A Big Jim had said to me back in the spring of 2008, “Bunk, the Tree is magical, there hasn’t been a week go by since leaving there that I haven’t thought of that place.”
And so…
Bren and I were warned yet we went that summer anyways. Like Jim, not a week for me has passed since… it truly is my favorite place among a number of amazing places on this earth.
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To speed you all up on what went down, during the winter Plummer’s Lodges held a contest through Facebook for past guests to write a 750 word story expressing a previous experience. Once submitted to Plummers, friends, family or anyone with a Facebook account could cast a vote for their favorite story. The entry with the most votes would secure the author a win for a trip with Plummers to Great Bear or Great Slave Lake for any week in the summer of 2011.
A huge thank you to Plummers, Facebook, friends, family and fellow anglers, by a great big ole whoppin’ margin, I won! Cha-Chingo!!! With Bren alongside here we go…
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DAY 1. TRUE GRIT.
It wasn’t the kid across the isles fault that he felt a need to scream through the latter half of the flight. He was three, cranked out, and maybe only one millimosphere pressure away from popping his thin little tympanic membrane. Who knows? But as much as he was annoying, his parents surely thought my post-meal-in-flight Air Canada methane after-burnin’ was just as sickening to the senses as well. Man AirCanada’s rough.
The movie I selected was “True Grit.” An early start from Ottawa, a nine hour layover in Edmonton, a two hour time change and a late night planned for drinks with friends Dan and Susan in Yellowknife, yeah… some “grit” just may have be in good order. It was a decent flick pick.
On route ya do much just to pass the time. A few Outdoor Canada’s within the carry-on had articles such as, “Tackling a Tradition,” “DIY Fishing,” and “Rate Your Adventure,” all to provide some enlightenment. The words and images had me reflecting upon past journeys to rivers like the Cheepas, North French, Ekwan, Mississicabi, Attawapiskat and Moose. How I’d set off alone, with Bren or friends, to carve out whatever memories we could find. Rating a previous adventure it scored 165 and proved to be a “brag worthy” expedition. Later beating Bren’s butt at Gin Rummy was a triumph even greater to gloat about.
Somewhere over Great Slave Lake that evening a mental note was made to insert page 6 of the “Plummer’s Handbook” to this report.
In 1938 while in Yellowknife on business, Warren Plummer and his father kept hearing stories from the local people about a fabulous fishing area called “Taltheilei Narrows.” Warren and his dad traveled by canoe 150 miles with a 4hp engine and discovered the legends were true. Taltheilei soon became the location of Great Slave Lake Lodge and the history of Plummer’s was born…
… Great Bear Lake Lodge in the Dease Arm came to be in 1968. Bordering on the tree line and sitting just above the arctic circle upon the fourth largest lake in North America, the vast views of water and sky amidst dwarfed vegetation and ever-changing scenery make each day unique. Lake trout over a century old can slowly grow to be of world-record size in this waterbody of 12,100 square miles and depths to 1400 feet, and, from the lodge one can fly 232 miles to the Tree River upon Coronation Gulf on the Arctic ocean to fish world-record sized Arctic char.”
Fish or not, unlike the first trip I had no actual solid expectations this time around. This was afterall a win, a win to visit a place that creates happiness to anglers and anyone no matter what preconceptions they carry.
After a few welcomed pints and Dan’s hilarious story of Ickball and the Raven, before we knew it our heads were on pillows at his and Susan’s home in Yellowknife. Thanks much you two.
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DAY 2. FORT CONFIDENCE.
“Coffee and OJ don’t mix” declares a groggy Bren while nibbling a garbage muffin at the Yellowknife airport. Seated around us awaiting flight are other lodge guests destined for Great Bear Lake. It’s at this time I meet an Aussie named Frank.
“My best so far is a 30.5lb laker caught on 2lb tippet. Took me four hours and thirteen minutes to land and covered 2.8 miles water on the chase,” Frank shares. I wanna throw a “mate” in there somewhere but even though Frank is of much fun he’s quite serious about setting new world line class records. And he’s got a few already. Rather cool dood!
The flight to Bear was over in a breeze and when stepping off the plane we were all met with some tropical heat. Impressive heat. This is the arctic? Anyways, we got lunch quick, snapped some pics, signed our licenses and found our cabin.
Finally time for some photographs…
ALOHA PLUMMER’S!!!
