Some years ago my brother-in-law Joe asked me if I’d like to hunt spring geese on the Akimiski Island, James Bay Nunavut or, hunt fall moose on the Ekwan River. I told Joe I would try to come up for the fall hunt, as long as I could get some fishing in too. Joe then spoke of big pike. That was all the push I needed to commit…
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Day 1.
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I boarded the AirCreebec flight 841 from Moosonee to Attawapiskat Ontario. The adrenaline was running high having been looking forward to this trip and a return to old stomping grounds. After residing 18 months, on July 7th, 2001, I left Attawapiskat for the move south to Moose Factory. Living in the community of Attawapiskat back then was tough in a sense, as being in healthcare I was quite a busy man, within a remote and isolated community of 1800 but no doctors, trying to help keep a rather unhealthy, overly unemployed and impoverished community free of illness. Sixty to Seventy hour work weeks were not uncommon but, the life experience gained was worth every minute.
It was in Attawapiskat that fishing took on a new meaning too. Much of the spare time I had was devoted to either fishing or studying fishing. It became something more to me, a happiness, a challenge, an education, and an important escape from any burdens of daily life. Attawapiskat would forever shape me.
On the flight North I passed over the ecoli “bad-water” media town of Kashechewan Ontario on the Albany River, snapping this picture.
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When I arrived at the airport Joe would shout out and gesture me over to the gate. I was expecting Peacekeepers to frisk me and go through my baggage for illegal booze, but after asking Joe he was quick to answer that the Band was short of funds, so booze checks were only sporadic now. Jumping in the truck we peeled off to pick up gas for the outboard and tomorrows departure, and check the river to see what the tide was doing. Tide was nearly out at 4:00pm, and fuel was $1.79 per liter and much cheaper this trip. The 161 liters I bought us, set me back nearly $300 though, but the lady was nice enough not to charge me tax. Joe was pleased I picked up that tab.
During that evening I went for a walk. It was great in town, I was like a celebrity, as old familiar faces with only a few forgotten names stopped to smile and say hello. At the store, at the hospital, on the street, it was like this…. “WACHAY ANDANO. WACHAY, WACHAY.” All meaning hello, and the townspeople using my Cree name instead of Andrew. Many smiles and some handshakes it likely got me a little misty-eyed just thinking about it now. I was flattered that after five years, thirty extra pounds and half a beard later, that people were recognizing me and saying hello.
Here’s some other familiar faces too…
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These guys are everywhere. This dog whose name I can’t remember, belongs to a paramedic friend and used to be my next door neighbor and likely the one that left steamy brown presents on cold doorsteps during the winter.
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Bren’s always happy sister Sally, hard at work.
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And this lady, who unfortunately lost her nose and hands to some devilish kids, had always been watching me from her perch above while I worked across the street at the hospital.
Before days end there was something I had to do, so I made my way to the outskirts of town to pay some respects.
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Bren’s parents Reg and Cecile both died too soon for me to know them. It was a tragic loss to her family to lose both of them ten days apart, both unexpectedly, and of very different causes. Reg was Chief in Attawapiskat for a number of years and was beloved by many in the James Bay area.
Heading back to the house I snapped a few more pictures along the way.
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This boat high and dry at low tide.
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Fishing, hunting and the lord… the way for many.
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My old place of work in the background.
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For the night I settled in at Bren’s other sister Darlene’s house. There was room as unfortunately Darlene is receiving radiation treatments in Kingston for the month. I was greeted at this house by my niece, her boyfriend and a couple nephews. Good kids. I had a bite to eat, then took off to a friends place to watch Survivor. While there Duane showed off a picture of a pike I’d guess at about 45-inches and nearing 25-pounds that he’d caught two weeks earlier on the Attawapiskat River. This got my mind racing later that night before I finally hit the hay.
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Day 2.
