It’s a long way to go around for this gig, a long haul. Leave Ottawa, fly through Iqaluit and Rankin Inlet then plop down overnight in Yellowknife. Next morning, leave there, fly over places of wonder like Alymer Lake, Tree River, Bathurst Inlet and Coronation Gulf to stop-over in Gjoa Haven before crossing south of Taloyoak and Netsilik Lake, over the Gulf of Boothia finally setting down into Pelly Bay. The destination town Kugaaruk, sits longitudinally above Thunder Bay Ontario. So what the shit did I just do, go from home to the west and back again, yeah pretty much sorta!?!
.

.

.

.

.

.

.
A throbbing headache I sat on some steel stairs outside the dusty airport terminal. In the shade a mosquito or two buzzed, they too hiding from the sunny, 26C arctic air. All passengers and workers had already left for home, and after four phone calls my pick-up was so far an hour and a half delayed. It was hot, and I was getting hotter under the collar waiting to see someone from the Health Center show up. When a familiar face did arrive he drove past like I wasn’t even there… turns out, he didn’t know to come and pick me up, he only thought freight had arrived. After a quick hello and his apologies for the mix-up we drove just back into town when the front wheel fell off the car. Well, it didn’t quite fall off but, all parts connected to steering that front left tire, broke. Front left drive shaft snapped. “How many vehicles at the Health Center Val, two or three,” I asked. “Just one now. This one’s done and the Homecare truck battery is dead,” he said. All I really heard was, within a couple hours of arriving to Kugaaruk, my chances of big, red, arctic char had just drastically declined. No wheels to spare, no way to get out there.

Settling into the apartment that evening within a couple hours I got a big pot of homemade beef and vegetable soup done up, oven cooked bacon for breakfasts, veggies chopped for morning omelettes and the next three chicken curry dinners plated. On a roll but man-o-man, the apartment had to be 30C+ and sweaty AF!

My roommate Dillon introduced himself around 8:00pm. An “Advanced-Care-Paramedic” he was on-call downstairs for the Health Center and working well into after hours. Asking how it was going he reported that it’s been crazy busy. Insane busy. Busy unlike he’s ever seen it in any other communities busy. Peeling an orange, “I usually get supper around midnight to 2:00am,” he tells me. “Have to head back downstairs here soon.” Later that night around 3:00am I stirred in bed a little hearing Dillon finish up making his dinner and doing the dishes.

The north is utilizing medics more and more to fill the gaps caused by the extreme nursing shortages. Haven’t worked with many but some that I have are great with emergent issues but yet vastly inexperienced with things such as pathophysiology, pharmacology, well clinic care, preventative medicine, diagnostics and many interventions outside their trained scope. In essence, they are not RN’s at all, certainly not extended role nurses but, they are medical people with potential to learn and grow, help alleviate the current day stresses in arctic Health Centers and, provide good triage and true emergency intervention. The rest as I had described, requires time and experience, because even most nurses across our country are not initially trained to do what the north requires of them.

Children played outside the apartment window to nearly midnight. The fella across the road ran his circular saw ti’ll that time too. It was about 3:00am when the ATV Indy 500 race finally concluded circling the Health Center. This is Kugaaruk I thought, laying in bed with window wide open trying to shed some heat from the place. The people here run on their own time and for their reasons, it can get wild.

I woke to whining dogs below that same open window. The air had drastically cooled off, felt like it was about 10C in the apartment now. At the kitchen table I cover the computer with a towel at night. Any breeze coupled with the 24 hour, every day and night ATV races in town, the dust stirred up blows into everything, everywhere. Sometimes though, a water truck drives around to dampen the streets. From the kitchen view, the same broken panes I first looked through nearly a decade ago, I could see that water truck had been by and now the sewage truck was about, pumping out people’s waste holding tanks. Such a different world.