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While checking out the new pad and readying the rods and tackle our Great Bear guide for the week popped his head in the door to say hello. Eddie is our guy. 53 years young but not a day over 18, the man has been guiding fisherman to the big ones since he grew his first under-hair at 14. A Plummer’s veteran, Eddie’s seen Great Bear action from 94 on. I had a good feeling about this fella from Lac Du Bonnet Manitober, and so after a delish lunch of fish, soup, fish and some wicked pickled fish dish we were a sail down into the top or bottom of the Dease Arm for some laker action by Jimmy D’s, Das Narrows, and out front of old Fort Confidence.
Bren caught the first fish of the trip. Studious little buggah she can be!
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Tripping to such an interesting and remote part of Canada can’t be complete without taking some time to absorb the scenery, wildlife and history. Near the mouth of the Dease River we took a short break from fishing to go ashore and view the remaining chimneys of old Fort Confidence.
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A moment on land with the cotton grass and then back on the water, it is impossible not to breathe deep while actually dipping your cup into the lake and drinking this world all in.
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In Larry’s Narrows Bren and I had screaming reels for a couple hours. Fish after fish. Nothing gargantuan by any means, just 5-14ish pounders. On my second fish of the day I set the hook into a fiver and my brand new Shimano Clarus salmon casting rod snapped at the butt. WTF!!! Eddie helped me reel the line back in with the broken stick and all to retrieve my lure and fish. Bren on the other hand pegged a solid chunk of unbudgeable lake trout but, it sadly got the better of her. Would have been the big fish of the day.
Our five hour afternoon of fish and travel came to an end with Bren and I hauling 24 lakers to the boat. My 13 to Bren’s 11. She’s actually more the numbers keeper than me, I’m just the numbskull. Too bad she lost that one biggun though.
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Had our steak and lake trout supper with a retired lawyer and his wife from Pennsylvania. Ernie and Pat. Lovely people who’d been coming to Plummer’s for years. Also at the table was retired lawyer Ben with his grandson Jake from San Diego, and businessman Brian with his son Chris from Colorado but originally the Ottawa area. Blood pudding consumed, the only orders remaining for the day were a goodnight to the sik-sik, three fingers of malty GlenRothes back in the cabin, and some quiet with the never fully-setting summer arctic sun. Cheers!
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DAY 3. CABIN FEVER.
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Met a Manitoban named Jack on the dock. He was fishing Plummer’s with his walleye tourney partner Doug and both were hanging around the plane awaiting their flight to the Tree for an overnight char fish. Eddie’s idea for us was to tour on to Prospect but, with numerous boats heading that direction already, that plan got scrapped for runner-up Cabin Bay.
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It was more than an hours ride out but, while working a mid bay shoal 40 minutes into lines wet, the first fish was caught on a firetiger Husky Jr. A relief!
Eddie was escorting a newbie guide out onto the lake and he pointed that youngster in the direction of a productive shoal outside of the bay. One of his guests hit pay-dirt with a 30lb’er being caught. Over 4.5 hours we had started out OK but then got a case of the rubber hooks. By 2:30pm the boat was a dismal 8 for 16 and during the last two hours we had dropped every fish we were aiming to try and catch for a shorelunch. Hunger set in but we weren’t yet delirious while watching two kites and two gulls face off on an airborne bald eagle, only to have a golden eagle show up and chase everything away. Food finally arrived on Bren’s hook though, so we set off to an old Inuit campsite in Inukshuk Bay. Eddie in 54 minutes had the fish cleaned and both our bellies full with a dish of Mexican lake trout, rice, beans and corn which he whipped up on an open fire. Stylin’ man! Nice to get out of the boat, have a beer and stretch the legs, but we were fishing again within an hour.
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The little tidbit of mauve cloud in the distance brought a chill to the air. Again, the weather had been hot… hot for about two weeks actually, and enough so that the guides were choosing to swim in 51C water back at the lodge after a days work. The fish were put off some too by this tropical wave, and reports hadn’t been as good as what they usually are. Weird because 51C is really and truly a prime temperature for laker to be feeding. Sure, certain spots lit up at times with activity, but overall the bite was light. Some guides said the fish were being taken over deeper water now, like 40-50 feet deep as opposed to 20-30. That cooling air noticeable come late afternoon, maybe it was the pending end of the hot spell that woke this beauty up.
