Red shirts hang outside many of the homes in Kugluktuk, Nunavut. A homegrown talent, the young actress Emerald MacDonald who starred in the movie “The Grizzlies,” was found murdered in a cabin out on the land, her murderer unknown and still hiding somewhere in this small arctic town…

I had landed to hordes of blood thirsty mosquitoes at the airport. Under a mask, a familiar voice from some previous work contract north, a young woman introduced herself and we were instantly reacquainted. It turned out she would be my supervisor on this job, perfect! But, eager to get groceries before the store closed she rushed me down the dusty roads to the Northern, we’d catch up more later.

They call Kugluktuk the Hawaii of the north. I thought that was Kimmirut but remember them looking at me strangely there anytime I had ever brought it up. In “Kug” it was hot. The apartment, hot. Sweat and dust, it is Nunavut’s wild west.

Sleeping well I was able to get plenty accomplished next day. Saw a few patients, finished some payroll shit but more importantly got to talking with a number of people about fishing. As it turned out, EVERYONE likes to fish up here.

Needing a fishing license I hopped down to the Wildlife Office shortly after lunch. While I had been in Grise Fiord over the winter, a fella with whom I worked has a nephew in Kug and his job is one of the Wildlife Officers. So I poked into meet Russel and his partner on the job, Allan. Having the chance to talk enthusiastically about fishing and hunting with these fellas I was certainly able to learn a few things. Man, they’re both such easy going guys who love the outdoors I wanted us all to head out on the land that minute. Before leaving, there was an offer to borrow Russel’s ATV over the weekend if he wasn’t needing it, talk about kind.

Outside of Kug is the “Bloody Falls Territorial Park.” The park follows along the Coppermine River to boundaries I have no clue about but, within the park is Bloody Falls itself. Arctic char there at this time of year or not, I planned to see it. Allan at the office did tell me that fishing there would be quite slow at this time but, just give it a few weeks. A few weeks is what I have.

Most I talked to this day said I should try casting along this place and that place on the shores here in town. Sometimes fish are caught, sometimes BIG char are caught. So, after work I slurped up some quick soup and by 6:00pm got away for an hour and half to fish.

Ocean fishing from shore is a long shot. Like every place I have tried this in Nunavut, it’s all about timing. Kugaaruk it worked out, Taloyoak twice it did not, Coral nope, Cam Bay just missed it on the in and out runs for the fish, and now I was here. The expectations are set low, a fish is a bonus but the ritual seems necessary. I never know what time, weather and chance will offer during the stay so I gotta make any efforts. Can’t catch fish from the couch right..?

It was while walking down the streets to the sea shore that I really noticed these red shirts. Many places had signs up, “Justice for Emerald.” On some homes she obviously had some endearing knicknames too. The town had not only been mourning for months, many signs were calling out the “coward” to come forward. It is an unbelievable thing, a community so proud of Emerald, the movie, the true story of the movie as well, that to have that stake driven into the heart of it all truly hurt everyone. He or she who did this needs to come forward. They not only murdered a gem, they greatly injured a community, its just so wrong.

I would catch no fish. From the box of spoons one Cleo would be given up to the rocks. There actually had been a little hope because Allan had said that the capelin would be spawning now or soon along the shorelines and the char feeding. However, he did say to go to Second Point to the west of town, and that walk would be about 30 to 40 kilometers round trip. By the time I returned to the house after maybe four kilometers, the feet were aching, the stomach pangings and the pit spits a dripping. Further endeavors do seem daunting but it’s getting the ass in gear first, that keeps your ass driving further on down the road later…
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Steady work week but still enough time in the days to ask the odd person about fishing. With Saturday fast approaching I felt this rush to make something happen. Four days in the month would be it, the only time available to play with.

And so I contacted Nadine at the Inn about renting a quad. Would turn out the price was pretty steep at $300 for 24 hours, the most I had ever paid anywhere else was $160. The thing about going through a business and not a local though, is reliability. In the past there have been times when I have been left waiting the evening before or morning of, for an ATV that would never show. One other time I got a Honda that needed repairs before leaving, otherwise the wheel would have fallen off. Soooo, bottom line with Nadine would be for me to think it over but not too long. Turned out it wasn’t available for the weekend coming anyways, but would be afterwards, and Nadine was quite negotiable too.

Friday night I sat awhile at the computer to search over Google Earth. There were two places in mind to fish, one and most importantly was Bloody Falls (image 1 below) lying inland up the Coppermine River, the other was out the coastline west (image 2) towards First and Second Points, and Four Mile Bay, With Google I was able to map, plot the courses and measure my distances. At different parking areas on the outskirts of town, the Bloody is 10 to 13km one-way and Four Mile Bay 6.5km. The end of First Point is 10+km.
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Come Saturday morning I put the feelers out on the local Facebook Buy/Sell group. It was 830am and kinda figured not too many would be out of bed yet to see it. By 1030am I slipped out the door to begin the hike towards First Point.
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Temps heading to +22C the day was already warm. An inner fleece PJ layer and socks, chest waders and a thin old set of protective bibs over that, I figured on being warm enough if wading into the ocean and too warm for the hike.

