On a calm and rather dimly lit morning I arrived to the fishing spot, walked down the hill, and observed the water ahead. From a high vantage point it appeared the shallows below had char, and many were red. After three weeks of hoping and planning, plenty miles and time, I got a feeling this day was going to be a hugely momentous day of fishing.

KUGAARUK 2016.

At 10:00am the first cast was tossed and by 8:00pm the last. One totally exhausted and completely hurting unit when finished, the back was hard stiff, I had tweaked my ankle and even fell once cracking my knee pretty sore on a rock. The bite was so good though, that I drank just only one water bottle all day, barely ate a thing, and sucked up all fatigue. I didn’t want to stop, not for a single minutes rest.

During the first hours it was char after char, most swallowing the white twistertails which were quickly disappearing from my pack. For every two or three fish hooked, I likely lost one; including another big, vibrant and beautiful orange male. Poor luck continuing from the previous outings.

It was around noon though when my jig was crushed. The char had to be played upstream to me, as there was no way of proceeding closer to it. Peel after peel I was praying. No net, no shallows to land the fish, and waded up to my stones in a river of boulders, I faced outward upon a shallow widening and barely submerged rock garden below. But it did happen that I landed the fish, even while walking backward to where my gear and camera rested on a large rock in the middle of the stream. Tailing the orange char the lure was easily removed, and I worked quickly as possible to set up for a timer photo. Ten seconds counting down, as I lifted the fish out of the water it bucked hard and kicked free of my grip. A photo snapped 5 or 6 seconds later and it was only one sad selfie. That char was a neon orange glowing fireball from head to toe, with a stunning humped girth and one gnarly kype. Easily above thirty inches, a conservative guess would be around 13 to 15 pounds. Quite the catch really, a first in some ways, but it was now the second big orange heart breaker to come within a week. Counting the two big silvers lost back in town, I could almost add this one to make it my fourth time blanking on a true toad kicker… Capturing a quality photo often seals the deal for me, as fish like this in an angler’s life are something truly remarkable to remember.

Not another soul was around. Now and again I could hear the rumbling of an ATV or vehicle in the distance but no other person once fished any waters nearby. A big world felt like it was all mine, although some siksiks, hares and even a lone caribou did stroll on by. The char in the pool below sometimes nosed into the river current where I was waiting, but after time went by they became more stressed. Pods would move around and I would attempt to follow. If the bite slowed after a dozen or two casts, the char would force me to shift and change my angles of approach. Sometimes it did seem they would back too far off and away, so I would stroll awhile down the shore and cast in behind, pushing them back up the pool to favorite positions where they would more readily take a lure.

Six hours after dropping the big photo fish, and probably forty and more char caught and released between, I hooked into a real quality male. Another spirited battle to bring the fish in, taking no chances during the fight I pulled a tailing glove on with my teeth. Absolutely stunned and overjoyed I was to finally land and photograph a true char in a most vibrant display of color. Unlike the previous two which I had come so close to capturing with the lens, this chars orange melted into a lava-like, glowing red belly. A super char really, with such a beautiful face and masculine jaw, a fish I had been dreaming of most, finally came to reality.
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But it didn’t stop there! After the release, a second thicker char followed up about an hour later. Another hard fighting male nearly pulled me off a stone perch and into the drink. Ripping to and fro through the currents below, an orange back thrashed across the surface. Not quite the same missile speed of the previous big fish, this one dogged a little more and really tried to work with the shallow boulders below. The fish would eventually have me go to it, wading in deeper to lessen the chance of it rock rubbing and snapping its way free. Once it came to hand I could have wept. The moment, the day, the feelings, the work, the reward, the place, this amazing place, these dozens of char and the two very incredible rewards, all combined it is indescribable. This Nunavut Nomad had reached the peak.

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Formerly known as Pelly Bay, Kugaaruk translated from Inuk to English means, “little stream.” The town can be found on the shores of Pelly Bay, just off the Gulf of Boothia and on the Simpson Peninsula within the Kitikmeot region of Nunavut. A population less than a 1000 people, travel to Kugaaruk is by air or annual sea lift. The community is best known throughout the territory for having the best tasting arctic char and an excellent narwhal fishery.
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The Otter circled low on approach over grassy, arctic, barren lands before finally scraping the last crest of river bank to dive in and gently set afloat on the aqua blue Tree River. This other worldly place I had only ever imagined, we stepped out from the plane and aground, for our first times north of the tree line. Always considered this moment and the many to follow during the next two days, to be a result of many good life choices and hard work, an achievement I would think..? Having never been on any kind of fishing trip before, Brenda was in for something truly special.

TREE RIVER 2008.
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A couple short hours later our guide Trevor Nowak, Brenda and myself set out on foot up the Tree. Hiking through the slopes over beaten path, I remember it was an unexpectedly beautiful day. The temperature just miles where we were near the Arctic Ocean, had to be in the mid 20C’s, the sky mostly blue and not a buzzing bug to be heard.

We stopped first at Neiland Bay. A deeper, swirling pool-like eddy with maybe a bit of a saddle spine running through its middle, Bren and I cast there for some time without hooking a fish. Trevor was incredible with her, helping with any snags to keep her fishing.

Around the corner and only a minute upstream, after leaving Neiland we dropped our gear and took position on what may just be the most famous Arctic Char beat in the world, George Bush’s, “The President’s Pool.”

Sliced away from the main current, water riffles and runs steady across a perfect rocky bottom playing field. Brenda was nearer the head while I fished tail. The odd glimpse of crimson flashed in our eyes as char moved about.