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9 for 17. That was our result for seven hours. Could have been better on our part for sure. Had one on the line in front of the golden eagle I wished I’d boated, probably a high-teen’r and great specimen being that it was a red laker. Slow in a way but we were around when the 30lb’er was caught. Our best was an 18lb grey, with a 12lb red and the rest in the 5-10lb range.
Over a supper of pork tenderloin Ernie and Pat reported that Prospect was the hot spot for them, and they had a 30 fish day with two over 20lbs. Ahhh well… can’t believe how spoiled we all were actually, and Eddie’s awesome shorelunch was the BOMB!!! Bren and I would get our turn to Prospect but it would have to wait. The Lodge Manager Shane, one great dude, came by the table to inform us to pack our bags that night, in the morning we were to be off to the Tree River.
Walking back to the cabin feeling that cool air coming in, it was going to be perfect timing to go visit the coldest, cold loving, beautiful fish that swim. Tired as I was, excitement kept me stirring through the night.
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DAY 4. WILD LIFE.
How does one squeeze in three full meals, wolves, muskox, a caribou, a seal, a peregrine, a polarbear swim, crossing the tree line into the tundra, visiting the Arctic Ocean and walking five miles while catching a dozen char… read on!
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A foggy cool start, in the lodge I gulped down a whackload of flapjacks for some premium fuel, and for the first time was left no choice but to try corn syrup over the maple. Not as good. While scarfin’ it, Shane came by to let us know we’d be a half hour late on take-off so to pass the time he sent us wolf watching. Ummmm…. fawk yeah! Sure we’ll do that.
Outside our break-less safari wheels was parked and waiting.
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Jammed in the truck I met Ken and Ian from Vancouver. These doods are worldly travelers, and combined one or both have pretty much been to any place you can rhyme off. Along with their guide Mike, we hit the road to find ourselves some big bad wolves. Well… we only drove about four minutes and there they were.
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Good to know the pack is just out back waiting to eat you once you stray off the lodge grounds. There were three around but it was the one alpha male that caught the lens most.
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We all didn’t take long getting into the plane. Much of the flight I peered out the window to see precisely where the tree line ended, and the more rocky tundra landscape begin. There’s the Coppermine, cool! Two muskox were viewed closer to our destination and shortly thereafter a big bull caribou was seen trotting across the open land. What a natural zoo!
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Approaching Coronation Gulf upon the Arctic Ocean soon in sight was the Tree River. Its aqua flow stands out unlike any other waters passed by on route. The rich surrounding landscape pops as a vibrant oasis encompassed in a world of rock tundra. The Tree valley stands out, on Google Earth you can even see that from space.
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Directly below would be camp.
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The plane swoops in over a shallow shoreline for a smooth watery drop onto a bend in the river. Awaiting at a dock there are the guides and camp help to shuttle you just a few minutes upriver to camp. You get goosebumps arriving.
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It is a beautiful warm and sunny day. We meet our guide Bob from Kugluktuk and he tells me it has been hot for a week. Kids back in his home town are swimming in the Arctic Ocean off the beach and cliffs there. Inside the main cabin six guests; including Jack and Doug, are enjoying lunch and patiently awaiting their groups return back to Great Bear.
“How was the fishing guys,” I excitedly inquire? Jack speaks up, “Tough… Doug got one this morning just up from camp. All totaled the group got three. Hot weather has the bite off.” Unable to help myself being that I was so pumped about just being there, I surely sounded like a pompous ass when I answered out to them all, “We’re gonna slay ’em!” “They’re gonna be force fed what I give ’em!” “Did yas get to Presidential Pool and further up?” When they all replied no, and not even Neiland Bay, I knew where Bren and I were headed.
We said goodbye and made for Cabin 5 to get settled and ready the gear for an afternoon fish. Bob came by to tell me to leave the waders behind, so I just wore the wader boots with some neoprene socks to keep the wet off the toes. Twenty minutes later Bob and guide Mike, Bren, Ken, Ian and myself made up the trail to the boat cache that would ferry us across the river to fish the better upstream pools. Coolest thing, Ken and Ian weren’t at the Tree to fish, they were simply there to hike and sight-see. That is there shhtick, it’s what they’re about! So, this meant for the next two days Bren and I had the worlds greatest Arctic char river to fish, all for ourselves. Fawkin’ insane!