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Joe and I caught high tide at 11:00am and were on our way east against a breezy, cold, northeast wind. Not even five minutes into the ride a seal and beluga were spotted cruising the waters channel. Within 25 minutes give or take, we hit the mouth of the river and made our way out into James Bay. Salt water off the occasional three-footer splashed onto the face, and when I gave it a good taste came to realize that the Bay here is much more saline than back home at the Moose. Joe pushed us out about two kilometers off shore to get around a tidal flat. For the next 25 km’s as we headed north and staying well off the shoreline, Joe probed the shallow water with a stick. The whole ride he kept checking water depth and unbelievably about 75% of the time he was touching bottom. We raced full out across the Bay in an average of about four feet of water, sometimes less, not often more.
When we arrived at the mouth of the Ekwan there was no tide heading into that river. From there I could see north along the shoreline to Ekwan Point, where Joe explained that around the corner the water of James Bay turns from brownish to green, then not long after to blue with greater depths and visibility. The mouth of the Ekwan was a rock garden and maze of sandbar channels, but it didn’t take long to get in, and once inside we came across others camped out. At their site they had two seals staying with them, and very likely they were all fishing searun trout together.
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We ran into trouble not long after. The river was very dry. Joe had picked the 3rd finger at the mouth to get in, and had never chosen that path before. We soon found that one route was not passable so we turned around and tried another. It took time but we lined the 24-foot freighter canoe up through some shallow rapids and kept moving. Once up top, Joe got the motor going, then dipped his cup into the river and had a drink. For the next seven hours, traveling 25 more kilometers up river, several dozen times we poled, paddled, shallow drove, lined and walked the canoe through skinny current and small rapids. I was a permanent fixture at the bow watching for rocks in the surprisingly clear water, visibility to at most to about four feet. I drank many cups of water right out of the river, for this was exhausting work which actually never seemed to tire us much.
Didn’t have time to take too many pictures but here’s a couple on route.
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Finally around 8:00pm we stopped to set up camp. I’d been keeping an eye out for decent looking fishing spots along the way, and was surprisingly disappointed. The shorelines and water depths just didn’t possess anything that looked really fish worthy. In the sunset we found we had forgotten a lantern, so a small maglite became our light for the remainder of the trip. The prospector tent and stove were up in a flash. Joe made quick work of everything. With one hand he had more power and wielded an axe better than I could with two. A lifetime of chopping wood for heat was made evident in his skill. While working away we recounted some of the wildlife we had already seen that day. Seals, beluga, skunk, mink, several hawks, owl and beaver.
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Settling in the tent for the night after dinner Joe told many stories from his life growing up in places like the Ekwan. Said a man was found nearby here once. Dead. People figured he had injured his foot as they found his prints on the shoreline, one with a boot and one bare foot. Believed he lost his boat in the current and was walking after it, the rest a mystery. Later he went on to tell a hilarious story of a man I know today, who crawled through thick bush alongside a creek on his hand and knees following a moose he spotted while hunting, only to crawl right under the belly of the beast and scare the heck out of himself and his intended prey. You can picture Joe, his stop-and-go, monotone-like speech telling the story in the over heated darkness of the prospector tent. And when he was done, needing to take a leak before sleeping, he looked at my sandals to wear before heading out of the tent, and he says, “What are these shoes. I’ve never worn anything like this.”
Two hours later I got a swat for snoring too much and keeping the man awake.
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Day 3.
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5:00am the rain began. Through earplugs I heard it.
8:00am we woke. While picking berries, pointing out to me some different edible flora and fauna, and taste testing, Joe tells me that he heard a moose walking on the rocks through the night, in the rain. He was dead on. He thought that a moose might have been across from us on a rocky island/shoal but when we went down to the boat for a morning fish there were two sets of fresh prints in the misty muck right beside the canoe. I was a bit embarrassed, cause it was likely my snoring that made it hard for him to tell how close they had actually been.