After parking the car at the furthest point out, a stiff headwind from the southwest was welcoming, it helped keep me cooler and the mosquitoes well behind. If felt amazing to take those first steps, really energizing.
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A fellow out walking his two big huskies happened to meet me setting out. “Good luck fishing,” he was quick to say, then he handed me a can of bear spray, “just in case.” “What’s your name,” I asked? “Darryl.” “Well Darryl, this is really kind, it’s a windy day though and I’ll try not to spray it into the wind.” He grinned back, “good luck fishing.” And so I asked him quick, “are there fish in Four Mile Bay? What should I be watching for?” “There’s fish there, go off the point in front of the cabins, even go to the other side in the bay. The char will come in shallow, you’ll see them if they’re feeding.” “I want you come into the Health Center this week so I can give this back to you,” I told him. “Good luck fishing,” he said as he walked away.

In one happy state of awe I marveled over the encounter, turned my video camera on a minute to bring it up too. A complete stranger looking out for my safety, it means something in the big cosmos of things. Not a few minutes further on up the beach did I notice some prints in the sand. The small marking there off the toes of the bigger one were made by a dog… the other a grizzly.
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With the odd stop for photos, video and to chat, I made a decent time of under two hours until reaching the point that on the map you can see turns down into the bay. It was easy to admire this place, for even on approach along the beach the low lying cliffs off First Point draw closer and closer.
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Every now and then along the way I’d toot on a referees whistle. Not sure how grizzlies would respond to that, I just figured it better to make animals aware of my presence, rather than come around a corner or over a hill and find something there, unprepared. The first blow was deafening, had the ears ringing after a morning of natures near silence. However, from the small cabin at the bottom of the bay a man emerged, proving the whistle does draw attention.

So I made my way down there, crossed a little incoming river too, and as I approached the man went inside. Just then, on the tip of my nose there was this most sweet and delicious smell pass the nares and ignite my senses. Bacon! So it wasn’t that the man was unfriendly or anything, he was just having brunch. From his window he waved back.

Sitting down nearby I scarfed down a turkey bacon wrap of my own. As I ate, a ringed seal only a stones throw away cared not about my presence there, as it continued on chasing after minnows in the shallows. Four Mile Bay seemed a rewarding place to stop.
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The little ATV road seen going up the hill in this last picture here is the route onward. Atop the hill would basically be the base of First Point. Over two hours now, a lot of that walking, I decided there would be no going any further. Once up there, the 3 or 4 more kilometers to the end of First Point would possibly add eight more kilometers to what was likely going to be a 15km hike already. My feet were pretty happy with me at this point still, only the one hip that had to take each step deeper along the sloping, soft beach shoreline was pinching a little. The tougher and rocky terrain all the way to the end of the point looked similar as well, kind of like this…
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Before spotting the seal during my meal I had already noticed what it was after in the water. Once entering the bay, crossing the creek, there in the flattest, calmest, shallowest of sandy shoreline water were schools and schools of minnow. Capelin!

Knowledge of this baitfish had been foreign to me until Allan at the Wildlife Office had brought it up. These absolutely stunning little fish have incredible green backs, yellowish top sides and silver under bellies. Most I viewed in the shallows were anywhere from 3 or 4 inches long, averaging about 5 or 6 but with some pushing 8 or maybe even 9. They were just on top of one another as like Allan had said, it’s their time to spawn… and when they’re in shallow any single or schools of char that get hungry will move in on them to feed, sometimes attacking them right at the shore. That’s what I kept an eye out for, the moving “V” wakes of shallow cruising, silvery char on the feed. But I didn’t see any.
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The capelin were very interesting to see, they helped further put some pieces of the char puzzle together. Some fishy notes to take away were, ice out, back bay, warmest area of the bay, bait moves there, incoming creek with warmer inflow, calmest part is warmest part, seal feeding there, it should be perfect for predatory fish like char too. So why wasn’t I seeing any? The ocean so vast and intimidating it’s always great when reminded that as fishing should go, it’s just as it would be in a small lake back home. In the spring, many fish go shallow wherever the water warms first. The ocean is really just the biggest lake and takes a few many more steps to get to the better spots.

There’s one capelin in the pic that caught my eye too. In Kugaaruk 2016 when first casting to char in the sea there, I had a silver and chartreuse Cleo spoon that was made even better by adding a red spot with a Sharpie. You can see below the gill that the fish in the picture is hemorrhaging there for some reason, maybe it’s a sign of weakness and an easier catch for a char? Anyways, thought that finding rather neat.

I began to slowly make my way back out of the bay, toward the point Darryl had mentioned. Arriving, a larger common seal was there in the water. Seals are a good indicator fish are around, the bigger the seal the bigger the fish it chases too, and they are much better fisherfolk than we are. Once I stood nearby it moved along.

A few hours of casting, taking photos, snacking and such had passed, my casts were getting lazier. The seal had no sooner just left and while taking in the surroundings I didn’t notice this one, nice silvery char follow the lure to my feet. A rocket in the shallows it was swinging fast back and forth behind the lure, looking like it was going to take it at any moment. I ran out of space between me and it, the lure at the end of the rod tip, so I dangled it there in the water trying to entice this fish. But it saw me just then… and buggered off. Admittedly I was deflated but at the same time quite rejuvenated, I actually saw one!

For the next hour I changed up the lure a number of times while continuing to work the area. Another smaller ringed seal cruised on through in the meantime. After so many switch-ups I began thinking this was useless and of course, as it can be with fishing, sometimes the less you try, the less you believe, is the moment when something happens. Again, not even paying attention my lure was damn near being retrieved in the sand along the beach, only in inches of water, when a splashing char came sideway from the depths and tried crashing into it on land. Missing the mark it turned back from where it came and disappeared. Fucking bummer!