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The fish-able pools of the Tree River starting from downriver of camp at the mouth, to the third and final falls where no char can go beyond, have some pretty cool names. Dinosaur House, Red Marker, Amsterdam, Morris Point, Fantasy Island and Last Chance in front of the camp. Upriver it goes, Second Island, Third Island, Slippery Jack, Big Bend, Little Bend, Neiland Bay, Presidential Pool, Anderson Pool, Montreal, Second then finally Third Falls. For the latter part of this day and all the next, Bren and I would hike and fish upriver. From camp to the Third Falls is 2 1/2 miles of rock and grassy terrain that cuts up and down through the tundra hills along the river. I was about to get a workout, and when Bob gets to hiking, well for such a wee fella he can really boot’er on his homeland turf.
Neiland was a short attempt and a bust, but rounding the corner to the Presidential we caught a few glimpses of the odd char bathing about in the waters there. Peregrine falcon soaring overhead, Bren was the one to first sink her talons into a Tree gem.
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The President and I have some history. It was here I got my first ever char and also my two biggest and best. This Brenda chick of mine wasn’t about to show me up for too long, not in my pool… and neither was the George Bush fella they named this particular establishment after.
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I think Bob loved every minute of catching arctic Tree char more than us. It was easy to gravitate towards him as he has this magnetic polar energy and enthusiasm for what he does and where he does it. At 45; and even though he’s a pack a day smoker, ( $19.78 per pack in Kug ) he has kid-like stamina and agility built on a solid base of hard tundra ryolite. A father of eight and plus, he lives and breathes outdoor life and the Tree River, a place where memories and friends are made and he proclaims twice has broken the world record with two 35lb char. Bob’s stride is a conditioned one.
Back to the char, I required more… this silvery hen came next. Sexy gal!
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Followed by one fully decked-out, big sharp dressed rooster. Handsome fella!
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They are magnificent to behold. From birth to about five or six years they stay in the river to grow before finally venturing out into the ocean. Each summer and fall they return to their natal waters to spawn a next generation of record setting wild fish, then over-winter in the freshwater until spring… I have often wondered that if Arctic char could only tolerate warmer climes holding a greater forage base, and also live beyond their 20 years or so, what would be their potential for size then? Surely like their closest cousins the lakers they could be 100 pound fish if only living to like, maybe a century. But, also with their greater strength and tolerance of salt water could they exceed the power of a tyee? I guess then they would not be what they are, and in reality, why change something so perfect and unique to this world?
A speckled trout comes close and is certainly a fish of exceptional beauty, but it is no char. They hold their own.
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We left Presidential Pool to fish further upriver. The hike would be worth it.
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And one tragically lost before us has felt the place worth traveling for an eternity.
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We finished at Second Falls for the day. Arriving there we noticed the fast pool had many fish rolling in the froth and taking shelter in the undercuts of the riverbank. This is the char’s last obstacle before reaching the large pool below Third Falls. It’s an AWESOME place to wet a line for a few hours, and made even better when you can cast-jig spoons or drift-jig white twister tails to catch char. Our numbers started to climb, and the silver fish were especially hard hitting and crazy to control. Strong, strong, strong like a fresh steelhead.
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Even Bob just for fun, managed for the first time ever to simply net two fish at once that were held up hiding in a rock cut. It gave us a good laugh. A laker and char chilling out when suddenly…
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Bob had to quickly end his shenanigans and make room for another fish coming to shore for a photoshoot. Same hole, same time.
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Second Falls was a huge grin from ear to ear for the afternoon. Bren popped a couple charries and lost them both in battle but, she managed one laker there for her troubles. Ominous skies rolled in from the south behind us and we heard some thunder rumblin’ in the distance. Suppertime coming we made our way back but… not before stopping again at the Presidential for Brenda to get in one last char of the day.
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Man… she looks pro! I’m the luckiest guy to have a woman who’ll fish everyday for a week with me in places like this, and enjoy every minute of it. We’re all about a little friendly competition and the odd ribbin’ with the fishing, but there’s no ego being that we’re the best of friends on the same team. Bob on the other hand, I had suspicions all along about who he’d rather champion. The days count, Bren two char and a laker, me eight char. Just so they both know eh!
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She did herself proud, time to roll on out cause we could be in for some rain.
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Dinner couldn’t have been more fulfilling. I’d been snacking on Mike & Ike’s and drinking many cup-fulls of water straight from the river, but the legs felt worked and a single beer was enough to draw the lids down a little over some tired eyes. Bren was all about taking no rest, and the rain never hit us. Ken and Ian along with their guide Mike had it in mind to drive the half hour out to the ocean for a swim, and whether liking it or not, I was expected to go too.
