters and tubes back in town, I had just one 5-inch white Mr. Twister in the box already rigged on a 1/2 ounce head. They hadn’t hooked me squat in all the days fishing but I clipped it on anyhow and bombed it out. Right away, BOOM !!!! It’s hammered.
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The most orange char I have ever seen breaches the surface and wakes with its back out on a run across the water like a fresh chinny torpedo on an initial rip. Couldn’t loosen drag, couldn’t tighten, thinking honestly that I was just right stunned after that first display. Yet it did turn and come around, and then the praying began. And Jeebus Crispies man, it was a beast that hunkered down and Hail Mary’d me. Had waded out but it was wavy so I was still rather shallow, then started stepping back in a little to make the grab easier from out of the chop. About fifteen feet away, jig looking to be in the cheek and fish flailing, hook straightens and pops out. That char was a good fifteen pounds or so, painted back to belly and nose to tail in neon orange. Lost a big silver first, and now lost a giant red this day. It hurt. And to add insult to injury the one and only Twister Tail with me got snagged up and snapped off a short while later. Did take another chromer first though.
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Back to the spoons for the last hour the magic just wouldn’t happen again. But, the last fish of the day was a little rose char that had some pretty in her. This outing would be something to remember, and build upon.
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Here are some laker pics from different days and more silver char beginning to show color.
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REACHING THE PEAK.
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A tough week of high volume and some emergent cases at work followed the weekend of fishing. Even the on-call shifts had me up in the night, sleepless and therefor tired through work during the day. A short evening fish while off duty on Wednesday, I managed 1 for 2, losing a solid silver char that bashed and snapped my line in like one milli-second. The caught char however was the biggest fresh silver taken during the entire stay in Kugaaruk. It was a prize fighter and beautiful fish.
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A day later after shift I was invited to join the other staff for dinner. Caribou burgers that were delicious, salads, fries and another treat, ice cream. Other than sugar in my coffee there hadn’t been one bit of sweet junk food enter the belly in a couple weeks. Usually I’m into treats on a daily basis. That ice cream with some cookies was so good that I ate too much, got nauseous later on and then couldn’t sleep a wink.
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The staff was about to turn over with basically just me staying put. A new N.I.C. would begin and life would go on. Before two nurses Ana and Isabella would leave, we would get the chance for a couple short fish outings after dinner. Irene and I would also enjoy a drive to take in some sights during her last night in town. Meeting people through this type of work has been really interesting. To be cohesive and truly function well, the team around you needs to be friendly, understanding and professional. We are all we have, and we are tasked with the health of an entire community. It is nothing to take lightly.
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A patient whom I had medevac’d out of town phoned me from the hospital in Yellowknife. She was quite ill and I had spent several days caring for her and trying to get to the bottom of her issue. The voice at the other end says, “I’m grateful for what you did. Thank you for getting me out.” We talked a short while longer before ending the call. Again, what we do is nothing to take lightly.
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Kugaaruk life is rather busy. The children play from sun up to sun down in the summer time and being that it’s 24 hours of daylight that means they are outside playing a tonne A brand new playground at the school, children’s injuries at the clinic frequently present. It was interesting to note how many had blisters on their palms from swinging on the monkey bars, and there were a good number of broken bones, sprains and head injuries too. Sometimes, in the middle of the night I’d be up for a wizz and look out onto the main street still lit up, and there would be more people out walking around at 4:00am than there would be during regular daytime hours. But it’s all daylight hours really, and that’s why people including the kids just go on whatever schedule suits them.
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Some homes are just too crammed so families take turns sleeping in what space they have. Those with jobs or school tend to keep the normal hours which means those without, sleep the day away. What is great to see in Kugaaruk is that plenty are working and want to work. The water trucks are out and running from early morning to supper time, delivering water to the homes. The sanitation trucks are pumping waste holding tanks daily. All other regular business and infrastructure keeps plugging away. And finally come days or weeks end, the people get outdoors. Hunting, fishing, boating and camping, little of the precious summer sun and warmth is wasted. From some that I spoke with; especially my age or older, there is a healthy energy to want to be on the land which all seem to feel is a beautiful place to be. There’s plenty of life out there to find, I would agree.
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See all the snowgeese below?
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The previous weekend was the outing when fish were found, with some of those char showing signs of spawning color. Also lost that tank orange fish which straightened the hook. Three days afterwards, I slipped away after work to fish in town for the evening bite and went one for two. That was again when the biggest silver was caught and I lost a torpedo.
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But it was finally the weekend again when the chance came for a full day escape. On a calm and rather dimly lit morning, I arrived to a fishing spot, walked down a hill and observed the water ahead. From a high vantage point, it appeared the shallows had char, and many were red. After weeks of hoping and plenty time and miles, I instantly felt this was going to be a momentous fish.
