It was while flying over Dubawnt Lake in Nunavut when I realized the airline was actually feeding me a third dinner on the route north. Yes, breakfast, lunch, supper, wine, two hot chocolate chip cookies and a specialty coffee. That was pretty close to a heavenly service.

Dubawnt is the 16th largest lake in North America. It is one of the most pristine and isolated lakes on the planet. No settlements and little exploration, Hearne put it on a map but Canada’s Inuit traveling the fabled Thelon River routes most certainly hold on to it in history. From 36,000 feet up, for me, it’s still sort of “like” a visit to just fly over. Can say that I have seen it at least… Took the last swigs of that coffee then switched to the port side seats on the rather empty aircraft. Approaching Yellowknife, next up for viewing was an old favorite. Great Slave Lake at Talthelie Narrows, home to Plummer’s Lodge. Some great mapping and memories were made there, and a little of my own brief northern history as well.
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A few days before leaving I took a real kick in the stones. On a Saturday morning, hours before my parents 50th Anniversary Party, I went looking for photos stored in an external hard-drive only to find that the drive had been unexplainably ruined. Eighteen years, well over 12,000 or maybe 15,000 photos, gone! Family photos, fishing trips across Canada, so much lost it made me sick! From 2000 up to 2018 about 75% of the pictures sadly gone, maybe forever! And the dwelling on this would have likely lasted for days had it not been for the party that afternoon, family coming together and a visit from my rather scarcely seen eldest daughter, Summer.

Like the faintest pen, a photograph will last longer than the greatest memory… it’s hard losing both. And with keeping that in mind here I start over to begin another chapter. From this minute at the Explorer Hotel in Yellowknife the Nunavut Nomad is inspired again. Arctic char in an arctic place, the lure of fish and adventure cast their spell.

Before boarding next morning for Boothia I was joined by one Mr. Ryan Gregory for coffee. Working nearby he slipped over to the airport while on his break to meet and chat about very northern and fishy things. A first chance encounter that left me with a smile, for it’s always a pleasure to meet new and like-minded anglers and swap stories. Ryan has carved quite a life for himself the past decade living in the NWT. A young family and an adventurous fishing and hunting spirit, his passions put him on T.V. and YouTube as he too documents his outdoor experiences here… FishN’ The Arctic … It would have been great to spend more time.

First fished char with Brenda back in August 2008 and a second go of it in 2011. Tree River Nunavut through Plummer’s Great Bear Lake Lodge. Since that time my thoughts of the Tree and its char have never left, not a week goes by even fifteen plus years later that a small flashback or full blown memory doesn’t pop into mind. Ryan and I briefly spoke about it, agreeing that it is a place which takes up everlasting roots within you. Impossible to forget!
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Brenda and I have always dreamed of returning there, at least just one more time. We came close in 2018 but unfortunately had the trip pulled out from under us. Tree River popularity was exploding, every angler wanted a piece and the price tag for this suddenly jumped significantly higher. Today to fish the Tree River for just one day will cost a person roughly $10,000 if choosing to go through Plummers and adding that on to a week long lake trout trip… for Brenda and I both, that’d be times two! It’s an almost impossible consideration… I mean, she and I both enjoy Nipigon camping and other vacations as well, such things we could do for four, five, even six months for that kind of money. Ohhh to be rich..?!

It was late 2015 when first getting hired on to work in Nunavut. The summer of 2016 I took a contract in a little Arctic town in the Kitikmeot Region where it was there that combining the job and fishing Arctic char came about. Now, this eighth summer visit I have been fortunate enough to continue enjoying pleasure and play along with my profession and pay. Flights, accommodations, travel expenses provided and a daily wage slipped into pocket, this surely helps make these experiences something even more special. Quite blessed to have such opportunities.