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Nuts. I wasn’t about to follow suit cause like I said, it’s nuts. But they froze and had a good time doing so. Ian’s testicles will eventually find their way back to his sac in a week or so. A seal watched from a distance, it bobbing in the waves thinking to itself, man… those people are terribly spastic and loud swimmers. And on the way back to a camp another wolf stood watching us enter the river from a ridge above.
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Quite honestly that could have been one of the most exhilarating days of my life. To start out viewing wolves in the Northwest Territories, end it capturing PolarBear swimmers off an Arctic Ocean coast in Nunavut, and do sooo much in-between, that’s the “wild life” worth living.
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A couple rounds of scotch with Bob and Mike back at camp, followed by the oil heat in our Cabin 5, I was K.O’d from this day.
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DAY 5. TREE HOUSE.
Fresh grizzly tracks on the trail found just after Bob the superstitious scolded me for uttering a few words about them. Cooler day with plenty of sun and some more corn syrup in the tank. Already on the hike an Arctic fox had been curiously following behind, while Bren picked some blueberries and Labrador tea, I took a moment to peek at 2-4 inch char-fry scooting about the shoreline rocks with the sculpins.
Arrived at the President’s Pool after Neiland continued to be stingy, it was remembered how I so wanted a photo with a big bright char and the sun on the nesting cliffs in the background. The Tree provides…
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Ya couldn’t ask for anymore crimson than that. Sadly, this fish would bleed its color out though, and as it happens with catch and release fishing, sometimes one takes a lure too deep and rips a raker. We tried to release but couldn’t, we later laid it to rest in a calm, cold pool so we could pick it up fresh on the return back to camp. Irony was, it had been planned to keep a fish for the table this day anyhow.
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Jigs and Pixie spoons, Cleos the odd time. Bren was a tonne easier on the tackle this day, losing far less to the rocks. She liked only the spoons for her 7 foot spinning outfit, I liked both, choosing to use spoons mostly on the 8 1/2 foot casting rod, and jigs with the 7 foot spinning outfit. The short sticks were medium-heavy and the long rod a whippy medium. Ran 30lb braid as the mainlines and 5-6 foot 16lb floro leads. Presidents was a spoon pool to me, while Second Falls was a good jig and spoon bite. I suspect florocarbon helped, the way you’d expect it would in both clear and rocky conditions. Choice gear worked well enough and I was getting the hooks in.
Like this one fine, fine male specimen that really made my day and was the big char of my trip. Brookie on steroids hammers a silver/pink rattle Pixie…
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Bob did the honors of capturing Bren and I having a great time up at Second.
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We had a reservation booked with the Territory of Nunavut to have lunch atop the cliffs overlooking Third Falls. Bob was game, Bren was game, I’m always hungry, so we rested the pool at Second and made the short commute across more tundra.
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Third Falls. To again quote Trevor Nowak our past guide on the Tree, “A definite barrier to migration for the char.” It’s a vertical drop of about 25 feet.
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We wanted time to stand still.
Having been there once it still felt like a first time all over again.
Bren hadn’t caught a fish all day and after lunch she became a woman possessed. We tried casting into the depths of the Third Falls pool but it is such a big spot that one can barely whip a long cast half ways across it. In a sense it is good that hole is too deep and tricky for anglers to easily fish, char reaching their birthplace pool should be left alone I suppose..?
So bellies fueled and back down to Second Falls I released a couple smaller char before loading up on a silver bullet that rocketed away!
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A she, she had a wee bit of piss and vinegar in her and actually while hooked and peeling stealing line tried leaping up the falls.
Bren would take about no more of it and so she stepped in next to the spot and got to work peppering cast after cast to an exact same river seam where some froth met a clear water slick right at the base of the falls. She had her eye on this one char, which she said she could sometimes spot porpoise in the currents. For a long, long while she kept her casts focused in that area…
Our guide Bob, his boots off and kickin’ back on a “rocky-chair” in a little bit of shade this hot day, he suddenly sprung to his feet and threw himself into a race. Finally Bren had a brute on the line!
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Snapping photos throughout and helping a second adjust her drag a little, the char wanted to hit the big current and go rippin’ gone. She kept a hard pressure on it, the barbless spoon tight in the yap and that rod tip high. She often forgets to breathe fighting big fish and was turning tomato red for an olive gal, Bob and I all the while were cheering her on… Man, she does me proud when she fishes, except when she started comically doing the “can-opener” on the reel arm to try and gain line on this fish.