On the walk of shame back to town I dragged my soupy sweat and mosquito ridden ass all the tiring way. The wind at my back now, the bugs took refuge in the windbreak created by my face. That is where seemingly hundreds of them just wanted to land and suck the life force from my eyeballs. Every so often I’d lift my head to chirpy taunts of the many beach front, tundra runts, surely asking that I get off their property.
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Local buzzards watchful and waiting for me to keel over and die, my God was I spent on arrival back at the car. Both feet, shins, calves and hips worn right out. Lips chapped, knuckles scabbed. The amount of intoxicating deet flowing through the bloodstream had me blowing over half delirious. Down in my trousers, some excessive ball sweat even had me chaffing some too. Just a hot, sweaty mess of pure Nunavut Nomad awesomeness…
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Over the weekend it was just too much. The heat doesn’t turn off in some homes, ours was one of them. The nice weather the past while; except for one day near 0C which in my opinion is nice, had many folks up, out and about and, others keeping very still inside. Surfing my FaceCrack that Sunday next morning, I noticed my online friend Bob from Kugluktuk had been at THE spot I was at and saw the fish, except he had gone the evening before around 1100pm and popped seven char. Good for him but I kinda slumped down in my chair.

Two local carvers and another sales woman were stopping by regularly at our place. Wednesday a knock, Thursday two knocks, Friday five, Saturday seven, it reached the point come Sunday I asked the one lady to please stop coming by, as it was her who was seemingly watching the house for any signs of us home then bringing over anything new she could find, to sell. But the carvings from both the fellas were really quite well done. Much talent there, it was a pleasure at least looking them over, but at the rate they were coming to us, my roommate and I had to be choosey. This little one detailed out of dolomite marble caught my eye though, and at quite a fair asking price I was willing to pay.
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My roommate Anneke I imagined was feeling rather cooped up. Because I was second-on-call and had a set of wheels, on Sunday afternoon we went for an hour long tour to take some pictures. We also did the same thing for a half hour or so on Friday after work. Rather incredible really, these are all views within a 5 to 10 minute drive around town.
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Kugluktuk is a picturesque place. Nunavut’s most western and warmest town, it’s located at the mouth of the Coppermine River where its flows in to meet Coronation Gulf at the Arctic Ocean. A wild country full of wildlife. I believe the residents here are truly fortunate to have so much more land on which to roam, more so than in most other Arctic communities, and to also have the vast variety of fish and animals available for sustenance.

And so ended the first week in Kugluktuk. An evening and a day to go fishing, a new carving and plenty photos. Everything appeared to be heading in the right direction, and then a phone call…
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Monday morning at work was painful. “Hey, did you catch any fish,” several people asked. Explaining a little of the happenstance, the short answer for me was of course, a no! But then to hear others go on about the char they caught over the weekend… FFS! Like, one of the girls in the medical travel office caught a couple right at the spot I had been fishing. Another fella in maintenance said so-and-so got a few, and JR in housekeeping reported taking some in his nets.

With char as I have said over and again, it’s all about the timing. The summer season so short in the arctic the feeding windows come and go very fast. Char are in the freshwater lakes over the winter. When the rivers break ice they run out together to the sea. The first while there, they feed at shore but soon move further out and away following baitfish. Before you know it the first cold, winter winds will blow as the days grow shorter in August, signaling the chars return to the rivers, some having put on 30 to 50% of their body weight in the short couple months. At this time they are as silvery and strong as they will ever be, the saltwater and nutrients having given them super powers that will truly test any anglers skills. As they push up the freshwater rivers back to their wintering lakes, it is on route or back in the lake itself, where they might spawn, some years. During this ritual too, the char color up, the males taking on the most insanely beautiful crimson, orange and neon colors, the females generally more pastel colors of the same. The male kypes too grow large and hooked, this necessary for beating other competing fish off of their reds. Once the fall sees to this procreation, under the ice, in much darkness for 8 to 10 months, the char float dormant, their bellies slowly emptying, their weight being lost, until the spring comes again. As an angler, you tend to have some specific chances to get them, this varied by when and where. It did appear from everyone else’s success that I had found the where, even the when, but didn’t realize there was another exact when to the when.

I liked JR at work. An old fella who kinda keeps to himself much of the day but then comes to life a little more during coffee break, one could just sense right away that he was the guy who would have a million great stories to tell of the north. And so when we had a short chance to talk, I learned that he was actually a fishing guide back in the 1970’s on Great Bear Lake. He worked for Plummer’s out of Branson’s, and later the main lodge. He told me up front that “the water there is different than here,” referring to the lake versus the sea. JR continued, “it gets real big there fast.” And he’s right! And with that observation he had me wondering later that evening, questioning if saltwater being more dense than fresh, and “cold” arctic saltwater holding the highest densities still, that maybe the weight of his homeland sea requires more wind to make waves than it does freshwater? Of course ocean waves can grow HUGE due to fetch and current, but if you took only the same amount of salt and fresh waters, put them in a same sized pool and turned on some big fans, would there be a difference in wave height due to the waters differing specific gravities and weight? You know, like, water’s SG is 1.00 and saltwater’s 1.03, and so really it’s a no brainer when we understand the obvious, that something heavier requires more force to be moved. MY GOD, I didn’t sleep entirely through Physics class. I may have just sorted out an answer for JR as to why Great Bear Lake is a scarier boat ride than the sea.