The morning started with a little Government BS. Last month I had to get after them for some answers. Was short nearly $800 by my count on the previous contract and needed to know if that was coming and if not, why? Reached a point I had just started sending the same email every day, with a reminder that this was email 6, 7, 8, etc. Well, when getting to work on this contract upon setting up my online Government account, turns out the HR “archived” it a couple weeks ago and handed me a new, blank online account. Lost contacts, helpful emails, saved files, portals… pretty much everything other than a simple access. Basically a throat punch, to shut the fuck up or else! After so many years of you making your life a little easier, we the GOV will just take what we can and own of ya and set you back a ways for your inconvenience. Thanks for that! So far, this report may sound like a little bit of a bitch fest!?! Sorry.

But the day got better. Learned that the Homecare truck may just receive a battery soon. There was hope for red char again. And when I asked around about renting an ATV everyone said, “somebody will rent to you for sure,” except that, no one actually gave any names of who those somebodies might be. Apparently though, the red char may even be ready now and waiting upstream, so just how to get there? Had to figure this one out, I couldn’t come this far and not get the chance.

That evening, sitting quietly in the bedroom I assembled the rod and reel, tied a 15lb floro lead and added a snap swivel, then double split ringed the hooks on a half dozen spoons I thought to toss first. Gear ready…

It was Thursday, my first, first on-call shift for the night. In typical Kugaaruk fashion, as many people called the NOC after hours for their problems as they did during the work day. Off at 5pm I was back from 6:00 – 10:00pm, woken in bed with a non-urgent call at 12:15am, resettled but rung again at 3:00am. Went downstairs, saw the patient, came back up and no sooner got settled in about 4:00am when the phone alarmed again at 4:30am. Back in the office ti’ll 5:30am, resettled, phone chimed at 7:00am then my own damn cell phone at 8:30am. No way in Hell I was starting a new day at that regular work hour so I took the morning off. In between it all, since arriving the Tuesday there was that splitting headache while at the airport. The next day I twice had minor headaches again and a short bout of nausea after lunch. I blamed the DollarStore reading glasses messing with mind. Come Thursday the throat went from dry to ticklish to sore in the night. Sneezing, watery eyes, dry cough, fatigue, chills and muscle aches lying in bed, all that didn’t help with sleep during my on-call shift. What I could trace it back to was this tall dude behind me on the Ottawa to Iqaluit leg earlier in the week. He struggled to hold back his coughing and sneezing that entire flight. I’d see how the day goes, the Friday, because although feeling beat, the fishing rod was at the ready for some after work casting here in town.

The Pope visiting Iqaluit graced us with some unpaid Holy Nunavut time off that afternoon. A north wind blew over the hills across the river here, throwing up a little chop at the mouth. It certainly felt cool out, that arctic blow cutting into me, about 13C but likely less around the sea. Little fact about Kugaaruk is back in 1975 it recorded the coldest windchill ever on record ever, ever! -79C. Brrrrrrrrrrrrrr!
.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.
Didn’t cast but a half hour or so. A couple larger capelin followed a red and white spoon to my feet, and a tiny char too. As memory served, the best bite around town is before the char push back upriver. Any warming shoreline rocks, sand and shallows, that draws minnows like sticklebacks, sculpin and capelin in tight. The char cruise nearby to seize any opportunity or they just keep running up stream full tilt.

Hope quickly gave way to fatigue. Nose solidly plugged and cough nagging I strolled a little ways upriver and found a nice car-seat-like cut out in a rocky cliff. Some grass under my tush, reclined and just tucked out of the wind, I dozed off. Woke an hour later when a family of three on an ATV were riding by. I startled them, my clothes blending in with the landscape. When they stopped to ask questions I barely lifted my head to explain I was just catching a nap after fishing. They laughed and waved goodbye.

Zero left in the tank, hands cold stiff, I quickly called Brenda who was stuck in the terminal at the zoo which is known as Toronto’s Pearson Airport. All my girls left home in Ottawa to drive there, have plenty extra time to spare for clearing security and such, before boarding a red-eye to Iceland late day around 11:00pm. Taking the “Ring Road” tour over ten days there and, spending a couple more around Reykjavik, I will admit to feeling plenty left out and stupid for not going. Just figured, and honestly, that Dad really cramps their style and is better off making money than spending it. I kicked up dust then to get back to the hospital.

The girls made it to Iceland the next day. Woke up rather late myself, good sleep, and having told my roommate I’d get him to the airport, had some breakfast, a coffee and got to getting him gone. On my way back in to the apartment I figured with the stuffy nose and cough why not run a Covid swab?…

FUCK!
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.