The fishing away from the Tree River can be incredible as well. The memories only my own, it’s a little bittersweet that Brenda hasn’t yet been able to share them but, I can say that the char and adventure has certainly been rewarding. A few of those past trips found here…
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EKALUK CHAR
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CORAL CHAR
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TALOYOAK CHAR
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First days on the ground at work went busy but smooth. An on-call shift the Friday I did fret a bit about fishing the following day, if it happened that I’d get stuck in emergencies overnight. Well, that pretty much happened… The 830am start continued until midnight, 15+ hours on the clock. A few hours sleep after that, I was suddenly woken back up at 300am returning into clinic ti’ll 0600am. By the time I got to sleep in bed, my 700am alarm went off and it was time to go fishing. Excited for it I still had pretty good energy.

My friend Heidi was off call as well. I warned her that it would be sunny, hot, buggy and that she might be bored fishing an entire day alongside. This didn’t seem to wane her interest one bit, she was just looking as forward to escaping work and going on the adventure as I was.

The fishing would be the mystery. Flat and calm conditions can sometimes bring about bug hatches that char would rather key in on for food. The sun and flat water sometimes drive the fish a little deeper too, making them more weary to come up shallow. I didn’t feel like the day would bring gang-buster fishing so I had it in mind to explore more if need be. Make the best of the time and timing one way or another, with some company alongside.

Arriving to some good fishing water the first few casts yielded one small lake trout. From well offshore I could see rising fish out in the deeper sections, just beyond my best casts. Unable to reach those no char were being caught so I moved along to steeper spaces.

First cast at the new spot and BOOM it happened! A nice sized char crushed the lure, gave a rather randy fight and finally came to hand glowing red mad about getting caught.
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After Heidi had spent a short time hiking about she caught up to me again. The next fish I handed off to her. She told me; that around the time she was eight I believe, a young girl was the last time she ever fished and caught anything. It was a walleye! Well, a couple decades later, we stood together in Nunavut while I coached her how to play a much cooler looking and more powerful fish to shore. I don’t have to think that she enjoyed her catch, I know she did!
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Afterwards we’d take turns. I got the next one, then Heidi, then me, then she lost one, then I got the final fish. As predicted it was a slower day overall, fishing six hours and catching just six char, but the quality of some of our char were absolutely incredible. Beautiful colors, big sizes and three taken home for the table. Sunburnt, sweaty and swatting skitters all day was well worth it. We had the water to ourselves and no one else about anywhere, some of the finest fish on the planet to enjoy.
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The biggest and best fish hit a new spoon. A Gibbs it is. Had never used one before. Heidi liked the colors on it and first cast the thing got crushed. A vibrant orange buck char tore line to and fro, managing to stay on ti’ll the end. I’d miss grabbing it a couple times until finally tailing strong. Another one of those lifetime fish, a knee-buckler, the char was just a perfect specimen from head to toe. Manly kype, dressed for success, when the women would soon arrive for the spawn they’d be begging him to dance. After photos he released easy.
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We broke for lunch around 130pm. From 2 to 4pm the fishing just shut right down. A breeze picked up and I hoped that would make it better but, remembering from past experience this particular wind direction was a window closer. During those two sloooow hours, sometimes from atop a cliff, Heidi and I would see fish cruising along the break-lines between deep and shallow but, casting to them they’d spook or ignore any offerings. Although I couldn’t hook anything else, it was good to know that plenty char remained in the area which had yet to be caught. Something to return to later.
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The work through the early part of the week was a run-of-the-mill steady flow. None too tiring. At one point I met with a patient who’s wife joined in with our conversation about whaling first, before char. Knowing that fall would soon arrive I mentioned that the fish should shortly be returning from the sea to head inland… that’s when she said, “they come back when the stars do.” “Really,” I asked? She just raised her eyebrows, which means a “yes” with the Inuit.

When the stars come back so to do the fish… that’s interesting! It’s almost always the same timing for the returns, usually only a matter of days from year-to-year. And of course, some of the first cool, autumn nights when darkness just begins to return enough that the stars may come out, it could be that clouds, or moonlight or something else cosmic over any particular place could alter the exact date the fish arrive to their home rivers again. I liked her explanation, it could very well be a fact passed on to her from generation to generation, an Inuk guide to char.

