Fishing and travel is what this is about. Balancing a life in the north and south, pointing a moral compass, maintaining some sanity, and fighting the clock while experiencing all that’s possible. This past year I visited Nunavut’s highest north, most east and furthest west communities for work, essentially and finally leaving my footprints in all four corners of the Arctic Territory. Outside of that accomplishment, there has been fishing, and the past four seasons witnessed so many personal best catches for family and friends as well as days on the water, that so much can just never be forgotten. Please enjoy this one…

2022 began at the top of the world in Grise Fiord. North America’s northernmost town, only the research and military camps Eureka, Alert and a flag planted in ice and stone at the North Pole will be found higher up. Since beginning work in Nunavut seven years ago, Grise has always and most certainly been a bucketlist community to visit. After two days flying from Ottawa, in early January I landed there in winters darkness. One hundred days of night, the sun sets on Halloween not returning again for but a few minutes on February 11th.

A small, quiet community with a very solemn and sad beginning, I found every last person there to be truly friendly and inviting. Over the six weeks, myself and another Nurse were tasked our regular duties, as well as to roll out the first and second doses of Moderna’s Covid 19 vaccination. Likely the most remote population in our country and possibly the world, it is remarkable how far reaching the worry of Corona virus had spread. In Grise we would educate as best we could with the knowledge we had, while giving people the choice to vaccinate or not. Many a reason to not trust outsiders, all but two families accepted the offer.

The countryside surrounding Grise is other-worldly. From the plane’s initial approach to the runway, navigating the land is both inspiring and hazardous. The coldest place in Canada, the most remote, dark and unforgiving, a life for the Inuit there who were tricked by our people and left abandoned to survive, drives quite a sobering perspective into a visiting mind. During days of our endemic darkness back home, through the lockdowns, restrictions, closures, isolation, stress, anxiety and so on, many new forced adaptations were seemingly destroying the lives of people who ae often much more fortunate to begin with. All the while, the people of Grise, whom have never known such vast southern luxuries, hardly ever accustomed to our same advantages and comforts, once they became faced with that global threat to their livelihoods, came together quite hopeful and unified with a care for each other likely sprouted from their deep roots for survival. To take a page from those best at waiting out the worst, the sun will rise again.

One foot firmly planted in the north, and the other rooted in the south, this life surely allows ample time and opportunity to experience and reflect on the vast differences found in Canada, and between Canadians.

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When returning home from Grise in late February, rest and much needed family time came first. Collecting myself then getting to chores, it didn’t take long before the urge to whet a line came over me.

A number of years since last visiting northern Ontario for some ice fishing, the Bravo, ice hut, warm gear and food prep was stowed away in the trailer for the long drive up to Stevie in Hearst. From there we’d go further to find ourselves alone for a week in big lake trout country. Stevie would have a hot stick the entire time, catching a number of personal bests over twenty pounds. During the evenings it was hours of scotch, LetterKenny, big meals and snoring. Most days were very long trips out onto the lake. Eventually, in the final hours I’d pop a giant trout too, making it all worth the efforts of fishing for that one great catch.

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More work approached fast. The next arctic stop would be in Qikiqtarjuaq, a small island town off the east coast of Baffin Island. Air travel from Iqaluit to Pangnirtung then onward to Qik would fly me directly over Nunavut’s crown jewel, Akshayuk Pass in Auyuittuq National Park. Adventure seekers, hikers and sight seers from all over the world visit the Pass to view wonders such as the Penny Ice Cap, the gateway Overlord, and mountains Thor, Odin and Asgaard. From just the flight alone I could post one mind-blowing picture report but here my favorite is a photo of the almost 7000 foot tall, vertical wall known as Asgaard.

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People in Qik say their town is both two things, the iceberg and fog capital of the world. The recent history is one of work and trade that brought a few nomadic settlements together to concentrate where both whaling and a military presence seemed best suited. Today, the town marks the northern end of the 97km long hike through Akshayuk Pass between it and Pangnirtung, so tourism plays some role to the local economy. My work was busy at times, after hours emergent care rather common. Over the six weeks the community also lost an infant and a young man unexpectedly, both tragedies affecting us all at the Health Center. Before moving on it took some sleepless nights to find a box and out of the way corner in mind to place these vivid memories. Thankfully Covid crap at the time seemed to be in a short remission.

Qik is beautiful. From the view of my apartment window I’d face two barren mountains of 1250 and 1500 foot heights, which during the hard-packed snow season provide great exercise and photo opportunities. To take those hikes some summer with the icebergs floating in open water bays while maybe a mist and fog loom throughout the sharp cliffs of Auyuittuq Park’s nearby mountains, that would be something exceptional capture. What I appreciated most about Qik is how truly unique and vibrant the landscape always appeared to be. Covered in white it felt soft and bright, yet walk it’s surface it is surely hard under foot. An island small it deceives, for it’s mountains look to be hills and yet they stand very tall. Look out east to a flat, endless ocean then peer west and observe the most rugged, glacial, desolate mountain range on the planet. Qik is a place of almost unimaginable contrasts and had it not been for an ancient stroll through Akshayuk it’d be a true wonder how it was ever found to become inhabited. The Inuit’s history is amazing!!!