Binged on plenty Bill Burr comedy that I never even knew existed. That dood is funny. Watched some Tool concerts. Some classic Marc Rebillet, another really funny entertainer. The new Chili Peppers tunes are out and some are incredible. Vibed out on plenty of Khraungbin. Threw in a little Joe Rogan… but mostly, I sat around forming many new deep vein thrombosiseses and with terrible posture added to my degenerative disc disease, neck pain and the formation of some new hemmerhoids. Isolation just awesome!
.

Joe Rogan podcast

Joe Rogan
.
Early Marc Rebillet.

Marc Rebillet.
.
Bill Burr on the WNBA

Bill Burr
.
Chillin’ to a Khraungbin vibe

Khraungbin
.
Classic Tool in concert.

Tool
.
Some new Chilis to enjoy.

Chilis Black Summer
.
“In order to be able to think, you have to risk being offensive.” Time with Jordan Peterson.

Jordan Peterson
.

As said, my girls had arrived and were now a number of days into their Iceland tour while I was all melancholy, down and out and shit! Leah and Bren kept sending updates, even pictures and videos too. But yeah no, so I was not one little bit jealous of the great time they were having, frolicking and skipping about while off in that mystical, magical, wonderous Country of lore! All the amazing Iceland photos go to our third generation Bunker Shutterbug, Leah! Such a rad thing to do circling the entire island country of Iceland.
.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.
Finally back to work come midweek I was excited to see that the second vehicle had received it’s battery and was now in use. Then the third vehicle arrived too, the drive shaft had been fixed, there was real hope to fish yet. The coming Friday through Sunday was calling highs of like 20C and sunny with a bit of breeze, it was looking too perfect.

Shift ran an hour late. Around 6:00pm while having supper, a look outside I noticed the flags hanging low, it had been howling winds for days. There was a spring in my step now, so I got to gettin’ while the gettin’ could be got. I set out for char to a primal beat and on the way listened to all the many sounds of sweet harmony.

Rolling up on the first spot there were already four fellas fishing it. On approach I slipped on some rocks and fell with a crack, those guys looked up the hill at me, every one of them with a smoke dangling out their mouths. On approach and after asking if they left any fish in the ocean for me, one of them turned around and pretty well just snarled. Sheepishly entering a space with two to the left, two to the right, these fellas remained quiet and rather “sus.” Upon closer inspection I observed three out of these four banditos actually had their fillet knives sheathed and attached to their belts. In the fishing world, that doesn’t only mean they are some serious business, total meat hunters, it can pretty much be a given too that they are total degenerates. And that’s when they started speaking in le Quebecois! Tabernac I’m good with people, just friggin’ knew it!

Few casts in with these fur diving-fur traders I split legs and made my way up river. Got about a half kilometer away and liked what was happening with the water. Nice little run, some seams off both sides into one smaller, deeper looking eddy cross river and a shallow, rock-garden pool in front of me. Upriver a touch, the run narrows at a drop, same at the tail-out. It was the first small obstacle and rest spot for fish just in fresh from the ocean. As I waded in to find the best footing a char surfaced about thirty feet in front of me. I began casting and after a few hit a rock and snagged. Apparently, snapping the lure off the rock I thought it got caught up again and started whipping and snapping at the rod several more times. That’s when a silver bullet breached the surface, tore a hard run and just came unpegged. “Hmph,” I bewildereded. That sucks, but it’s a good sign.

A kid named Andy and his Dad came in behind and started setting a net. “Hpmh,” I bewildereded. That sucks, but it’s also a good sign too. About ten minutes after their arrival I had assessed enough of the big area and I wanted to move a little more upstream from their net anyways. There were actually more char tailing and boiling to the other side of the river and I could see a perfect rock to wade out to, stand on, and basically have enough of the entire spot open up to my casting range. It felt royal the minute I took that stone throne, there were too many good casts to lord over.