A Facebook memory popped up one morning. It was the first day I really slayed some ocean char in town, caught fourteen of ‘em actually. At work later on, a little old lady was friendly with me and said she remembered me from the news. She and I talked a little more about fishing too, apparently she doesn’t care as much for eating them anymore as there were times in her life growing up that all there was to eat was dried or cooked char. Imagine… “all there was to eat was char.” Yes, I could see how delicious could turn disgusting after awhile, remembering my trip in 2018 to the Sutton River. By just the end of two weeks eating one or two brook trout meals a day with plenty extra sides and flavoring, even that grew old.

The gang at work appreciated an easy fish and chips meal downstairs. Quite enjoy cooking fish and char is one offering that is going to taste good no matter how ya do it. Upstairs in the apartment I was well underway to filling my quota of frozen fillets to take home to Brenda too. It used to be that I’d clean fish skin off, bones out. Nowadays it’s bones out and skin on. Don’t take the skin off as fish cooks better in the pan, on the plank and in the oven with skin. Myself, I won’t eat it that skin but Bren will often take any extras.

One evening I slipped away for a couple hours to whet a line. The wind direction wasn’t favorable but the temperature was cooler and the bugs were down, it was a calculated risk. Casting early a nice, ten to twelve pound-ish, vibrant, orange char followed my lure several times to shore but wouldn’t commit. It took awhile to sink the hook into anything, the first fish a glowing, neon, orange-finned laker and then the second a little fresh-looking, silver chromer. The laker picture didn’t work out.

Moved around some as the sun got low on the horizon. The water in the shadows wasn’t as productive as that in the sun. Long casts were sometimes not long enough to reach brightest waters. When they did though, for a short spell a flurry of char were hitting and I caught a few dandies with some smaller ones mixed in as well. Kept two of those for myself and staff and released the beasts. Some lakers were hungry too, all dinks. As I said, it was only a couple short hours to fish with the beginning and back-end of that time really quite slow. Managed eight char, three lakers, two for the table and this one nice picture fish. Would have been two nice picture fish but the other slipped out of hand on the set-up.
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Through the week belugas and narwhal were all the rage! A later ice out the narwhal were slower to arrive than usual. However, it had been nearly a decade since any belugas were around but this year a good few were harvested by the many, many locals who hunt to live off their country food favorites. When asking people which whale is the preferred meal, all would say narwhal. In other places throughout Nunavut, that would likely change to whatever is the more abundant food source of that region.

Narwhal come to Boothia because the area is a first within the arctic narwhals range to thaw and, it is extremely rich in food for them. Narwhal aren’t filter feeding whales like bowheads and humpbacks, they are fish eaters like say… orcas or dolphins. They are actually much like dolphins! No, they do not take big prey but will use their tusks to stun and spear fish like cod, squid, maybe char too or, root in the shallows to stir up other things. I’m not quoting any web source for this information, this is what some locals have told me. Narwhals are meat eaters.

I’ll admit the hunting of these whales does kind of bother me though. Totally get it’s for sustenance and such but, so much of the animal is often wasted and it is obvious the ivory trade is as much or more the motivation than is the food. The Inuit for the most part with these whales keep the blubber then scrap the meat. It’s said that the meat might go to the dogs or, if it’s kept at all needs to be thoroughly prepared for consumption. Blubber itself is so rich in nutrients and of course good fats that go a long, long way. Fat is as important to health and hunger as is muscle proteins. I guess it’s just knowing there is the great wasted parts which is really the bother. Yeah, some places it is pigs, cows, goats and chickens, in the Arctic its just seals, whales, hooved beasts and white bears. Survival! And that is especially difficult above the treeline.