I’d say in the end she played it perfect though, as the results do show. She may not catch as many but she often catches the biggest. Not only that, she wants little part in being helped, “I’ll catch my own fish, thank you!”
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Bren did it again for the second time on the Tree River. She caught the biggest one. Lady luck???… I don’t think so anymore. A very quick study, after her day one struggles losing a tonne of tackle to rocky snags, her day two casts were more accurate and she began, drift jigging, quarter casting, swinging the spoon all came easier, and she picked her casts better too.
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Bren released her catch and went straight back to casting for more. A minute later Bob takes me aside and says, “you know, most women after fighting a fish like that would take a break.”
We turned shortly thereafter to head back to camp. Doran, Maureen and Zach would be happy to see us arrive with our fresh fish, even though they were whipping up a full turkey dinner for our supper come evening. I’d be needing that kind of feed. My legs were exhausted, as by this days end they would have walked about 11 miles up and down hills during the past 30 hours. Something I don’t do everyday, every year, of even ever anymore for that matter.
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Bob crossing at the ferry couldn’t help himself when Bren put her rod down to say she had finally had enough. He knew just where to put his casts but had to wait to the second one to hook up.
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Ken and Ian were back from their hike in the hills and reported seeing a herd of twelve muskox. I had a hot shower then slipped into an hour long coma in the cabin. It would take that herd trampling me to wake.
After dinner still feeling whipped I couldn’t let the day finish early, so tired legs and all I convinced Bren to follow me back upriver but on the side we hadn’t fished yet, so we could attempt hooking a char or two more out of Slippery Jack. She wasn’t really up for it, but she was. We left camp at 8:30pm with plenty of 24 hour daylight remaining.
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After losing the path we ended up on top of things… Bren was not amused with me.
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Slippery Jack was slippery and the fish there slipped away.
Days fish totals, Bren the one that counts and me seven more char. Overall total, Bren four plus a laker she’d get the following morning, me eighteen.
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DAY 6. WOLF HOWL.
The morning fog was trying to lift and the plane was expected. Downriver in the boat to attempt fishing a last couple hours before departure, sitting on Amsterdam a wolf pack the other side of the hills was heard howling their eerie calls through that morning mist. Bittersweet having to leave the Tree, but necessary. I want to one day soon seriously guide a month there myself, river fishing is not rocket science, although it’s a study I’ve committed to for years. Ughhh, the opportunity to help others experience this ultimate fishery and catch their big memories, that’d be a dream. I only wonder how any of my present employers might feel about me taking the busy summer months off work?
The air was cool now and Bob remarked how in one night summer had now turned to fall. It’s hard to believe, but in that part of the world Bob could be exactly right. Warmth may not return for another year… ya never know?
Bren caught the last fish for us on the Tree, a small laker. In thanks to Bob I gave him my Mojo Bass rod, some lures and a few bucks to go towards those $20 packs of smokes. He was a wonderful person to share the place and moments with, I hope we cross paths again some day.
We packed our char on ice for transport and once the plane arrived flew away for Great Bear Lake again, with a fuel stop scheduled in Kugluktuk. Admittedly I dozed off for a good part of the flight but awoke for landing.
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Prices at the store in Kug had gone up a little. 12 packs of pop were $29.99 last visit, but now they had inflated to $32.99. My buddy Dan back in Yellowknife told me on a freight run with his employer First Air, he once traded a 6 pack of Coke for fourteen arctic char. Crazy! I wonder if the people in Kug know what we pay for a plate of arctic char in the south?
Snapped a pic of the high school but didn’t stay long enough in town to really wander too far and take in more tourist attractions. It’s interesting living, a way Bren and I are actually all too familiar with.
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Kugluktuk is located where the Coppermine River meets the Arctic Ocean. It’s cool looking from the air. The Coppermine River is a journey I’d like to take in and of itself. Char, grayling, lake trout and one helluva long flowing waterbody through prime Nunavut real estate.
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Flying over the Dease Arm at Great Bear our pilot Eddie circled some old cabin remains. It was there that Priests had lived a winter in the 1800’s after having traveled north by land and river from Edmonton. (I think it was) The significance to Plummer’s would come later as, Chummy while out exploring would find a 200lb iron cook stove that the Priests themselves transported all that grueling distance. Chummy would make mental note of the stove’s whereabouts and return later to retrieve it, except that years later when he finally went back, the stove was gone. It took Chummy some years but he later found it again just abandoned 80 miles into the barren lands. Chummy would make no mistake a second time. The stove is a testament to him, the Priests and people before us, their determination, and the very fiber of early exploration and European settlement in the area.