I asked JR if he enjoyed his time during those years guiding, he very much did. Told him that I gave it a try there myself too, but on Great Slave, enjoying it a lot but being both a nerd and hardcore angler, I didn’t really fit in with some of the roughnecks and drunks. JR would nod to that, and tell me there had been just two of them out of Kugluktuk back then, Inuit boys, and the “southerners,” the guides from Alberta and Saskatchewan used to bully them a lot. I let him know little had changed, a few are still the same simpletons today…
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Sunday afternoons phone call had actually been with Bob and honestly it got me so stoked! First of all, Bren and I really like Bob, ten years ago at the Tree we had him as a guide for a couple days and he was fun. He must have been given a handbook about us before we arrived there because he read me to a T. We no sooner landed at Tree River and Bob was urging us to get out and get going before all others, and he whisked us right over to the best spot. Little did he know though, the only other groups in camp with us at the time were two hikers and two aged fellas that weren’t going to be hiking very far at all. So it was just Bren and I with Bob, on the Tree, to fish, to ourselves. Anyways, after a short convo in Kug with the Bob man over the tele, he offered to get my arse into his boat after work during the week for some fishing. Maybe, maybe, maybe my luck was about to change for the better?…

And so it would happen that come the Tuesday when I was free of on-call after 5:00pm, I’d be able to race back to the house, get my fishing gear and outdoor clothes and hoof if down to Bob’s place at the other end of town.

His whole family was coming out, almost the whole family. Bob had changed plans from Bloody Falls to a ride east along the coastline, apparently char were moving out that way and being caught. Before going too far from town, an island at the mouth of the Coppermine was to be the drop off point for his wife Carol and the kids. We would see them again later in the evening.
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We had no sooner left the family behind when along the same cabin island Bob spotted seals and gulls off a point. He raced over towards them, stopped quick and we were casting spoons towards the shore in no time. No fish caught. After this I was told we’d be heading on a long ride before stopping again.

A slight chop, Bob’s young lad along and sitting beside me we leaned forward to soften some of the bum bumpins in the middle seat. The 18 foot tinny with a 40 Yammy cruised along at a great clip, probably pushing 30mph. We were going east from Kugluktuk, along the southern shores of Coronation Gulf and south of the Berens Islands. Bob was in his element out here, Captain of the day.
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A ninety kilometer round trip there was much to take in. The shoreline and island landscapes so foreign, so interesting. The abundance of seals, seen often and anywhere, and the fishing quite something to experience as well.

We wouldn’t catch anything, except a flounder, although we would see some char and feel the odd bump on our lines. If you follow the map below you’ll note how the boat curves into some places along islands and mainland points, and small bays as well. Out in the sea that would be the “structure” or “spot” fishing. Places that char will inhabit, migrate past or feed. The first place we did park the boat and go ashore to cast was a point, and on that point there were char, we saw one and Bob felt a couple tapping the line, but they were none too aggressive to eat there.
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Another casting area I remember was like a deeper, pebbly shoreline. Asking Bob why this place he said it’s a feeding area, holds sculpin in the rocks. By this time, Bob’s friend Bob and his daughter joined us on the tour as well, a second boat the two buddies just looking out for one another..? Neither boat had any luck with the fish here though.
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The other style of fishing we tried you could call “window” fishing. Truth is, we spent about half our time doing this. Offshore it seemed at anytime we would spot seagulls diving, a seal or several seals often all together with gulls, they would be actively chasing capelin and char. The baitfish is the food for the gulls and char; the schools of char following the capelin, the seals hunting along would happily eat both. When we saw this happening out in the open ocean and more often along an island shoreline, Bob would speed over to the activity and we’d start casting. I’ll admit, that was different and really cool. And although we got some bumps on the line once or twice doing this, those damn char remained elusive.

Bob and Bob, the kids and I parked ashore a short while for coffee and a quick snack. It was after 9:00pm and as the crow flies we’d gone about twenty miles east to a large island. Bob needing to get back to Carol and family by 10:00pm-ish for dinner, the boat turned its way westward and we sped over smooth waters back to the cabin.
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Carol had been preparing the dinner and starting a fire before we arrived. Wood is not something easy to come by in Nunavut but, Kugluktuk and Bob seem to have a good supply. Carol cooked away, the hordes of mosquitoes on land likely unimaginable to most southerners. Char, dogs, burgs and salad away from the bugs inside the cabin, all on the menu. The family, Bob, Carol, the kids, Bob and his daughter and myself, it was a wonderful evening.
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Could tell much of the time Bob put some unnecessary pressure on himself to catch fish or see me catch a fish. I feel people, that’s what nurses do for a living, it’s our special power, and I could sense Bob’s need. A decade ago when he and I first met, on the Tree River, at the price a person’s gotta pay to play there, it was honestly different. Fish are quite expected by me there, and good big fish too. But when going north to work each summer the fishing is much more the bonus. Admittedly do like to catch them, do want to continue this successful Nunavut Nomad angling story, but it’s not the same thing as a fishing trip. I’m here to work and make my living. The fact I even get a day here and there to enjoy myself as much as I did this day with Bob or, any other chance to explore the arctic lands for that matter, it is a total spoiling in and of itself. Besides this, I also know what it’s like to take someone out fishing, and guide them and such, there can be a monkey on your back that can only be shaken off with that special fish caught. Although Bob needed not worry about me, I have caught char, many of ‘em in fact, in many places, and I will catch them in Kugluktuk too.
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Finally the first weekend came for the quad. The Enkhok Inn here in Kug is just across the street from the Nurse’s apartment. I called Nadine over there, the friendly gal who runs the place and we made arrangements for me to rent their ATV. A bit pricier than anywhere else I have ever rented from, the two pros to going this route were, reliability and a good machine. Nadine was kind about reserving dates and pricing, a newer CanAm 450 was there for pick-up and drop-off on my schedule, no worrying about how things may or may not unfold if choosing to just rent from someone local. I have in the past been disappointed going this route. So anyhow, the Sunday morning was a nice mix of sun and cloud, cooler at 9C but headed to a 16C high, I got out a running.
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The truck road ends between Heart Lake and “S” Lake, both easily identifiable on the map. After this, a marked ATV/hiking trail indicating how many kilometers have been traveled takes over. It’s bumpy in spots with plenty of little creek bridge crossings and, even some long boardwalks that pass over really hard riding shitty tundra turf. Although only a 13km distance, with stops for photographs and a few areas requiring slow navigation, the first trip there only took over an hour. As Bloody Falls was approached, still three kilometers away, panoramic views along the route became frequent. In these pics below, Heart Lake comes first, then several stops above the Coppermine River as it peers down at Bloody Falls.
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I arrived at the park boundary to the signs posted there. The trail beyond is a “use at your own risk” kinda deal. The Hamlet of Kugluktuk is working at building more long boardwalks to stretch from the signs onward a couple more kilometers to the falls, but it’s not near complete. On route there would be one sandy esker, a hill that dives downward to a sketchy looking bridge. Some ATV’ers do choose not to go down the hill and over that bridge. But, a little nervously I locked up both brakes and just skidded down that sandy slope, there was no stopping forward momentum after beginning, it was steep. At the bridge I parked a moment, took a good look at it and just didn’t feel like today was my day to die. It’s in pretty good shape actually, so over I went.
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Riding up over the next hill beyond the bridge there was only a short bit of rough trail remaining, I made it to Bloody Falls.