Narwhal have ivory. The first European explorers encountering these whales would think of them as sea unicorns. Those tusks are a high prize of course, and that continues today for some people interested enough to seek the narwhals special, spiraled ivory tusk. To purchase one you’re looking at approximately $500 up to $50,000 or so depending on length, condition, or if it’s a most rare double-tusked whale which is sold with both tusks and the attached skull. That is the highest prize! I have a tiny tusk at home actually, less than a foot long. It was the second tusk on a whale, a spike tusk and of course stunted, small and little off-shaped. It was traded for a bag of rice and three chicken breasts.
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The vast Boothia lies withing Canada’s central Arctic region. Historically settled by small, nomadic Inuit populations known as the Netsilik, the first peoples were some of the very last to make contact with new Canadians. Through all my travels I find that the small towns visited within the region still remain the most connected to their traditions. Hunting, whaling and fishing is an every day, every chance, all year affair keeping the Netsilik culture alive. The tundra terrain is oftentimes more navigable than that found throughout Baffin’s mountain ranges or upon the Kivalliq’s endless Hudson Bay flat, dishpan, flood plain lakes. Kitikmeot’s Boothia is a little inbetween the two but of all, the most fertile for caribou, arctic char and in some places, whaling. One of the big pros for wandering dummies like me is that the bear populations are fewer, with polar bears “usually” keeping far from settlements leaving only barren ground grizzlies to keep an eye out for.
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Up and at ‘em 5am and so I broke away good and early. Passing along the river road the high tide was in, it got me wondering if the ocean fish would be arriving soon. A breezier morning the wind was expected to pick-up through the day and go gusty from the north. Not good! Northwinds generally suck for everything that swims everywhere. Still, only given the time I’ve got the day was to hit mid teens, with a mix of sun and cloud and because I was up before most I predicted not seeing many others about.

Not long after leaving the apartment I realized my phone was left back sitting on the table. Once arriving at the first fishing spot I walked a ways down the shoreline then noticed I’d left the camera back in the truck. Had to return and retrieve that. Feeling rather stupid, I often take such starts to any day as a sign my head is not in it… that it wasn’t about to be a good day for me.

Two seagulls were rather annoyed to share the waters. While snapping on a spoon and setting up the camera I was dive-bombed a couple times by the noisiest one of the pair. Gulls have never been that aggressive before, it had me wondering if maybe their nest was nearby..?

As suspected the wind was all wrong and not in my favor at all. Several reasons as to why the north shuts fish down and especially at this spot is, the wind goes against the water, churning the hot sunned surface with the cool beneath. It doesn’t take much breeze at all really. With lakes up here it’s calm, flat warmer areas that often give smaller baitfish more life. I see it when walking the banks, the sculpin, tiny lakers, sticklebacks and whatever else concentrate in the warm water pockets. The bait gets more active, they’re darting about more amd out from under their rocky crevase hideaways. The opportunistic char in turn cruise nearby, along break-lines and into these shallows, sometimes right up in the zones themselves. You seen them do this at ice out too along the ocean shorelines when stalking capelin over hotter sandy shallows. From atop any higher vantage points the chars orange or silver backs under the sun are easily visible when they are up higher near the surface or swimming in the very shallow. But when the wind blows, you hardly see any of this at all. Visibility is reduced sometimes to nothing. Instead you see the odd back breaching, or a boil and splash where a random bug or minnow was caught and consumed. The char will still wander shallow though, at times with less care for their safety. I’ll summarize by just saying that the north wind is bad, always bad for fishing everywhere I go. On this day it was to reach a high of 11C, the day before was a scorching 25C and calm. Big cold front, gusty north wind to come and a waning confidence for feeling stupid with the morning start. Most of the best days of char fishing in my lifetime have come when the water is quite flat and calm, and usually the sunnier the better. No bug hatches at that time and it’s a real bonus.

A dozen or so casts to start and a small laker was first to be counted. A good four hours of trying different lures, losing different lures and leaders to rocks and scratching my head, I just couldn’t put a fish on the line. Now and again the odd orange back would porpoise or a big splash would be heard at a distance. Some fish were biting but I had to wonder on what? Bugs? On a cold front? Naaaah… maybe? The way some char were surfacing seemed too aggressive for that. None were doing so near shorelines either, it was all out over the deeper water and that dreaded bit of wind was limiting some of my casts. When the cold does arrive there is usually a mass die off of mosquitoes, so it could be possible they were eating those or eating the smaller baitfish that might eat those too? I dunno, for whatever reason it just wasn’t happening..?