Second toss I banged out my first little char, maybe a 20-21 incher..? At that size I wasn’t sure male or female and it was a little too pissed off to say either way. I’m old fashioned. I like to call my fish hims or hers, hes or shes, big fellas or sexy mommas during the photoshoots and I don’t have anything but nurtured and natural instincts to go by, and friendly intentions when using any such gender definitions. If I can’t tell by looking I may just get it wrong ya know, maybe offend the char? But please understand, I do fully support any chars right to be who it wants to be and all, and so I think, I guess my only question with it is, to what extent really do I have to participate in a chars self-image when their gender isn’t quite clear? I called the char a she without knowing for sure..? Took a chance! Afterall, she was getting bonked on the head with a rock, her gills slit, disemboweled, skinned and later sizzled in butter anyways, so if she didn’t like that at least she wouldn’t have to live long with it. Meant nothing nasty by it.
.

.
Another char hit the line and it fought like it was about the same size before it got the better of me. Tricky river to fish in truth. It is incredibly boulder strewn with stones of all kinds of great shapes and sizes, spread very randomly throughout. These fish are powerful coming in from the ocean and I mean, we’re talking, “salmon-ish” and “steelheady” powerful here, and not at all on their final, rotting zombie days of life. Fresh, silver bullets man! They hit and run and when they do your line follows them like they’re Spidey’s webs shooting and swinging through city streets in some highspeed Marvel movie chase. You can’t lock up on them too much, they’ll rip out. And you can’t leave them too loose either or they’re gone in the rock gardens.

The next fish stayed on and UGGGHHHH, made it totally worth getting Covid for FFS! The moment the right fish hits is truly something to love. But it’s just before the fish hits, in those seconds you know without a doubt it’s coming because you feel it right deep down inside of you, that there’s the passion. And the long cast for this fish, to where it needed and I wanted it to go, was perfect! I knew it and felt that was the cast and the fish God’s I had been swearing at earlier in the week, well they did me one holy solid.
.

.
I lost another fish afterwards. And then while watching the pool I had a very big fish breach again not more than about thirty feet from me. Hit it, hit it, hit it, hit it. Casting the spot, casting the area, straight retrieve, jig retrieve, speed up, slow down and finally BOOOOOM!!! Right at my feet this fish was in the fastest part of the current throwing headshakes like a laketrout, but it was no laker. In the clear water I watched everything. It didn’t run, it didn’t! It was surprising, the char are more like steelhead but less jumpy, it didn’t run. And then, it did! Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzztttttttttt shhhhhnaaaaapp!!! Took the leader off the braid at the knot but left me wondering if that knot didn’t somehow rub a rock on the run..? Checked my watch, 9:00pm, didn’t have my glasses with me and tying a new leader under the darkening skies would be slow, so I called it quits at 2 for 5. A half hour walk back to town anyways, by the time I reached my pad the skies opened up. Such a great char night that left me wanting more but surely as shit made me feel like I needed a little less now too.

Her flesh was gorgeous under the blade and she will make my wife very happy at the table.

Friday night I was out to take some casts with a co-worker. The river levels had dropped drastically in just the two days since last fishing. About 18-inches down, the area that had been good to me was now soooo shallow and, my partner for the evening without waders was not able to even reach fish-able waters waaaaay out.

We moved up a ways to the town’s freshwater pump house. In short order we found some deeper water in the pool below and spotted char tailing and feeding on the surface. Cast after cast with the fish just right there teasing us when they breached, we couldn’t get one to bite. They just wouldn’t do it! Seemed they were keyed in on a bug hatch but the only thing kinda flying about were little midgers. We eventually left fish to find fish down at the river mouth point. The tide rising at this time it would seem we missed our window, so I called it a night.
.

.

.

.

.
Saturday morning arrived beautiful and sunny. This was the day, the date, the moment I had been waiting for and dreaming about since last visiting years ago. A good many places in Nunavut visited over the past six summers, plenty about char I had learned and improved upon.

Pulling away from town the familiar scenery catches the eye. Aside from the vast landscape I spotted a couple sandhill cranes, a small caribou and then a fox. Stepping out of the vehicle to take photos, when walking to the birds I felt a tweak in my left foot, like something pulled and then there was pain, but that wasn’t going to stop me.
.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.
Arriving to a good fishing area around 9:00am I hiked to the waters edge, fingers crossed. Flashbacks of red char from the past my wide eyes had hope while scanning the blue… I did not see what I needed to see.