Just across the river Joe pointed out the rocky island. Said people put their nets there for pike and figured we ought to give it a try before breaking camp and heading further up river to our final destination. The day was cool, overcast, rainy, last quarter moon and with northeast winds, I was thinking pike fishing would be tough with everything against us, but over we went to the island and fished it’s backside in a long, shallow and calm bay.
Took Joe about five minutes. Quietly he says, “got a fish, guess they like the green lure.” And a good first fish it was for brother Joe.
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I was a little slower to catch one as I had been fishing too shallow. Quickly though I picked up on a first helpful hint, the fish were just below the line of visibility in the water. And after two snot rockets one about 24-inches and maybe a 21, I hooked a more solid fish on a Len Thompson red and white.
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We found fish. A definite positive. Though after two hours Joe said we we’re breaking camp and heading up. I was a bit reluctant to leave, but the man did put me at ease when he said they’re bigger where we’re going and you’ll catch a lot more.
Within minutes camp was in the boat and so were we, the day cleared for a couple hours too. Only six kilometers or so to go to our spot we traveled fast through the shallows by the same familiar means of the day before, and within three hours and by 3:00pm, we had broke camp, made the trip, set camp back up and eaten lunch.
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This place Joe called Astahsayahn, translated meaning, “good fishing.”
I was giving the teeth their first brushing after a bowl of seafood chowder and catching the odd mouse out of the corner of my eye. My insides were turning to get fishing, when Joe announced he’d like to get to the same. Moose hunting was not going to happen as the river levels were far too low to easily travel in search of the “beasts,” or the “Kings,” as Joe liked to refer to them. “I like fishing Joe. Let’s go,” I smirked.
Immediately we were into them. Not every cast like Joe had said, but we had yet to dissect the 3/4 mile long narrow bay and find any “spots within the spot,” I would remind Joe. Tried some weedless tubes, 6-inch inline bucktails, but mainly the red and white. Joe went Red Devle too and the fish started coming quicker over the next five hours as we fished to dark.
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Fish were good sizes with a tonne of them in the 24-32″ range. Don’t think I can remember a pike much under 20″ being caught the whole trip.
Was fishing along when I got a good hit but missed the hook-set. Right away I got a second thud and with a little too much vigor tried to drill the hook home. My medium-heavy Fenwick snapped in two.
Awhile later using just the old reliable Bob Izumi medium rod, did I hook a nice fish. This one came in at 36″ and about 12-pounds I think it was. Hit a 5 of Diamonds which in the end was the best lure of the day. Strangely, many pike were hooked right in the eye by both Joe and myself. That was OK for him as he was keeping a good many fish, but I was releasing mine, which I’m sure made Joe cringe.
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Back in the tent Joe got the stove going so hot my frickin’ sweat was sweating, and this after a mucho feed of fajitas. I figured about 25 pike for me and 20 or so for Joe. We were 30 kilometers up the Ekwan River, in a place few have ever been, in a comfortable tent, warm, and me thrilled with the first day of fishing and the thoughts of tomorrow. Joe talked on, speaking of his days trapping, guiding, and many more moose hunting stories, but he did mention, that although he knows the behaviors of animals he doesn’t really know fish. I think he was glad I tagged along to give him a little insight into fishing, for his boys back home like to fish, and Joe says as he’s slowing down with his work and age, he’d like to do more fishing.
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Day 4.
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Through the night it dropped to near freezing and the rain and winds hammered down on the tent. I slept amazingly. When we woke the wind was still there but the rains were long gone. I peered out of the tent and noticed a mouse had drowned in one of our pots. Pike bait I thought, and so I set it aside.
Walking down to the river in a worsening N.E blow and cooling weather conditions, I guessed the pike might be down today. I filled the kettle beside the boat and took a cast with a waiting rod. FISH ON! Quick release, took another cast in the pretty much the same spot. FISH ON! Did it again, FISH ON! Again… nothing. Again, FISH ON! OK, could be good fishing today afterall.
This morning I had planned to walk the incoming creek which came into the Ekwan back bay right beside our camp. Looked real trouty to me, and later Joe did tell me his father had caught a big speck at it’s river mouth way back in the day. So I set out to explore at 10:00am.