Making a move I finally had a more curious follower come to my feet. Breaking off two different lures twice and having to retie, I was pissed off but still working the area when finally a good fish took a Strobe.
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The sun beamed hot for a half hour or so and the wind dropped, shortly after that first fish and then in quick succession I’d get two more on the spot before the bite did die right off again. A small skinny fish and one decent to keep for a Health Center staff dinner. With some big scallops to fry with maple garlic butter and a side of broccoli, it was in mind to have a healthy seafood meal with Heidi and Maryna.

By this time it was noon. I buried the keeper under a stone in the water and left for the truck, the plan was to go try a few hours for lakers and maybe some char elsewhere. The tour ended up being a bit more sight seeing than anything else.
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While driving the tire pressure sensor that had been faulting must have rattled itself back into working condition. Suddenly the dash threatened a low tire pressure message. Stopped the car for a safety inspection but all seemed fine… thankfully it remained this way. A breakdown out there on the tundra would suck! Not just the walk back in wader boots but the explaining of things and later retrieving the vehicle.

Finished off with another hour back on a fishy spot and didn’t see a thing. Grabbed my take-home char from where it laid refrigerated and hit the road home. It was and wasn’t surprising to only catch four fish on the day. Had conditions been right I know there are enough fish swimming about that things could have gone much better. Still, any day you’re catching char, any char at all, is a good day…

Getting into the truck I could see my breath outside the following morning. Overcast, damp misty, cool and the north breeze still blowing I left town surely knowing that my work was going to be cut out for me.
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There does come that time in late summer when the char often fall off the bite and gear up only for the spawn. The big boys take to the areas near their reds, and some might park right on ‘em for weeks to wait for the right girl. If their preferred bed is deep and they stayed glued to that, it takes the right lure right in their face to piss ‘em off enough to strike out. Same as it would go for a spawning salmon really.

Arriving to a spot it took several dozen casts before finally seeing a dark red char of about seven or eight pounds follow into the shallows at my feet. Great I thought, a sign of life, and so I kept chucking some more.

Lure switches, position changes, casts high and low, jigging and twitching no matter, nothing was garnering any fish attention at all. I decided to begin hiking the shoreline, maybe for even miles just to see what would happen.

An hour or two later I pitched out a little better than a half cast and engaged the reel. Suddenly felt a little “tink” through the rod and no better than half-assed did I set the hook. The line fucking snapped! The long florocarbon leader broke just two inches past where it uni-knotted to the braid. FUCK! Must have been a knick or something? First hit in hours and the line breaks.

I sat down rather frustrated and in no rush retied a leader and snap swivel. The choice of what lure to throw next it was the same Cleo pattern that had just been broken off which I chose to clip back on. Standing I returned to the waters edge and tossed several casts right back towards where the line had broke. Suddenly on one throw it happened, FISH ON!

For a long while it really felt like a big laker was at the other end. That came to mind first fo’sho! No huge and speedy runs like a chromey fresh char, the fish just kept dogging in the distance. I felt every big head shake, every short hard pull and it took awhile… took awhile to finally see its orangeness surface not far from me. And when it did, I got super excited! “Huge char, huge char” started chanting in my head so I loosened the drag just a touch.

The big male took several swim bys to eventually tail it cause for one thing, it just had no quit. Even once it was in hand he still wanted to wrastle and snap his jaw. When I looked him over it was so obvious what I had. A perfect char, a beautiful, perfect specimen of an orange buck char and a huge one at that. Another honest to God fish of a lifetime!
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ARCTIC ORANGE BUCK CHAR VID
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He released strong and I took a quiet moment to just sit happily and relax. It is deeply important, for both my vitality and purpose that I catch such fish and soak in the moments of any calm joy and satisfaction that come with completing the task of it all. On this day it happened in a most grand way. The more fish I catch the harder it is to feel those big feels, so when they finally come they are magnificent. There is a weight that lifts and the air just fills the lungs more fully, I am lighter, more enlightened, breathing a little bit easier knowing I did exactly what I always set out to do. To reach the goal of catching the biggest and best just to feel that again, the tug is truly the drug! I am reaffirmed that my fishing is still worthy of my own love and praise. It is great to do great and it is only right to allow one’s self to truly enjoy that…