Levels so low this season it appeared every cast was going to have to go the full distance to pass over the shallow rock expanses stretching offshore. Beyond that, in a lot of spaces there exists a ledge and drop into a soft bottom, deeper zone. It’s that transition of rock to sand or sludge that is the highway, a resting and feeding area for char when they choose not to be in very shallow hunting sculpin, tiny lake trout and sticklebacks from within the rocks. On the first bomb I hooked up but lost it. The same result would occur with five more fish, despite changing hook brands on the lures, trying to improve things. The foot was throbbing now pretty good too, the uneven boulders tricky to place a comfortable stance on.

After losing a Strobe I retied a snap swivel and clipped on a Cleo. The extra weight threw that spoon beyond what I had been reaching and when it hit the water I let it sink a little deeper before giving it a jig and starting the retrieve. Fish on!

Right away this char felt mint! Big and strong, it quickly humbled me into a soft chant of fish prayers. Half way to me it then blew up on the surface thrashing, and when that ultra-orange flash coupled with it’s awesome size was first witnessed, those prayers may have switched to faster swears. Knew at that moment it was the prize that could make or break my entire time in Kugaaruk. Six fish had already managed to free themselves… but not this one! NOT THIS ONE! When he came to my grasp the fish suddenly buckled my knees and an immense joy and relief washed over. Honestly I could have cried. It is very well the largest pure strain, ivitarulik that I have walked, waded, ATV’d, stood and a billion times casted to over the past six summers. Hours upon countless hours of aligning the contracts, the work, time, travel, moon and stars to create each Nomad experience and I can not think of a greater, bigger fish caught than this. A beautiful life memory along with a catch, which together define a pinnacle of my angling experience.
.

.

.
And with that amazing karma came a next comedy of errors. Just a few eager casts later I snapped that spoon and my leader off the line. A retie and rush move to another area, I was wading into the water when I lost my footing and plunged into the lake up to my chest. It was evidently clear at that point, with soaked clothes and time wasted, that maybe a reset was necessary before charging back to the fishing. I did still have all day.

Some refreshments, a snack, a change of top layers, a rested foot I sat on a boulder for fifteen or so, looked about the surroundings and planned how to best approach the next casts. It worked! The deep breath during the timeout exhaled the demons and the fish were quick to bite again. From then on, the remainder of the day was an absolute slay. Battle after battle, fish after fish to the tune of about 30 to 35 caught and “mostly” released. A legal catch limit of four fish I was sure to bleed out the allowable, then gut and store under rocks in icy cold water cradles ti’ll collection time end of day. So many arctic char, so many larger and brighter char, it was possibly the best Nunavut fishing I ever had. Here’s just some of the pictures…
.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.
Around 4:00pm the bite slowed right down. Between 10:00am and then it was just so on. Stopped here and there for a couple pork chop sandwiches and washed all things down with water straight from the lake. Not another soul was seen all day. The winds did pick up out of the north but the fish for awhile seemed to like that. The last or second last fish was probably the second biggest of the tour too. A thick-kyped, colored up male that looked stunning in front of the camera. Another hour passed, with no obligations to get back to work I could have stayed all evening and into that night but after the eight hours of amazing fishing I was good with finishing then. Fish to clean once back at the apartment, there was a chance of returning early next morning for a half outing kinda thing, so best to rest up, re-pack and ready for that.
.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.
All four fish kept were females. The one most silver had the reddest flesh, it was also the most ocean fresh having put up twice the fight of any the longer lake dwellers. The meat would be so welcomed at home by Brenda, though that night I had a little taste ahead of time. It was incredible how tired my body felt after the day too, but how wide awake the mind was, still swimming in adrenaline. Switched around the on-call shift for the following morn and was stoked for a return.

Early Sunday came even more still, calm and warmer than the previous day. Waking baggy-eyed and stiff as a board I shuffled through the breakfast routine, feet dragging but willing to get after it. Coffee first… make that, coffees first.