Now a lot could be written at this point about Bloody Falls. About it’s history, mystery and meaning to all the ancient peoples who came upon this place over the centuries. If you were to take in all that is known about it but, also imagine all which has been lost to time, I am sure you too would feel the same immense sense of satisfaction and awe if ever visiting Bloody yourself. But really, I didn’t care one bit about that stuff, I only came for the fishing. Kidding!

At the falls were some plaques with interesting literature, here’s a little of that. Do take a minute to hit the Wikipedia link as well, there you’ll learn a little of the mystery yourself, and how Bloody Falls came by it’s name.
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BLOODY FALLS MASSACRE OF 1771
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Atop the rocks at the base of the rapids, the ground here still bleeds, 250 years after the massacre.

Allegedly!
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For more on explorer Hearne’s expedition to the Coppermine, this one hour documentary by BBC’s Ray Mears…

HEARNE’S ARCTIC EXPEDITIONS TO COPPERMINE
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As I had arrived the sun was hiding behind a thin layer of cloud. For a half hour or more the place was mine to hike around, inspect and photograph each and every scenic little space. Atop the first hill a sturdy and clean outhouse awaits any who make the journey. Picnic tables, benches, a flat platform for a tent, fire pit, fish cleaning station and a number of informative signs highlight this landmark. After I finished exploring the area the fish called me away awhile, where I hooked into a few. But as the sun came out and the place totally lit up, I realized there was no choice but to take the hike around again. To start over and re-photograph Bloody now that the natural light was brilliantly shining down, was a must. A beautiful Canadian Heritage site captured this day.
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“Take the clothes off Mother Nature and she’ll stand there, strikingly beautiful and inviting.” Bunk 2021.

But as the signs do say the Bloody has a long history of being a place to fish. “In the fall” time, Inuit or Dene would meet here once the first northwinds reminded them of the cold days approaching. The arctic char out feeding in the sea, also triggered by the end of summer, they too return to the Coppermine River, to spawn and over-winter in the freshwater lakes and deep river pockets found upstream.

Offered as a fly-out option to fortunate anglers staying with Plummer Arctic Lodges on “nearby” Great Bear Lake, it was back in 2008 that I first learned of the Bloody. Wanting to someday hopefully see it, it was the world renowned Tree River, 100 miles east of the Bloody, that came higher up on my arctic char bucketlist.

As I have come to learn with char fishing since the first Nunavut Nomad experience, this fishing comes down to a number of important specifics, the most important being timing. In an accelerated summer season, fish are often here one day and gone tomorrow. Patterns do exist but, the days and sometimes even the weeks things will happen are not dates always set in stone. The Ekaluk River in 2019 was a good and humbling example of this. The run of 1000’s of char beginning on the 17/18th of August in 2018 but while I camped there in 2019 for five days on those same dates to the 22nd, hardly a fish could be found. Bloody would be like the Ekaluk, a matter of time.

But I had made it anyways. Secured the ATV, found a few days off from work, brought the gear, planned the days. Casting the large western eddy nothing would bite at first, not until I moved downstream a short distance to slightly slower slack water that actually had the best slick surface.

It was in the slick that a first orangish fish was spotted surfacing to bugs. After that, two more darker colored fish dimpled the surface. It looked active, I downsized my spoon to safeguard from shallow rocks, then I peppered the shit outta the place, nailing a couple dozen feisty grayling for a short time on like every third or fourth cast. Two other large fish also showed up to fight, both powerful within the current, I would lose them both. Big shouldered whitefish.
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At 400pm I started to pack up and leave. The quad mine for 24 hours, I’d figured best laid plan was to fish the day at the falls and if no char were found, drop back to town, have dinner and a break kinda 5 to 600pm-ish, then ride the beach out to Four Mile Bay for an evening fish.