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Returned home early May to an Ontario wide lockdown. THIS JUST IN!!! I hear many of you and agree, yes I do. Things are quite awry on Canada’s Covid bullshit front and fuck our Government too, truly! I too despise the Fiberals and Trudeau and despise Conservatives and Ford as well. And being so, although I do curiously follow along, you can look through my Facebook and see I speak little about it and pretty much try to bury my head in the sand to drown out much noise and nonsense created by all our Governments and just as annoying, any people in my life who righteously and incessantly gripe, piss, moan and complain on anti-social medias because they’re feeling that they’re right and doing something about something when in fact, they’re merely spreading one worsening disease of discontent and disconnect plaguing any hope of positive progress together. Take your online soapboxes to Parliament Hill, otherwise try minding your mouths and manners amongst your “friends” or find another outlet for your dyscopia! Seriously, quit pissing in my morning cereal.

Back to the regularly scheduled programming here…

Thank God it was spring, fishing hadn’t been cancelled yet and the boat was ready to go. First order of business is usually crappie. We gotta get the family feed on and get as much of that as humanly possible. Leah loves helping out with pannies. I also had a bone-to-pick with spring splake, a trout so stubbornly elusive and a true head scratcher for me. It took a few outings to begin piecing some things together and yet it still felt like I was getting nowhere. Casting, jigging, trolling, nothing was scoring enough points to take any control of the game. It was a long shot, a Hail Mary really, when suddenly a big fish got on the line. After that, just repeated the process and more splake would come. Next year it’s game on!

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Gar came next. Usually quite “gar”ded about fishing these big, toothy prehistoric gators, the past decade I’ve had countless requests from others to be taken or guided for gar, most of whom are turned down. Most locals nope! Internet posters kinda like me, nope! Basically a nope for anyone risky who might exploit this fishery which brings me joy every year. It’s a question of share or promote versus spare and protect, and it’s an individual choice. Surely it can be subject to question, scrutiny and quite possibly test loyalty and respect with others, but ultimately it’s just a choice that can only, comfortably and finally be answered by oneself.

So when my new friend Chrish surprisingly came into the spring advertising he was guiding gar yet also wanting to fish with me, my first test of the season was upon me. I too offer gar guiding to very select anglers and have shared with a number of good friends over the years. Have also put much more time and thought into the fishery than most have through the past decade and change; promoted that now and again too, and yet also feel that the result of my careful hands has kept my fishing quite good into today. A test of sharing through friendship versus protecting one’s happy fishing is something I can bet most any hardened, experienced angler reading this has been faced with a time or two in their life..? With Chrish it ultimately seemed right I do this with him, for it is something I felt would be in his nature to do with me, the friend came first. Turned out we were the better for it last spring, having some really enjoyable days together on the water and building on something we can look forward to come seasons ahead.

But now it was no stranger to gar, my wonderful friend Christine who joined me for the absolute best fish of the season. A long standing 50 or 51 incher had been her personal best for some years, until later one afternoon when we spotted a true giant basking in the shallows. A long bomb cast it bit my lure and quickly shook free. The fish began heading for the deep and we laid chase in the Lund. Christine and I were both peppering casts at it, trying to force a second bite on a fleeing fish when finally it snapped at her offering and the rest is history. Christine landed a new best fish just eight ounces shy of the Canadian Record. The hugs, high fives and amazing energy in our moment had the kind of feelings attached to it that really cement such an experience to memory. It was incredible.

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Leah would join Stevie, Amelie, Brenda and I for our annual couples trip to Nipigon. A week of challenging weather, food, drink, campfires and fish, having Leah there and seeing my daughter be this good, grounded, interesting and beautiful young woman alongside us, enjoying her time outdoors, being helpful and joining in the fun, was rather eye-opening. I think there’s so much as fathers we want and wonder for our daughters, while we protect and provide when young, it conditions us to often overlook their actual growing up before our eyes. So much so that when these delicate children begin to show signs of adulthood, an independence and ability to think and act outside your youthful image of them, they surprise us in really deep and wonderous ways. This trip I’d marvel in everything from her casting to pike, making fire, Chess and card skills, helpful and open demeanor, and her patience with a sometimes stressed out, tired of the rain, wind and waves, grouchy dad.