Reached the fish 9:00am again, the water there glass. No signs of life, not for at least an hour or so before the odd char began sipping at emerging bugs hatching at the surface. Mosquitoes, the largest bug hatch across the planet.

Turned into an arctic scorcher out there. Sun directly upon this ginger face it burned. The fishing remained quite slow and I wondered if it be because I had stung a lot of them day before or, the conditions weren’t favorable? Glass calm for char in my experience isn’t good more often than it is, fish either stop eating, stay deeper resting or key in on surface bugs to eat. At the sea it’s a little different, those conditions making it better. Regardless, I managed five char for the day, keeping four more to add to the three I had left in possession back at the house. That’s a limit of char complete, four catch limit, seven possession and some great meat totally processed right and ready to cold package for the journey home.
.

.
At some point during the previous week I had a new roommate come in. Maryna for the next month was to be the Nurse-in-charge or, “SHP” as we call them. (Supervisor of Health Programs) Well, thank God it was somebody nice, somebody just cool to live with. We’d been getting to chatting about all things work, family, arctic and such over the past week or so. A mother of four, an immigrant from the Ukraine, an athlete, competitive dancer and a Pediatric Emergency Room Nurse, Maryna was quite interesting and for some odd reason kindly interested in listening to all my rambling-ons about the northern outdoors, fishing, nursing, life philosophies and whatever else mused about.

On Maryna’s bucketlist was taking a swim with some pictures in the arctic ocean. Well, it was my thinking that it wouldn’t be best for our new leader of the Health Center to be seen doing that anywhere around town in her bikini. Ya know, cultures might just collide with that one… or simply small town rumors start flying. So, I didn’t exactly tell her these thoughts but instead mentioned she might be better to head on up to the lake where there are easier, more private places to get in some icy waters and take photographs. To get there it is a long way she wouldn’t know so I offered to take her the hour drive, we do some site seeing, and I shoot the pictures. Maryna was stoked to have that chance here in the arctic so come that Monday after work, on a hot, sunny, arctic weather day, we recruited another nurse Alanna to join in on the photoshoot at the D.E.W. Line Lake.

It was really good fun for everyone. Never have I had any kind of photoshoot like this before. An icy cool, after work, evening experience it was for sure! And so afterwards we drove on up the mountain to the old, abandoned, D.E.W. Line station. A diesel generator still runs there 24/7 and it is monitored from North Bay Ontario, but all of these northern sites across Canada are now replaced by the North Warning System. You have to wonder if the equipment is kept running just as a back-up though? So basically, the D.E.W. and N.W.S. were pre-Cold War built to monitor and keep Russians; like Maryna, from crossing over the arctic and attacking our country. But apparently, because she foiled their plans so easily, slipping under their radar, this technology isn’t worth a damn anymore. It’s a great view from the mountain top!
.

.

.
Bit of a problem with the locks, I finally let Alanna out of the backseat to do some site seeing too. Ha!
.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.
It turned into one helluva a week with a few silver linings along the way. In fact, of all the places I have ever worked it is probably the most difficult to return to. I don’t remember it always being this way, really liked it the couple times I was first up. But about four years ago I came in on a contract and felt things had changed. Something went wrong, even the town’s Mayor met me at the airport passing through then, and he commented how he just didn’t know what had happened? He didn’t understand why a lot of Nurses wouldn’t come around anymore?