Heading back though I got side-tracked a couple times taking video but also riding some different trails. I stopped at S Lake to have a look at one particular spot where a creek comes in. Other places fished in the past with landlocked char, incoming creeks or, anywhere you can find the calmest spots if it’s windy, were usually good to me. But when I arrived at this location the depths, shoreline, submerged plants and wind were all wrong. The bugs were absolutely horrendous there too. I booked it back to the house for a bowl of soup and a cup of coffee.

My roommate was shocked that I was only back for a break. Quick rest and off again the weather was changing fast. A northwind started to blow, bringing the cold, Arctic Ocean air ashore. The temps plummeted. Still rather sweaty from the hot day and riding, the coat came on and didn’t come off again. When I wasn’t riding it was chilly.

Along the beach the quad got momentarily stuck at a creek crossing where it meets the beach. While standing in the water there, it took several attempts lifting the back end to get the tires from out of the wet sand. Other crossings along the route there-out, I would stop, wade, inspect for the harder ground and go through in 4-wheel drive. Doing this, everything was easy thereafter.

When I reached Four Mile the fishing was slow. The wind was blowing into that bay, I hoped that would create a “wind swept” shoreline kinda bite, it was wishful thinking. However, I did get a little tug by one ugly looking little sand bugger, a flounder.
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In short time the fishing was deflating. Part of me wished I hadn’t left Bloody Falls, maybe sticking it out there would have been more fruitful? But a great day was had, lots of grayling and exploring and I decided enough fishing for now, so instead just took a little ride.

Coming over some creek bridges near Four Mile, the hill cliffs of First Point ran parallel to the trail. Stopping for pictures, a couple pissed off Peregrine Falcons, the fastest birds in the world, were quick to leave their perch high on the rocks. Swooping over and around, continuously screeching, they made it obvious I wasn’t welcome, but unable to help myself the camera was out and I just kept after them for a decent photo or two.
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The return back to town I bumped into Marcel, nice young fella who works at the Health Center. Out fishing the better spots around town, he’d had no luck this day either. The char were either gone or not biting. Rain settling in with that cold wind, retiring for the day at 10pm the quad still had half a tank but my fuel tank was completely dry.
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My work week was rewarding and Hell at the same time. The “first” on-call schedule weighed heaviest my way over a span of ten days, me five, the other nurses two each. Unfortunately the clinic carried some dead weight with one older nurse completely spent. From day one meeting her, I could just tell by her body language alone that she was done. Over the span of a couple weeks the number of times we would hear her say how tired she is, got old. If you’re done, you’re done, just move along. A young nurse Charity and I, plus the Charge Nurse Joanne, carried much of her load for more than a week. And so really, with her doing so little and calling in sick and tired, taking days off, it only made things worse, and worse during a time when the town received a big booze shipment and some asshole with 500 pills of meth was dealing it out. It was a tough period for sure and the kicker to it all… was getting farmer-snotted on at the store and, seeing a little kid biking down the street carrying a fresh char he must have caught from the shores in town; maaaaan I envied that kid. When Friday arrived and I was scheduled completely off-call, I was out that door at 500pm and not looking back. Over the seven days I’d logged 80 hours at work and took a dozen “emergency” wake-up calls through the nights. Some people so sick they just yelled, screamed and swore what shitty nurses we are at the clinic.
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Friday evening Bob and Carol’s smiles were warm and welcoming. Going fishing with them both on a boat ride up to Bloody Falls, it was enough for me to flip my mood and feel more relaxed. They’re on the good side, the good “heads” of the Kugluktuk coin. Despite holding 99% of my composure through that tiring week, those bottled up intensities needed a release and fishing is the cure…

The boat and trailer attached to the ATV, we rode down to the launch. Bob forgot his smokes and, his gloves fell out onto the road but even he was wanting out of town bad enough there was no turning back.

The annual fishing derby had kicked off on this day. A four day event put on by the Hamlet Office. Top prize $3000 for biggest char, $2000 for 2nd, $1000 for first. There were other cash prizes for biggest shore caught fish and, biggest “other species” too. Specific boundaries existed as well, 60 miles east, not sure how far west, and somewhere down river from Bloody Falls on the Coppermine was a cut-off as well. The Falls would not be included, for if the char were there it would be too much of a slaughter. Years past, the Tree River was in play for the derby but because Bob knew where to get the big ones there, he won the tournament a couple times in a row. Afterwards they changed the rule to exclude the Tree, Bob won again, last year as a matter of fact. Personally, I was happy to hear the Tree was excluded and glad to know I was fishing with a local repeat derby champ!

Much of the towns folk must have paid up because on the water that evening there were boats launching to head out everywhere. Most wanted to go east, searching for the char feeding on capelin at sea. Bob and Carol having less time on their hands; likely because of my schedule, we were the only boat to turn the bow upriver and race up towards the Bloody.
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A beautiful ride that took less than half the time it would on the ATV, we’d all cast through some amazing looking water. At the first stop Bob would say that sometimes a half dozen boats would be crammed in that area catching char… when they were running. We were the only boat upriver though, a good thing that would be if the fish were there too, but seeing no other boats at all during the first night of a derby is actually quite a bad sign. Everyone must have figured char being in the Coppermine was a long shot.
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After trying here and there we left to fish out in front of town where a number of boats were doing just that, casting and trolling. The wind had switched and many people who had tried to go east had turned back home now, the sea too rough. While we worked the water and snacked on fresh bannock, Carol, Bob and I would reel in some herring and flounder, but no char. Other anglers out there were having similar luck. Boat back on the trailer and riding down the street home, Bob’s gloves were found there on the road, right where he left them. I wouldn’t get another chance this trip to fish with Bob and Carol, but I am surely glad for the time we did have.
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An uneventful Saturday on-call left plenty rest time heading into Sunday. With a full day off plus the half day Monday, this was to be the final weekend in Kugluktuk and last shot at some fishing.