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At 10:00am the first cast was thrown and 8:00pm the last. A totally exhausted and completely hurting unit when finished, the back was hard stiff, I had tweaked my ankle and even fell once cracking my knee pretty sore. The bite was so good though, that I drank just one water bottle all day, barely ate and sucked up all fatigue. I didn’t want to stop, not for a minutes rest.
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During the first hours it was char after char, most swallowing lures that were quickly disappearing from my pack. For every two or three fish hooked, I likely lost one; including another big, vibrant and beautiful orange male.
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It was around noon when my cast got crushed. The char had to be played right to me as there was no way of proceeding to it. Peel after peel I was praying. No net, no shallows to land the fish, only me waded up to my stones in a field of boulders, facing outward upon a shallow widening and barely submerged rock garden below. But it actually happened that I landed the fish, even while walking backward to where my gear and camera rested on a giant rock above the water. Tailing the orange char the lure was easily removed, and I worked quickly as possible to set up for a timer photo. Ten seconds counting down, as I lifted the fish out of the water it bucked hard and kicked free of my grip. A photo shot 5 or 6 seconds later and it was merely one sad selfie. That char was a neon orange glowing fireball from head to toe with stunning humped girth and one gnarly kype. Easily above thirty inches, a conservative guess would be around 13 to 15 pounds. Quite the catch really, a first in a way, but it was still somewhat of a second big orange heart breaker to come within a week. Counting the two big silvers lost back in town, I could almost add this one to make it a fourth time blanking on a true toad kicker… Capturing a quality photo often seals the deal for me, as fish like this in an angler’s life are truly remarkable.
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Not another soul was around. A big world felt like it was all mine, although some siksiks, hares and even a lone caribou did stroll on by. The char in the waters below me sometimes nosed into the shallows where I was waiting, but after time went by they became more ansy. Pods would move around and I would try to follow. If the bite slowed after a dozen or two casts, the char would force me to shift and change my angles of approach. Sometimes it did seem they would back too far off and away, so I would stroll awhile down the shore and cast in behind, pushing them back up the pool to favorite positions where they would more readily take a lure.
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Six hours after dropping the big photo fish and probably forty or fifty char later, I hooked into a real quality male. Another spirited battle to bring the fish in, taking no chances during the fight I pulled a tailing glove on with my teeth. Just absolutely stunned and overjoyed to finally land and photograph a true char in one most vibrant display of color. Unlike the previous two which I had come so close to capturing with the lens, this char’s orange melted into a lava-like, glowing red belly. A super char really, with such a beautiful face and masculine jaw. Finally, the fish I had been dreaming of most came to reality.
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It didn’t stop there. After the release a second thicker char followed about an hour later. Another hard fighting male nearly pulled me off a stone perch and into the drink. Ripping to and fro, an orange back thrashed across the surface. Not quite the same missile speed of the previous big fish, this one dogged a little more and really tried to work with the shallow boulders below. The fish would eventually have me go to it, wading in deeper to lessen the chance of it rock rubbing and snapping its way free. Once in hand I could have wept. The moment, the day, the feelings, the work, the reward, the place, this amazing place, these dozens of char and the two incredible rewards, all combined it is indescribable. This Nunavut Nomad had reached the peak.
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The town was running dry of food. The annual barge shipping in goods was expected to arrive in Kugaaruk at any time. The local store needed to empty it’s shelves in order to accommodate the stock. Bringing in high priced, air-freight food and supplies at this time would only equate to massive net losses for the Co-Op once the price drop hit with the barge making land. Yet the waiting sucked…
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No rice, no diapers, no sugar, no flour, no pop, no juice, no pasta, plenty regular food items were missing from the shelves. It seemed many of the town’s people hooked on cola were willing to pay big dollars for 12-packs being cycled through the community via air travelers passing by from other towns. The airport terminal itself became a hopping place of business during plane refuelings. Some were paying $170 for a case, or nearly $15 for a can. Even during my on-call shifts I took a couple 911 emergencies asking if I had pop for sale or, was able to lend a few bucks so someone could buy smokes. In the middle of the night with work the next day, being woken for this sort of thing usually caused some rage.
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I felt for a couple of the girls on my prenatal list though. Some it seemed weren’t putting on enough weight with their advancing pregnancies. One young woman I had to give a small snack to from my own carefully measured and dwindling stash, and before leaving the community I was sure to pass along to others my remaining chicken, rice, sugar, oil and drink crystals.