A good too many patients for lack of a better word are mean, the vast majority of those being women. Can’t actually think of one single guy who has given me a hard time, called the after hours emergency line and busted my balls, come into the clinic and made threats, not one man for any of that, period! But all too often, sometimes daily, there will be a woman or two that comes in cross, angry for no good reason, maybe utters some threats, wants to feed on some conflict, some bullshit, or stomp their feet to get into the clinic when they want for whatever they want. It is that disrespect, that entitlement and attitude to believe behaving in such a way is acceptable, that defines the nurse abuse in Kug, and sadly it seems beyond anything I have experienced elsewhere in Nunavut. Every on-call, there is an uneasy feeling that comes over, and that’s strange for me after having lived this line of work for decades. It feels like it is only a matter of time when during the night I’ll be phoned for something totally non-urgent and trivial, I will triage it appropriately to wait for regular hours and yet surely be met with some disdain, an argument, an insult, lies or threats just so that person can have their way, NOW! A few too many people in Kugaaruk treat their Health Center, health services and especially their health providers, like shit! As if after hours means 24-hour services, like it is a drop-in-center for one’s convenience and appointment times are beneath them. It’s like we’re slaves to any and every immediate want and often if they don’t get their way they complain to patient relations. This is sad but very true, and I’ll call it out plain as day! Ruthlessly this town will run its professionals out by making them suffer, and in return, they will suffer when they are entirely without us. Never in my working life have I set out anywhere to make anyone’s life worse. The nurses, myself, work tirelessly, sometimes around the clock, often seven days a week, away from family, friends, our homes, in order to provide what and how we can for Canada’s northern citizens. For any person, town, population, to greet them so regularly with nasty intent only proves there is something very wrong within them, or their community… BUT yet you must know… of course their is the flip-side… there is always the flip-side. For the towns I experience are often a percentage of people who use health services too much, and a percentage that don’t enough. And so to paint a town’s people with the same brush isn’t fair, and for that, if it seems I’m doing so here, I will apologize. Because the other reality is, that I have also met some very, very nice folks in Kugaaruk. Who will I remember, many of those are adults my age and older, and I also work with a great little local team, quite happy, friendly and willing to help too. They are fun and funny, and make me laugh. It will be disappointing to leave them behind if it comes to it, it is not their fault, they are not the people who make it more difficult than it needs to be. Yet it’s going to take the local staff, and the best hearted, wisest people, to really set the abusive people straight. There are some greats in Kugaaruk that could do it, and I wish ’em luck if they try.

An older gentleman and his wife visited with me over the weekend. While he and I were talking he received a call from one of his adult children, someone needing to get somewhere right quick! He hung up annoyed and sighed, children used to respect their parents and listen to them, now they’re always telling us what to do. It lead into more chat, and he took his time with me, while his wife smiled and listened, nodding often during conversation. We spoke of smart phones, yes, we two older guys talking about this phone generation. He began by stressing how it is totally devastating the traditional way of life and younger people’s manners. I loved that he shared this with me because I see it as well, over-and-over, EVERY DAY! He went on, speaking of how his children and grandchildren become sick when their phones are lost or die. “They go crazy,” he laughs, “get mad.” No one in the house looks at each other anymore, that the six year old screams when the phone is taken away, and how that child’s mother, his own daughter, pays no attention to her child at all while she herself is glued every minute of the day to her own device. When the boy is sick she barely notices, and yet if she does the man says she will rush to the Health Center for anything. She doesn’t know how to be a mother because she doesn’t want to know… she just wants to live in her phone. “I look at my wife and she’s always looking at her phone too. Her phone tells her what to do. My children don’t want to go out on the land, their $700 phones make them lazy,” he sighs… I wrote earlier how, it was about four years ago that things changed. How the Mayor asked, “what happened?” Well, what happened was, all of Nunavut around that time went from dial-up-like-speed modems with little data for high prices that families would have to share and limit within their homes, to having 4G wireless connections throughout the entire towns. Basically, I believe that for many, it was like a brain bomb was dropped much too suddenly in the communities creating a zombie apocalypse of dumb phone users. Wish more would understand that the internet is not fucking society, it’s not actually social, but more-or-less just an upside-down world full of our stranger things. That elder is right, too many are losing their manners, potential, health, motivation, culture and true identities to their time and mind controlling devices. I shook the man’s hand and thanked him for our chat. It was like our meeting and conversation was meant to happen when it did, helping me remember why and for who, I do what I do. For that guy, and people especially like him, I want to be there when he needs a helping hand.

On a lighter note, Leah sent me more pics from the second half of their trip in Iceland. By that Friday evening Bren was calling me from home. All safe and sound other than Summer’s car blew up in the driveway and they smashed the windshield of their rental while on vacation. Expensive finishes to one of the best trips of my girl’s lives. They really enjoyed the beauty, food and culture of Iceland. Bren says she ate a lot of arctic char and lamb, two of our favorites. Admittedly I regret missing this one. Iceland looks like Nunavut in places but the volcanic landscape takes plenty of the country in a different direction. To travel it all like they did, photograph it and eat those two favorites of mine at every stop; char and lamb, while just “vibing” as Leah says, that would have been cool to do.
.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.
Replaced the potatoes in the week’s pot of stew with cauliflower and rice. A tasty mistake. That cauliflower smell gets into everything else in the fridge. My orange juice had it, bacon, blocks of cheese, it was kinda pukey. Blamed it on Maryna’s food at first but no, it was mine.