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A 47 pound laker was the new weeks big piggy best for the lodge, we quickly learned this on our return. Bren and I received only a short chance to fish the lake before supper, Eddie took us to some spots nearby that harvested little. BBQ chicken and curried Mac and Cheese was a different experience for supper, and this dessert called “gunt” was a sweet bowl of something to note. Was kind of a lost day to fishing but that’s the sacrifice for experiencing the Tree, and we would make that sacrifice every time if given the chance.
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DAY 7. PROSPECTING GREYS.
Our iced char still awaiting flame we thought it would be a great shorelunch this day out but, when we woke to big east winds and rain, sandwiches were an easier option. So, because of sandwiches we were last to leave the dock.
Out on the lake it was a three foot chop at worst. The skies began clearing almost instantly on the water. Eddie had us fishing some saddle reefs near the Falcon Islands on route to Prospect. We caught nothing until reaching our destination but then Eddie put us on a warming little shoal that produced a few. Fish gave way to coffee bladders though, and Bren’s needs required landing elsewhere. Whizzing in paradise, first world problems.
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We didn’t take many pics of lake trout all trip. It’s a bit of a hassle in the boat, a lot of greys are 5-15lbs, and when you know that possibly 100 pounders live in the lake and people often catch multiple 20 pounders and sometimes up into the 50’s, you kinda think just those 20’s are reason enough to take time out for pics. I also think reds at 15lbs or so, are a very worthy shot too. So for this reason; and unlike the arctic char of which I almost want to photograph every single one, we took fewer pics of the lakers we caught.
Prospect is an area across the expanse of the Dease Arm. No mans land to the north shore. Kinda wanted to pop up a cottage out there for the family and friends to visit, you know Lotto 649 style. We trolled Husky Sr’s mostly, but I also tried using a dipsy with a Whitefish and a marlin-like jig a buddy gave me to experiment with. I got a fish on the dipsy combo, yet it was Bren who had a behemoth hit a 3-ounce Husky Sr. weighted down even further with a 3-ounce inline sinker.
She was fishing with Eddie’s big stick. A heavy St.Croix loaded with 80lb braid on a Tekota 600. The drag was set to tear heads off, muskie style… cause there wasn’t really much if any drag left at all. Twenty pound fish were lucky to get five or ten feet on the initial run. Bren’s line set to troll at 110 feet back was suddenly ripped on the counter to 176. Eddie wanted the net near him immediately. Bren wanted to move the fish but it wouldn’t, not for love nor money! It held out at that 176 and if Bren got a foot or two it’d take it back slow and steady. Stubborn this laker was.
“Breathe Brenda! Breeeeathe,” reminded Eddie. “It’s killing my arm!” she cried. Then she asked me for help. “No babe, this is your fish, just keep the rod tip up, pressure on.” “It’s really hurting my arm,” said Bren. “C’mon Brenda, it can’t be worse than having a baby,” Eddie joked. “I’D RATHER HAVE A BABY RIGHT NOW!” Bren cried. “Eddie,” I nudge, “we’re stalemate here at 176 still. This fish ain’t quitting.”
Eddie warns he’ll have to motor on to the laker at this point, slowly trying to get over top of it. The boat is not in motion long before Bren has to shake the acid burn out of her left arm. During the switch there’s a slight bow created in the line with the boat suddenly engaged slow in reverse, and that was all the slack that laker needed to win its freedom. Eddie sank. I sank. Bren says, “would have liked to have known the weight on that one.” Eddie replies, “me too.”
It happened to me last trip in Larry’s Narrows and this time around in Prospect for Bren. We can only guess at her fish… and as Larry and others will say, “that’s fishing.” Eddie I think was heartbroken, I know I was.
We moved on and trolled around some islands nearby, and it was there and then that I popped a 22lb’er. Good hard hit and fight to this one, although it paled in comparison to what Bren had to endure with hers. Got eight feet of line off the hookset with my slightly weaker muskie gear… not 70 feet like hers did. FFS still on tilt about that.