Renting the quad from Nadine again, I had secured both days but closer to time decided that one would be it. Cost and time a factor, Monday was also calling for rain. However, if by slim chance the char were finally running the river and at Bloody Falls, I could persuade myself to going the second day as well.

The Sunday morning was hot. Calling for a high of 25C, while packing all gear on the ATV the skitters were out in half force. Now knowing the trail and best route taken for this trip, having snapped enough photos the weekend prior, I didn’t figure on stopping to smell the roses on the way. But I did, really just for my roommate Anneke’s sake.
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The ride was more fun this time, and approaching the Bloody I managed some video of the trail and a few more photos from the scenic stops.
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An 8-minute video of different terrain and trail on the ATV ride to Bloody can be seen below...
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ATV RIDE – KUGLUKTUK TO BLOODY FALLS
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Not a lot of wildlife to be seen, the majority of animals seen in this place are siksiks and birds. Crossing paths with a juvenile golden eagle flying high and surveying the ground, one would have to figure there wouldn’t ever be an end to the food supply for these giant birds of prey.
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Had the Falls all to myself and was happy to arrive early. The morning grayling bite was hot, almost wished I’d gotten there sooner. On one early cast the lure got rammed and scrammed by something very powerful. A fast reel peel tore the line just into the main channel current where whatever it was popped off. I wanted badly to believe it was a char and it could have very well been. Beyond that, each other hit was simply aggressive and fun, as graying don’t really take line. That said, they’re certainly spirited little fighters, and if armed with a light to medium-light rod like one used for crappies, walleye or small trout, or a 4 to 5wt fly rod, catching dozens and dozens of these beauties would make for an incredible day. The best for the morning would be a 17-incher that I decided to bury under some rocks in the river, to keep fresh for a meal.
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Grayling are new to me but old too. What I remembered about fishing them the few times in the past is, they like calm water, they like glass. This is probably because their main forage is bugs, and bugs on the surface of the water are more easily seen when it’s calm, and eaten when it’s still. So on the Coppermine, where I was, in a very turbulent area, the best pocket I fished for hook-ups was where several currents in the eddy off the main channel, collided and swirled to a still. A room-sized playing field that from two different vantage points (one from an up current point pictured below, one more shoreline and cross current that is seen in the videos) was a full cast from either of two directions. The lure if no wind, would land in a circular slick, a calm spot like the eye in a hurricane chaos, that was only lightly whirl-pooling if anything. Above this target, beside and below, water moved faster and in opposite directions. The entire day I pulled 90% of the fish caught from that spot-on-the-spot.

Bloody Falls being so scenic and this day having more sunshine than my previous visit, after hours of fishing I took a break to re-photograph the area and try to find some new vantage points of the falls.
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Really took the time to take it in. Dipped the water bottle into the river, sat awhile on one of the benches above the falls, shed a few layers to cool down, took a selfie or two and was pleased the mosquitoes were hiding in the shade of the alders.
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If wanting to take a short, part walk through Bloody Falls park with me, link below…
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A BLOODY FALLS WALKABOUT.
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I had resigned my hopes for char at this point. Timing. Again it came down to timing. Leaving in five days, work and on-call would occupy me ti’ll the end. It was kind of laughable really, how much “pressure” I put on myself to catch fish that have already been caught many times and trips before. What was there to prove really, that I can catch char? That, the story and this experience can only end in this one specific and glorious way? Did I need to feed the social media “likes” to have a one fleeting moment of triumph, you know, those fine feelings that euphorically wax then wane, until for some sick reason they make us do it all again..? Maybe it was some of that stuff, all of that stuff, but honestly there is something more to it too. It is that something I have written about and eluded to in other stories, a pure determination. A meeting of an objective, proving to myself that I can do it, do it here, there, or anywhere. That I will and still can do it despite each passing year the age is stealing that little bit more of my energy away.

I walked back down to the shoreline and picked up my rod. It was about 400pm and the thought crossed my mind about leaving for town now, having a quick supper and trying some Four Mile Bay later in the evening. The derby going on though, the town spots and Four Mile would have far too many anglers casting for their winning chance.

On the far bank I spotted some people walking up that shoreline. They must have parked where Bob, Carol and I fished the Friday night. The eddy on the opposite side of the river from me has to be at least 4 to 5 times the size of the one I was fishing, and it is said to be the better spot. Watching them slowly make their way I heard a motor in the distance too, a boat was very carefully and painstakingly picking its way up through the immense rock gardens that lie beneath the Bloody.

Standing around people gazing I suddenly saw a char. Right there, right in the slick, right where I had been casting for like five or six hours, right where that fish had given me the wicked ripper into the current, a char, silver-sided and darker backed, just for whatever reason jumped out of the water like a missile, two feet in the air and diving back in scoring a perfect ten. What in the ever loving fawk was that all about?

Not liking the lure I quickly switched to the best one I had, the lucky one. A Bluefox, silver Strobe, this 5/8 ounce spoon is so worn from its original shine it has been a miracle that it has not been snagged up and lost on a rock since I first tied it on day one of the original, premier of the Nunavut Nomad. Seriously, go back and look at that old report, you’ll see the spoon hanging from the mouths of all the first char caught there.