The girls caught some great fish in all three species, brookies, lakers and pike. Leah smashed her PB with a grey that had her smiling bigger than ever and made me even happier. That was the target fish for her and fate handed it over on her turn at the rod. A favorite catch of the year it was, most certainly the trip. Brenda too had some good moments, though none funnier than chipping a tooth. I’d watch what I say, but Leah sure howled and teased her mom about it. Stevie and Am’s company always making each trip special, it’s a group gathering I hope to never see end.

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Back home for a couple weeks before returning to Nunavut for work, several outings for muskie would open up to me. The very first day, the first hour or so, trolling a new lure I’d built, over a new spot that just felt fishy, the first 50 of 2021 would hit the net. Within the week several more muskies including another fish well over 50+ and the biggest of my season was landed. Both giants on solo outings doing different things, the two catches were certainly confidence builders and a positive sign that despite rarely fishing skis around opener, the tools were there to get the job done. Got hooked on ‘em and couldn’t wait to get more.

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“The Hawaii of Nunavut,” Kugluktuk to its far west was the summertime stop for work. On the mainland, Kug’s climate is the warmest of all communities in the territory… and in July to August it might also be one of the buggiest. On the sea shores of Coronation Gulf at the mouth of the Coppermine River, the region is rich with history, culture, wildlife and fish. A larger town by Nunavut standards, I’d come to learn that Kug is also not without its struggles and conflicts.

An entire career working in the complaints department I think to be a good Nurse; a good northern Nurse especially, requires the ability to be open and even vulnerable to give and care, while being cautious and strong enough with any that bite down on you through their pain. Working a long time in the north, I am quite perceptive to the many forms of abuse and injustices, and sometimes racism and hate which flows two ways. There can be so much negative experienced at times that it becomes difficult to deal, especially as someone who’s end working goal with any interaction is to promote health and healing, or at least a better understanding and outcome. Kug was quite troubling this way, reminding me to some degree of times spent in Northern Ontario. Some late night and weekend phone calls to the emergency line or also times when present in the hospital waiting room, I found in Kug there were just too many blatant instances of hate and abuse such as cursing and threatening us Nurses, overhearing a few locals giggle in the waiting room while one jackass called white people pussies, and other shitty comments over the phone that were uttered by people far too ignorant to bother helping. Hell, I even got farmer snotted on. I for sure saved a couple lives there, maybe three, and should feel good about that, but instead, overall the Kug work experience was possibly the worst of any I have had in Nunavut. And yet, for that reason it is kind of calling me back..?

Had it not been for my friend Bob and his kind and wonderful family and close friends, had it not been for some other great people who I had the chance to meet or look after, had it not been for some great members of the staff to work alongside, and had it not been the amazing and open landscape I had the opportunity to explore, I wouldn’t ever consider returning to give the place a second chance. The excessive drinking and drugs, the violence and those recently unsolved murders which occurred, there’s seemingly too much wrong considering how absolutely blessed the people there are to have such space and freedom over their vast swaths of wild and rich, land and sea.

I would visit Canadian Heritage site Bloody Falls Territorial Park twice while there. Walk the ocean beaches for miles and cast for char. Enjoy Bob and his families hospitality more than once, marvel over some of the stunning carvings that were brought to the door and also, enjoy the company of a lovely Dutch woman who was my roommate at the time. So although I vent some bad here, if you could flip over to the latest Nunavut Nomad entry frm 2021, there is plenty greatness and adventure to be viewed there instead. Work is always the bulk and purpose and it’s mandatory, the rest is only what I can make of it. And the rest in this case was the best, with just too much to summarize here.

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Returned home second week in August to a long overdue, overnight poker, food and drink fest with my oldest friends from our school days. Although we all carry more weight and grey hairs 25 years later, we’re still as silly as ever. Started strong with an all-in double-up during the first few hands but the wheels fell off afterwards. Could very well have been the bottle of Oban.

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Chrish and many muskie anglers had been off the water a time because of intense heat and water temperatures, but when I arrived the rivers were somewhere around the high 70’s. We decided to get out there a few days together and I surely had a time with it. Returning from a dry arctic freezer to a humid southern boiling pot with barely time to adjust, my feet, legs and even hands swelled up pretty bad and I imagine the blood pressure was much higher than healthy. I felt as lethargic as a slug at times. Chrish’s energy always to the max, the warrior he is often kept us going. It was actually a great three days though, with fish biting more morning and sunset and the two of us each catching four but, the man himself hoisting the true giant. Chrish’s summertime muskie game is second-to-none, he humbles and surprises me at times.

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My heat wave home stay was short lived. Planned to head to Nipigon a second time, and as the dates approached I suddenly found myself solo. Brenda out, StevieZ unable and Chrish busy, all were no takers. Having just been hectic Kugluktuk and doing plenty solo wilderness exploring while there, leaving for this trip I just didn’t have the usual mojo to go; could have taken a week at home to just sleep. Leah moving on to University too, I knew Bren would be alone and probably sad during those first days an empty nester. That bothered some, this new phase in life without both girls being with us anymore, and yet that’s why I often want to get away fishing, to quietly think stuff over and even escape some harder days.