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Eddie and I spent much time talking fishing. He probably wished now and again that I’d shut up about it. Eight weeks, seven days a week, 5:00am to 9:00pm is a guides life. Conditions on the lake can be taxing, being away from home can be even harder. Ed took much in stride. A fella who loves what he does and lights up every time another fish is hooked… especially if it was on Bren’s rod. Seems to me that all guides conspire a little with the ladies against their men. Eddie couldn’t escape a photo with me though, once another solid fish was caught.
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Finished Prospecting at 15 lakers with a 22 pounder taking top prize. Ed’s colossal tuna sandwiches were worth the extra morning wait in the end. The hour long ride back through the chop was delayed a few minutes when Ed stopped at a nearby island to point out the family of peregrines nesting there. Extinction of this species was likely never an issue in these parts. Bob had told me the coolest thing about the aerial attacks of the peregrine on other flying birds. They use their speeds of up to 180mph and impact using their chests upon colliding with other birds. This wounds, dazes or kills their prey in flight. Of course nabbing land critters is all about speed and talons.
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Back at the lodge we enjoyed a short visit at the bar with Chummy, then the party began. Eddie popped over having cooked our arctic char and so we enjoyed healthy doses of that with some baby-back ribs. Some 8-Ball, Karaoke, a few other drinks and more scotch, done. This trip Bren and I found it much easier to just be ourselves and really relax.
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DAY 8. THE MCGILL SLAY.
Bren didn’t like the salmon and dill eggs Bennie breakfast so she stole a plane and flew off. I had no choice; hostage, I had to go with her.
Eddie the pilot, Eddie our guide, Bren and myself dropped six other goobers at a fishing hole called Clearwater then took to the skies another 20 minutes to have McGill Bay all to ourselves. This little gem of a shoal that runs about two miles in length across the mouth of a big bay, is referred to as “Old Faithful” by past guests and guides.
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At 10:30am we dropped lines and had an instant double-header. For the next seven hours exactly, the boat averaged a lake trout every 5 minutes and 26 seconds until our day ended. No joke folks! We ate as fast as we could, pissed as fast as we could, released fish as fast as we could, for seven hours. Bren and I had fifteen double-headers while fishing over 4 to 40 feet of water on and off of McGill shoal. I used the same firetiger Husky Sr. all day, while Bren switched out between a Big Jim Husky Sr and a chartreuse & orange Husky Sr. Five fish at or just over 20lbs made it to the boat and nothing was smaller than about a 4 pounder. Countless laketrout in the teens. While catching one after another I kept hope that a giant would eventually interrupt these proceedings, but it didn’t happen. And, there was no way in Hell we were boating away to look for bigger fish while this show was playing out for us. Bren was now officially awesome at hook-setting and man-handling lake trout on the troll. It’s just wicked fun having the rod in your hands when every fish does the smash and grab, and even better when ya get a tap or two then do the drop-back-lure-flutter and drive a hook home.
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Daily totals, Bren 37 and me 43. Just so again she know, well ya know?
Eighty lakers at McGill. We bested in a day our week long total of 77 from the previous 2008 trip, and for total fish on this trip tallied out at 147 for 41 hours of fishing time. BooYAH!!! Hard to wrap the noggin’ around really.
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And this exhausting day ended all too quick.
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It was a calm evening back at the lodge. Hikers Ken and Ian actually took some time out to try fishing on Great Bear a couple hours, and they were both rewarded with three apiece. Ian got a 12lb’er he said. Brian and I talked about gar fishing. Once finding out where I was living he brought up the Ottawa River and how he used to chuck spinners for these big toothies with his buddies behind the rifle range. Surprised me really. Pioneers pre-internet I guess, like most before us. Turned out too his wife was a Doctor in the Carleton Place ER for a time while they lived in Appleton some 20 years back. She’d also worked in Moose Factory. Small world eh…? We joined Ernie and Pat by the fire and they contemplated awhile their return for next year. Jake and I got in one final round of pool. Everything was as it should be.
Packing the bags and making some notes in our cabin, the last of the GlenRothes got polished off. Outside our window the sky grew a little darker in the distance over the Narakay Islands. “You’ll never change what’s been and gone.” Night fell and the next day boarding the plane home, I thanked Chummy for providing us this piece of heaven. He’s a lucky man, but after our week together on Bear, Bren and I rewarded and together in this place, I feel just as lucky.
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And thanks so very much to all who gave Bren and I that ounce of their time by awarding me this amazing week in our lives.
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Bunk
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