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Needed three things I figured because the river was bone dry. A beaver dam holding back a good pool somewhere, a hard corner creating a good eddy or, just anything with some depth. For two hours I walked the rivers bottom criss-crossing my way further upstream. I found a large pile of scat and figured it to be otter because they like to always keep their crap in one spot, and also I found fish bones nearby.
Every turn was worth a picture for it was a gorgeous spot. I figured if there actually had of been water and trout running that it would be lost anyways, as there would have been no way to travel up it. I stepped off the bank into a puddle and looking down noticed a 4-5 inch brookie swim away.
I came across a beaver pond that ran parallel and raised to the river and would likely connect in the spring during flood waters. There was no way to walk around it so I took what few casts I could and by probing it found that it seemed pretty deep. No fish though.
Going as far as two hours would allow, I turned around and made quick time back to camp. Wasn’t really disappointed to not to find trout. This river would see some run of specks I figured, once any real heavy fall rains began. The walk made for a great morning.
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Joe was waiting for me along the creek. He had checked another back pond but reported it was dry and weed choked. Walking back he pointed out various pathways through brush and grasses and told me what animal likely made them. At camp he offered some tea but I don’t drink the stuff, so just then he got up and walked about fifty feet from the tent and came back with “tea-opico” he called it. Evergreen tea. Joe had two of the three different stages of the plant and pointed out which ones would make for a stronger taste than the other. I was then duped when he asked, “why do you think they call it evergreen?” “Don’t know Joe,” I replied? “Because even in the winter under the snow it stays green. It’s evergreen. You’ve always got tea.” It tasted mildly piney and was OK.
Around 1:30pm we were back on the water pike fishing. Joe was planning to keep fish today, a lot of them, and he got right down to business.
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Joe has eight mouths to feed at his house, and once a week they eat fish. He was telling me that when he’s come here in the past the fish often break his line, but this time I equipped him with 40-pound braid instead of shitty 10-pound RedWolf mono. The numbers for him this day were far better than any day he’s ever dropped his gill nets at this spot. The fish above were about the average size and Joe kept thirty of them.
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I was having fun through the afternoon with the great numbers but was getting a bit concerned with the size. I really hoped for a forty incher or more this trip. Joe and I had exhausted our spoons at the honey hole. I had caught about fifteen fish on a black buzzbait. Caught five in a row on five casts on a black and orange spinnerbait. The fish were becoming more wary of things as the day passed on, we could tell. I told Joe we should cook early as I had planned a big walleye meal and did not want to cook it in the light of my mini flashlight, so at 5:00pm I asked if we should pack it in for dinner. He said no, and changed to a #5 Black Fury, cast out, and got a nice big fish to the boat-side. Then he did it again. I hadn’t put a simple inline on the whole trip which was strange because the gold Mepp #5 is responsible for many of my better pike catches home on the Moose. So on it went. The Mepp #5. And with a drum roll, like it was magic on the end of my line I sent it out there to the far shore weed edge.
BOOOOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!
“JOE,” I yelled, “THIS COULD BE THE FORTY!!!”
It was on! This big fish typical of a pike took short and hard reel peeling runs with an ease no other fish on the line that trip could attest too. After what seemed like ten minutes, wanting to tire the fish well because we had no net this trip, I brought it to boat.
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Not my longest pike to date but it just made it to the forty.
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I was about to let it go when Joe asked for it. I gave him my trophy.
We packed it in. At the end of the afternoon fish I managed around 60-70 pike while Joe I’d bet hit the 50 mark. Thirteen hours total fishing time for about 160 pike, it was crazy fun piking. We had a great meal and stood out by the fire he’d built, talking of the time his grandfather built a fire over a bed of rocks to heat the rocks, then clear the ashes, so he’d have something warm to sleep on overnight during this one time in the fall when he got into trouble in the bush. Joe told me of how when you spot a moose on the river bank and it runs it will only go about 200 yards then stop. It does this because it’s only wild predator are wolves and the moose expects an ambush from the front. Joe’s killed a few moose knowing this. He went on to say how before a moose beds down for the night it will walk into the wind, then double back on angle from it’s path, this way, anything stalking it will be sniffed out before it finds the moose. All pretty cool stuff to me, a fisherman.