The week on Nipigon was admittedly a little lonely. Love a solo trip when the timing is right, this one the timing wasn’t. An influx of new anglers on the lake at the hands of both Covid stay-cations, more non-discrete T.V, and hero-media posts, and an increasing guiding presence, I had the unfortunate experience of a few too many times dealing with total idiots. The Nipigon in my fourteen years has maintained that remote northern Ontario, out of the way, almost fly-in feeling quite special for a drive to body of water. Today it’s entering a new phase of discovery. Understanding that I’ve carefully written, photographed, shot video and posted about Nipigon from many different corners of the lake, it’s more or less specific areas that are attracting some strange animals turning it into a zoo. Lots of space on the water, it’s the launch points that are obviously the congested ports. Caught some exceptional fish as always but the saving grace for my trip was definitely chilling in the evenings around the campfire with my friend Keith, his family and friends, then finally ending the fishing on a high note with Keith’s son Caden.

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Older we get the more we learn that there’s less and less room for making new memories. With the time given, sharing ourselves with the wrong people is really about the silliest thing anyone can do. Moving forward into 2022, search for your happiness then protect it like it’s the only thing that matters. If doing that means letting go or picking yourself up, just get to it… You know, we’re all made of the same liquid and it’s the stirring that makes us crazy. Could be you stirring, could be someone else doing it to you, however it is just make your stirring stop. There’s too many of us all stirred up these days and it’s making the seas rather rough. Everybody’s gotta do better to do their part, and that’ll help everyone else out.

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That whiffty little brain fart out of the way, the fall muskie season finally arrived and I had big plans to fish the ever-loving shit out of it. Bren and I would escape together for an extended muskie getaway, Chrish would fall in behind and join me, then the remainder of September and October would play out with many solo days, some time with Lenny and lots of back-and-forth with Chrish in his boat or mine. With Bren she would cast to catch her biggest muskie ever and later, I’d cast for an over fifty too. Lenny and I would have a banner outing together boating three skis over fifty in an afternoon, with him picking up a new biggest fish as well. There were just two days I took a break from muskies when friends and I would go boat some Quinte eyes and I’d spend a solo effort boating a dozen sturgeon. But the later fall season was made best in good company when Chrish and I picked our times to either beat ‘em up or take our licks. Fall 2021 was a rather fickle one, the bites quite off and on, oftentimes leaving me scratching my head. In the end I believe I still did pretty good, and next year think alone or with others there has been plenty learned from 2021 to build upon.

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Muskie season ended early November to usher in Kimmirut. A picturesque little town on the southern tip of Baffin Island I have come to quite enjoy working there. Board a plane in Ottawa and I’m usually down in Kimmirut in about seven hours.

There’s never time to truly explore much of the area. A two Nurse station like Grise and Qikiqtarjuaq, I’m basically in the office or on-call 24/7 for however many days on contract. The staff here in Kimmirut are some of the best and most friendly to be found anywhere, they always make a stay more enjoyable. The people too, maybe they’ve come to get used to me and for the most part the community seems to appreciate their care received.

The odd outing on a Saturday or Sunday I’ll sneak out to hike about in the nearby hills. It doesn’t take but minutes to feel like you’re alone exploring. An unseasonably warm fall in the arctic, Kimmirut like many communities stayed far behind freeze-up schedule. Boating into December, one weekend the town celebrated the successful whaling hunts of many belugas harvested for the winter months ahead. Those who “caught” a whale wore smiles on their faces for a week, becoming maqtaaq providers for family and friends. Plenty would feast on hearty flesh and in the clinic along with an outbreak of rotovirus, I’d be hard pressed to know for sure if some belly aches were due to too much of a bug, or too much consumed blubber. The northern Canadian culture, the First Nations and Inuit life, well it certainly is something cool and different to behold. One thing for sure is, the air can really bite the skin and sinking my teeth into traditional foods isn’t something my stomach is made for. The work in Kimmirut, more and more that’s becoming the rewarding treat. Some very nice people to be found up there.

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An Arctic blizzard would slow the Christmas return home from that final work contract of 2021, but I’d make it on time to meet Omicron and my girls for the holidays. Fishing, well that had ended long before then. Despite the misery that is all around us these days, I’ll confess that 2021 was more a challenge to maintain happiness amidst the gloom and doom. Finding the right windows for fun, always planning so to keep myself looking forward to something, moving about to experience new places for work, adding a little extra family to the right fishing trips, burying my head in the sand when outside voices were becoming a little too much to take, catching monster fish with friends and continuing to chronicle these little life memories, all this and more surely helped make the past four seasons as good as any others years past.

In 2022 just gotta keep working at it.

Thanks for reading,
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