The fishing as slow as it was and what I figured would continue to be, I was happy after the one to just take a hike! Set out along the shoreline looking and casting about with the hope of reconnecting but carrying the contentment of knowing the day had already been made. And so I walked…

And I walked…

And I would walk five tundra miles,
and I would walk more tundra far.
Just to be the man who walks all tundra miles
to catch the Arctic char!
Da-dah-da-dah!
Da-dah-da-dah!

Yes, the Proclaimers got right stuck up in the head.
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Four or five hours working the area I decided to break for lunch then relocate entirely. An open tundra stream carries fall run silver char back from the ocean to their over-wintering lakes. The fish weren’t pressing hard into these waters by any decent numbers yet, but it was worth a check to see if anything early had arrived.
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After an hour or so some ATV’ers approached. The locals in various places along this river set up fish traps (or weirs) in the shallows to either spear or hand-catch arctic char. That’s what this pair was up to this day. I strolled over for a hello and to check the weir with them. About a dozen smaller char were scurrying about in the trap, scurrying to elude the wading fishermen. With only their hands they work together to try and corral char into the corners and grab them. It is NOT an easy task at all. These fish are lightning fast and slippy as can be. The two managed three fish the day before but on this round seemed to struggle. I snapped some pics then made my way not far downstream to spot a deeper current cut along the shoreline. First cast there and a nice, fresh and spunky silver smoked the spoon… perhaps I’ll smoke him back later.
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The Nurse-in-charge while here, Maryna (and Heidi) had both been kindly covering some of my on-call hours so I could get out there and fish. Earlier Heidi had the opportunity to come with me but it was Maryna’s turn for some fresh air. A competitive and professional Bachata dancer, Maryna had hoped I would take time to help her make a promotional video. Having the camera for it, an eye for it and, this being a “once in a lifetime opportunity” for her to dance in such a scenic place, I agreed we should take advantage of some great summer weather and make it all happen. To say it worked out amazingly for Maryna would be an under-statement. It was a lot of fun for us both… Here’s the end result, it’s really incredible, you should watch these few minutes.
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BACHATA SOLO by MARYNA SEMENOVA
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The second most impressive thing through the week was when I watched a 2 ½ year old down a liter of grape Kool-Aid. His Aunt just bought a box full of pre-filled slurpy bags of the sugary drink, and let the kids she was looking after just have at ‘em! The little dood didn’t stop, just one after another. At the local stores these kinds of treats are not cheap, they are actually the most expensive as they are not healthy choices with are subsidized. Sadly, I witness far too much of this sort of wrong and lazy choosing by young parents of the North.

The least impressive thing through the week is what I had heard though. At one or more of the local fishing holes, people were leaving their nutritious char catches to simply rot on the land. Again, greedy, lazy and in my opinion totally fucking mad people doing an unimaginably stupid thing. There were several instances of this in fact, even some kids who pulled out thirty or more trout and because they couldn’t get them all into something to take home, left them to rot. FFS I thought, just put ‘em in a bag, submerge them in the icy water for hours or even a day, then come back to take them home… Stupidity!!! Anyways, I made mention that maybe the local Wildlife Officer be made aware and lay some charges but apparently, that’s not something they will do in these parts.