Sunday, the day for church going arrived and I was headed out to seek char under the watchful eyes of my fish Gods… You know, what most I would think get from religion, I might get from other things. Like, during the right moments outdoors, or while quietly reading something profound. Or when writing, listening to music, experiencing something grand, or within some meaningful interaction or deep affection. Suppose, like being on your knees and praying or accounting for your sins, it’s not something I find or feel every waking moment of the day or week but, when it does arrive, it’s during those sorts of transcendental moments when I forget any troubled self, shed the ego, become OK with vulnerability and just allow some comfort and happiness from something greater than me to enlighten. The spiritual experience doesn’t need to be scheduled for bedtimes and Sunday mornings, not with me anyways, but at least on this fishing day I was headed outdoors to the house of my Lord when most would agree that he/she/they/it should be around to visit. That gives some hope, and like Andy Dufresne says to Red, “hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things.” Zihuatanejo! “I hope.”

Now I had traded off on-call shifts with Maryna in order to best align with the better weather. Saturday was like 60K winds and rain, Sunday about 40K with rain. High of 5C. Yep, as it is in the arctic, summer lasts a few weeks and then the nights find a little darkness, the winds switch and thats it! Winter is coming John Snow! Hard to believe that the weekend before was 26C, scorching, sunburning, sweaty fishing and bikini bathing weather outside.

The first cast I found a leader knot problem and had to retie. Third cast the line wrapped around an islet and snapped the leader off. Fourth cast hooked up with a fish near shore. It moved real slow from left to right in front of me then popped off. Maybe three casts later I got hung up on a rock and snapped off at the leader again. Already way too much retying for a day, I was feeling a funk. About two dozen casts later an average sized, very, very, red char followed to my feet. Fish probably about 7 or 8 pounds it spooked off. Then… well then, that was it! For the next three hours as the wind got stronger and the rains set in, would guess that I broke off at least a dozen more lures. Really pissed me off and I’m sure if someone had been watching from afar, they would have laughed at the loonie-kabloonie kabloonak yelling at himself and punching his own face down along the lake shore.

But truth was there was no bite, no bite at all. So in trying to keep tight and precise in the zones that worked the previous weekend, working the shit right, instead I was getting hung up constantly having lost all feeling of the lures and bottom. There was no mojo happening, no hope, no Zihuatanejo, no confidence, no will, only fatigue, frustration and a growing discomfort with the elements. Not how I envisioned things going down on the final day but really, sometimes Mother Nature, the Fish Gods or both, serve ya up only humble pie. And I ate it this day.

Departing the community midweek, the last couple days around the office the head was sort of out the door while my body remained. The final afternoon’s prenatal clinic appointments were a nice way to finish, assessing and visiting with expectant mothers, something I often enjoy. Shared some laughs with staff members, giving thanks and saying goodbyes. Maryna and I had dinner together and stayed up late just talking about all things life and our living it. It is a great pleasure when your company is someone so easy to connect with, not every contract north do I find this…
.

.
These Nunavut Nomad stories shared are rather close to my heart. It is generally the only time I write about all that is, and all that fuels, a fishing life. The work and family, my girls, those very things which make all possible no matter my compass setting. Kugaaruk, like many northern communities and the interactions found within, can surely present a roller-coaster of day to day challenges and emotions sometimes. And as much as I might express some disappointments and such, venting the spleen to release free those harder experiences, it is often from out of any stone-cold, dark thoughts, that when the light is meant to shine, it does shine through so much more brilliant and bright. Wins and rewards, moments good and right, like the first rising sun after months of arctic night, the oranges and red of the Ivitarulik appear that more vibrant in Nunavut.
.

.

As always,
thank you or reading.
.
Bunk!
.