Whipping that Strobe out there I was a quarter of the way back and right in the pocket. BUMP! And with a mighty hookset… SNAP!!!
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Can have all that pure determination but without the right bit of luck, ya get fucked!

My Bloody Kug”luck”tuk.
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Lost the lure too. That 5-piece, 8 ½ foot Lawson travel rod, a tip from Norwegian Richard Early who I guided on Slave in 2015, was “the” arctic char rod, one that would only come out of the case for char. It’s done now! So I pieced together the back-up stick, a Fenwick Methods, 7 foot, 3-piece that is a decent stick too. After taking some casts awhile it was apparent I was still on tilt, losing concentration and losing a number of lures in a row. Re-tying leaders to the braid and snaps as well began to piss me right off. I was surely cursing and swearing at myself when noticing someone’s drone hovering just over top of me. They were probably laughing, guessing I was mental or something..? I took a seat beside a big boulder that offered a little shade… about 45 minutes later I woke up from the nap.

Casting out there was little action for awhile. Lots of snagging rocks, half my time was spent walking and wading off in different directions to get unstuck. But then finally I got nailed by something heavy that took off some fast straight runs and really worked the stick. Did I finally have that char?

No I did not.
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The river whitefish had been biting this day too… kind of. Failing to mention earlier in this story, I had already caught three smaller than this one earlier on. Their fight for whitefish is quite impressive, nothing like the wimpier lake versions we have back in Ontario. Whities up here in the Coppermine will make the odd run to the saltwater, getting caught in nets at sea. They also spend their lives moving through the heavier river currents, and so in essence are quite strength and conditioned by their hard environs. Whites will eat minnows and the young of other fish. Up here that could be anything from sculpin, stickleback I presume, grayling, char, lakers, herring and even capelin if at sea. They’ll also eat any and many bugs, anytime. So to have them going after spoons I was chucking for char was cool. Problem for them is, unlike the much smaller grayling, with even smaller but forward facing mouths, whitefish yaps are down-turned and so they have a trickier time grabbing a horizontally retrieved lure. They will try, but they often miss. So far I’d caught two in the mouth, one in the head and one in the back but they all came from off this specific little rocky ridge between me and the slick spot, they held on the further deep side. Thinking about it afterwards, after taking a couple home to eat, when I opened them up they were bursting full with eggs. It might have been that I was running the lure across their reds, and they were simply lashing out? Maybe, but that would normally be a behavior more common to the male fish. Keep at it into the evening when a few grayling started to bite again, this one being the best of that short flurry.
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Biggest fish of the day, of my time in Kugluktuk really, would come last. A very thick shouldered whitefish, the earlier tank whitey would later measure in at 27.5 inches, this second one would go 28.5. If I remember right, the top of their range is about 30+ inches so in whitey terms, they were most certainly trophies. Fighting so hard and really ripping me around in the eddy, for much of the early fight I thought it may be a char, but nope! Considering the tough break earlier though, it and the quality grayling that evening were real nice finishers.
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Twelve hours had gone by since leaving the house that morning and about seven since eating lunch, my gut feeling was telling me it was just about Bloody enough. Two grayling and the two big whitefish kept, I shed my outer bibs, turned ‘em inside out, tied the legs together, stuffed the harvest into the belly and folded the fish up inside. The catch underneath the back pack and strapped down to the backseat of the quad, all secured I rode hard, fun and fast to town.

A night later my roommate Anneke would enjoy the grayling, the night after that some whitefish. Bob and Carol would receive the rest, included as part in a little care package.
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If you care to see a 20 minute video of the fishing at Bloody Falls click below…
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BLOODY FALLS FISHING
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The Nurses in Nunavut are years overdue for a new contract settlement with the Government. Prior to Covid, staffing was always struggling, but during and now after the pandemic, especially through the summer, the workforce has become skeletal. In fact, on life support there are some community health centers closing their doors to all regular clinical functions, serving emergencies only. This will only pile up more work for later as the population’s health declines. Doing this will also only cause more burnout for those few remaining brave enough to take on the load. Nurse – patient relationships are dying, everywhere! And it was here in Kugluktuk within such a short one month contract that I was reminded on a weekly basis how bad it is becoming. Threats and verbal abuses, community social media posts complaining about us, a gross entitlement to receive non-emergent services after hours, an incredible plague of alcoholism and drug abuse that this town is particularly diseased by, and as well, an ever underlying sadness at the present time while Emerald’s (Baboo) murderer still walks free within the small town. It makes the choice of returning to work here a yes, but a cautious yes. I would return and do it again. Less experienced staff need us older, seasoned, thick-skinned northern professionals to learn from. To help protect and see how we can stand strong in the face of any of those who are damned and demented against us, all the while not turning our backs on the good people. Good people like my friend Bob and Carol and their friend Bob, the friendly local staff at the hospital, Russ and Allan, Darryl on the beach, a number of carvers who dropped by, the many patients that were wonderful to meet and serve, as well as their large families who were kind and generous with their thanks. There were a lot of good people quite frankly. The sickest and saddest need the most healing, and nurses help best they can with that. But yet the blood red shirts hanging from outside many of the homes in Kugluktuk really do remind everyone, everyday, that very much pain and sorrow is being felt here, bigger burdens which are far too heavy for just a small, understaffed health center alone to bear. It will require the greater efforts from the entire community and it’s best leading people, to set some rules and be the right examples, and it’ll take a little better Kug”luck”tuk along the way too…
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You read all that you deserve a break, as well as my thanks again,
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Bunk.
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