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Walking through the new playground on route to the river I was often saddened to see so many children smoking. Not teenagers, actual children were carrying around smokes and sharing them. A costly habit in an extremely costly world, I stopped a number of times to try and talk sense into these misguided little souls. The youngest I spoke with was eight years old, who puffed away while my own insides fumed. Our Canadian babies born to the Arctic suffer the highest incidence of respiratory infections in the WORLD. Nearly 40% in their first year are treated, hospitalized, severely inflicted or killed by such. And the first people to blame aren’t actually us, it’s themselves. Tobacco is not a part of Inuit culture, never has been, but nearly 70% of the population is said to smoke now and the cramped housing and cold climate often holding many indoors is spreading disease. Another case and point in Kugaaruk is the tuberculosis outbreak that was currently affecting the community. An age old bug nearly eradicated around the globe, it’s still present and ever prevalent in our supposed first world Canadian Arctic. It is lifestyle and condition. Some people it would seem just can’t escape these health hazards, the pitfalls, the killers, the bugs, and even at times the malnourishment. As I had said earlier though, at least many of the population continue to try. The hunters, the harvesters, the active and the many wanting to work, along with the overall positive attitudes of so many I have spoken with, all truly make the northern life a tug of war through the ages.
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End of the day the only real part I can play, is to accept what is possible of me and contribute those best parts to others in any good and honest way I can. To spend say a month, see maybe 200, 250, 300 patients, I also feel as though it is a greater giving of time and effort. And after being employed in the north so long, comfortable with the fact my collection of experiences and skills can help those who truly want to be helped, there’s no better place I could work.
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CBC Nunavut on Facebook, had a post up asking anglers to share some seasons pictures of their fish. Popping up the great shot of my glowing red the photo went viral pretty quick taking some 800 shares and a couple thousand likes. In Kugaaruk at work, on the street and in the store, many people actually began approaching to ask about the catch. Other than the odd elder, most had never seen arctic char like that, and even some locals who commented on the CBC page did say the same. Where, what, how, when and how big were the common questions, and enough asked me how it tasted too. When telling people that the fish was released I was always met with the same disappointed sighs and responses, “but that would be a good meal, lotsa meat,” and “if you don’t want it we’ll eat it.” I believe the concept of catch and release doesn’t even exist in the Arctic. A char like this one retail in Yellowknife would have been worth about $200, but to many in Kugaaruk it’s food value could be worth much more.
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A few ninny-muffin, dippy-hippy, puppie-yuppie know-it-all-know-nothins commented on the CBC post as well. Turns out my catch; which was still likely about a month or even two away from spawning, was merely another sad example of one angler resource raping during a vulnerable time in a fishes lifecycle. Had never quite realized ti’ll then how much of an impact I could have on our National char stocks. But, it was a good thing for me the wise and vocal took to their soapboxes to verbally beat the uninformed knitty, tofu chewing brigades back to their hammocks and Volkswagons. Whatever happened to peace, love and the pursuit of happiness anyways? Are they now reduced to PETA activists and whiny, social media trolls? Regardless, they were only but a few, and most people including the towns folk in Kugaaruk saw the red char for what it really was, a fine catch by one super happy fisherman.
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THE DESCENT.
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Days were growing shorter and fast. More and more the cold north winds were beginning to blow. The Olympics finished, the kids were beginning school and The Hip played their last tune. My stay was nearing its end. After being awake with work much of the night, a final afternoon upriver to fish was all there remained time for.
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Calm and bright waters when I arrived, the fish appeared to be all but gone from the shallows. Well out in deeper sections, the odd fish was rising, and it appeared on the far bank off of steeper shores fish were active as well, but the previous sweet spots were now kinda sour. I walked around plenty of the area casting every which way I could yet the bite was real tough. Over the span of about six hours maybe six or seven fish took a hook. Wondered if maybe the bulk of the run had pushed up the river? Kinda also suspected many fish were for some reason just holding deeper. There were char rising for bugs now and again but as said, mostly well offshore. Maybe too they were on to me? They were skittish to be hooked where so many had already been hooked over the past week and a half..? Maybe it was the high sun? Maybe most were all busy in school? Maybe having been up most of the night it wasn’t in me? Maybe a muskox ten miles away farted? Regardless, I did get one nice one and some other spiffy evitarulik.
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The following last few days I said my goodbyes, hung out one last evening with Mick and tightened up the care for my programs as best able. Four weeks, 240 patients, 210 hours on shift, 300 hours on call for 510 logged, please tell me that ain’t busy for a small town of a thousand
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A friend from work gifted me a very short narwhal horn. It was actually a rare second horn that had been beginning to grow on a double-horned whale. Two large horns on one intact skull can fetch upwards of $40,000 to specific buyers, although this baby horn was too small to count for much money. Happy to accept, I figured it was a cool keepsake to add to the polar bear tooth and walrus tusk collected on the last visit to Kugaaruk. It is a rather unique gift to receive.
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I will miss Kugaaruk. It has only taken a short time to meet many people and grow to like it there. A hope is the people and politics don’t run the Nurse’s out of town and that many more will take the work to keep the community as staffed and healthy as possible. Many seem to appreciate any positive care provided, and I think showing any genuine interest to be more active and present outside of the health center, will only help newcomers adapt and find greater acceptance. Gotta look around and be open to it.
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One of the most fulfilling and enlightening work and play experiences in my life. The north, a part of who I am.
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Thanks for reading,
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Bunk