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The northern lights came out and the words switched to Joe’s father Reg, who Joe said should have been the one who brought me here. I hummed and hawed but didn’t really see it that way. Getting to know Joe this first time was a really great thing.
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Final Day.
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Woke to what some would say is, “not a sailors delight.”
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Winds were building even more out of the northeast. We had to get off Ekwan and across James Bay to the Attawapiskat. It was Monday now and by SAT phone with Joe’s wife we learned there might be snow on Wednesday and the winds switching from right out of the north and getting worse. A bad thing for us, we got packed up and on our way by 9:00am.
The river down is easy, sort of. Joe knocked a rock and lost the skeg on his kicker 15 Yamaha. We also had a small hole in the bow from on the way up which got knocked again and became a little bigger. Together Joe and I read the shallow water down quite well. 9 out of 10 times I would have done the same as him, but now rushed he honestly made the odd mistake, I thought.
We stopped at an “old man’s camp” for lunch. Garbage was everywhere. I noticed trees had been purposefully stripped of bark too. Joe reminded me that in two years that tree would be dead, still standing and dry, and make good fire wood. Thinking well ahead I thought, I like that.
When we stopped again to pick up the cached 30HP I finally put on the new survival suit knowing the Bay would be kicking up big. Joe wasn’t worried it seemed but the winds had to be gusting 50-60kms, and we’d be heading out onto a shallow ocean. I’ll admit I was worried.
At the Bay we soon realized the insane work ahead. We couldn’t turn back, there was no way to go but out into it. Joe says, “she’s rough.” The tide was completely out. The water was too shallow for shallow drive and we had to get out onto the Bay about a mile off shore from where we were. And so we walked and dragged the boat nearly that mile through the shallows, while gusts of wind pelted the boat from the side and kicked water up onto us. It was cold, the two of us had to lean into that canoe to keep it going straight in the narrow channel and from getting beached.
After an hour of intense work we had a chance to break. I looked at my watch, 2:45pm. “Joe,” I said, “If we don’t get out there we’re going to miss the tide on the Attawapiskat.” Joe’s reply, “You let me worry about my own river.” We pushed on for twenty minutes until we were out there standing in the Bay with the boat in enough water to start the motor in shallow drive and motor our way further out.
Five footers with the odd six pelted us from the left side of our canoe at an angle of about 7-9 o’clock. Every 3rd wave soaked us. Joe was bailing between every second or third wave too, and trying to keep an eye out, and simultaneously pole the water depths to make sure we weren’t too shallow. For the next 1 1/2 hours it was FAWKING heart pounding gut wrenching stuff. I was constantly bracing myself while re-positioning gear that was getting thrown around in the boat.
The shallow shoals of the Bay and a couple islands gave temporary shelter. Joe was soaked by the cold water and getting blown on by eight degree chilling high winds. Finally, he made a turn toward land and after a few minutes we were inside the mouth of the Attawapiskat, where the smell of tidal flat grasses told us we were safe.
You could hit me on the head with a tow truck and I wouldn’t forget that trip. The freighter canoe rolled with every wave, took every stand and bow, and proved again what a sea worthy vessel it is. The guy driving it was amazing too.
That night, Joe’s wife cooked us that 40-inch pike along with another smaller pike. It tasted great. Couldn’t believe how much fish we all ate.
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In many ways some Cree are still so rich with their rooted culture and lifestyle, and I am totally blessed during my own journey to be a part of that times. The Ekwan was extraordinary. Learning more from Joe about Reg and the outdoors, vitally important. And the time with him, unforgettable.
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Bunk.
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