This was to be a shorter contract. The job in this town is full of highs and lows, always is, and it is certainly one of if not the toughest places to contract. The overtime and after-hours work is unbelievable considering the population size, the “average” is ten patients for “emergency” visits when the Health Center is “closed.” There are three reasons for this in my opinion. One, the number/percentage to population of pediatric and complex pediatric cases may be greater than anywhere else in Nunavut. Two, the number of young, uneducated, ill prepared parents is overwhelming. And finally three, a precedent which had been previously set within the community gives a belief that the Nurses and the Health Center is a 24-hour, full entitlement service to be accessed whenever anyone may choose… I won’t paint the entire town with the same brush because as it is like anywhere else, the Healthcare team generally sees only a certain percentage of the population while the rest go about living their daily lives. That is a reality of our work everywhere, but being that it is “everywhere,” it is actually and always measurable for me to one degree or another. The experience in this town is and has been one of a like and dislike relationship. Exceptional, wonderful people who I have met and cared for, coupled with great staff and friends to work alongside and, the added bonus of a beautiful landscape with excellent fishing are the big pros. Yet the higher incidents of borderline aggressive and at times threatening or insulting patients is more than elsewhere, their lack of regard for the Nurse’s especially after hours is inconsiderately abusive and, the increasing entitlement for more and more from us while the younger generation becomes more and more complacent in taking on health responsibilities for themselves, is what quickly kills my motivation when looking after this particular population for any length of time. I am quick to burnout because of that, but do keep my composure 99% of the time for the patients and staff who are not a negative.
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An on-call shift the Friday night kept me on from 830am to about 2am the early Saturday morning. Much of what I was seeing in clinic wasn’t truly an emergency but you can’t say “no that can wait for Monday” without some push back or threats so one just has to soldier on. Had settled to bed only to be woken again at 538am, someone was coming in post-ictal after having had a seizure. One sock at a time I groggily got dressed and went downstairs. After waiting for one hour and fifteen minutes no one showed. No one called to cancel either. Just another example of how inconsiderate some people can be.

So the final fishing day came early. There was no returning to sleep, didn’t have time for it. Had worked a sixteen hour busy day before, took a few hours rest, a crank-call that never showed and now one sock at a time redressed for char success. At 830am when my shift actually ended I was quick out the door to get away from everything, the only thing that slowed me down on the road was finding this! More waste.
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The weather had flipped 180 from the previous weekend. Instead of the cold front north winds today was a south wind warm. The sun was beaming this hot morning and by third cast I was hooked up with a very energetic hen char.
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After releasing the fish a band of clouds rolled in to swallow much light and increase the winds. The fish which had been rising all around when I arrived, suddenly stopped. For just the short ten minutes with that first char there were red and orange backs breaching the waters surface, now there was nothing but grey and despair. I’d cast for nearly another four hours before exhausted and fish-less decide to call it day.

A new Nurse and ACP rolled into town over the weekend and the circle was complete. A big blow with heavy rains came in after the weeks of dry and dusty air, it raised the river level just a touch, triggering ocean fish to begin their push inland. It was a Monday, I was on-call but could get part of the evening covered to go and see things for myself yet I chose the pay over the play and sent Mike the Medic on his way instead. I worked late into the night with patients, finishing at 3:00am. Two familiar faces poked in both with fish stories to tell from their evening. Just right here in town one caught ten char on the rod while the other took 53 in his net. Apparently though, two nets were seen strung straight across the river at two neck-downs; an illegal act hardly if ever enforced here, and Mike on his hike found more discarded char left to rot on the shoreline too. Had that feeling I was missing out on a first solid run, knowing that all those char needed was a decent rain to start their migration but, I was kinda glad to not see the wasted fish and nets set as said. That’d be enough for me to pull ‘em right out and likely take a bullet for it.

Heidi and I would soon give handovers for our programs and tidy up any outstanding patient care concerns. Without a great work partner in her and Maryna both, I surely would have found less time to enjoy the fish and wonder of this place. To them I am thankful and do hope each enjoyed their own times outdoors either catching char or dancing under the Arctic sunset.

Through Yellowknife I made it out alive with only hours to spare before the airport closed. The city on emergency orders requesting all citizens out within the next 24 hours, only evacuation flights remained. Fingers remain crossed as I type this from 36,000 feet somewhere over northern Quebec, hoping the NWT’s capital survives such devestating circumstances.

Honestly never sure where the Nunavut Nomad experiences will go next but do know that wherever it may be will be interesting, and certainly worth the journey.
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Thanks for reading,

Bunk.