Most fish appeared to be holding a good casts distance away, basically near the far seam. I kept plucking and swinging a Pixie spoon best I could towards the fish there but, nothing would take. There wasn’t a massive number of fish to be seen really, just the odd one, two, maybe three coming in and out of sight. It was Trevor who came up behind me after some time and pointed to the tail out. If I remember right, his direction was spot on. Cast there, let the lure fall into current and swing it through on its way back. The first couple attempts were a miss but on about the third try a char appeared and it smashed the spoon. After a strong fight Trevor slid my first ever char into the net.
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Very little of what happened next was in real time. I know we measured the fish, Brenda took several pictures and we released it, but the sequence of events and any spoken words have been lost to me now. The one thing for certain is, I have carried on with something inside me ever since. Call it some higher appreciation and longing for, the Tree itself took roots deep but the Arctic and it’s char have shaped my choices and my life through the years that have followed…

… Bren had been fishing hard all day, probably harder than me. Trevor had been great with her, staying close and sometimes helping out with snags. The Tree was a tough fish in that manner. Many of the eddies needed to be quite accurately cast into because they were so narrow. The way the river would cut at the seams there was often a rocky ledge of which the lure had to fall heavy into its deep side, get down quick in the current to the char, then somehow pop up from the depths and leap over that shallow step without getting caught up. I had jigged walleye in a number of river spots just like this over the years, but it was still a challenge, and for Bren it was totally new. Funny thing was, no quitting, she just accepted the likely hundred times she snagged. She always managed to somehow pop off too, most times on her own, sometimes with Trevor’s help. After six hours of fishing she still had the same lure on she chose at the beginning of the day, and she still had the same determination to catch her first char.

The last pool on the way back to camp it happened for her. “I got a fish,” she says with a quiet and reserved excitement. And a helluva fish it was too, for when it breached the surface and thrashed we all caught sight of a very large char.

It was in one of the bigger pools, Neiland, and Bren had plenty enough room to play. But the char may as well have been a fresh ocean chinook, which instead of using it’s power on the runs, used it’s energy dogging, thrashing and taking short but extremely hard bursts. A fish at home in his river, it tired quickly of the confines of the pool and drove fast to the current. Trev and I went after it with the net, hoping it would bail out of the rushing flows and tighter along the shore into a narrow eddy.

The fish did this but Trevor couldn’t quite reach it safely with the net. Bren was still trying to hold the char from all the way back atop the pool. A drop from where she was high to where the fish was low, put her line directly across a small rocky peninsula jutting out from the river bank. All a little panicked, it would suck to see her lose this fish, for the braided line was actually rubbing the point rocks right at my feet as I stood between her and the char. I ran back to Bren who was concentrating hard on keeping the line tight and her a barbless hook firmly embedded in that fishes yap.

Grabbing her by the shoulders we began walking together down the slippery stoned river bank to her char. She kept the rod tip high, the pressure on, and reeled in as we neared the fish. Bren can’t swim, and in a few spots had she lost her step there could have been consequence. I watched her footing but peered often at that line still occasionally rubbing the rocks ahead of her. The closer we approached the less frequent our worries. When she finally arrived on the peninsula Bren was able to steer the tired fish closer to the shore in front of her. Trevor acted quick and saved the day.
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In a very special moment Bren joined a rather elite group of anglers in this world, for she caught a 21 pound arctic char. And the cool thing was, we had been so oblivious in our chaos we didn’t even notice the three other fisherman who had come along and watched that whole moment unfold.
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The Tree River, also known in the local Inuk language as the Kugluktualuk, lies approximately two hundred kilometers east from the town of Kugluktuk (Coppermine). A fly-to destination found inland and along the southern mainland shores of Coronation Gulf in the Kitikmeot region of Nunavut, the Tree is a tundra oasis known best for producing the World’s Record, Dolly Varden-like Arctic char, and many line class records as well.
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ARCTIC CHAR BEGINNINGS.

Mounted over the cabin’s fireplace rested two large brook trout, one of seven and the other eight pounds. John had told me they were caught on the same day many years ago, as he pointed out the window to the lake. They were fascinating to look at, painted in their full spawn colors, the best looking fish that swims. For John there was no better catch, and this was the reason he lived to fish each summer from that lake cabin in the foothills of Quebec, where these brilliant trout would readily take the fly.

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One summer visit back to that cabin a third fish appeared above the other two over the fireplace. A giant speckle even more brilliantly red and colorful. I asked John about the weight of the large speck to which he answered eleven pounds and that it wasn’t a speckle at all, but instead an arctic char which one of the cabin members had caught while in northern Quebec.

I could never get that char out of my head. I love the specks but something about the char called out to me. “Arctic char.” Who knows, maybe it came from some same similar place within that whispered many years ago to go north. The char, much like its rugged wilderness home, where the concrete ends and the biggest blue and pure air skies begin. A fish so elite and elevated above, it chooses to swim only where all others would seek a warm bath before a hypothermic death.

Reading about char over the years Ungava first became the pinnacle for me, and so finally in early 2008 I made plans with my wife to visit an outfitter on the George River within the Nunavik region. Over the winter I prepared by tying flies and searching out everything online I could find about Ungava’s char. Living in Moose Factory then, I even spoke with a local friend who had worked for the same camp I had contacted. His stories made me even more excited.

Early April came, and after making a number of unanswered attempts over the winter to touch base with our outfitter by phone and email, I was forced to give up on them. There would be no answer..?

It worked out perfectly though, for our vacation dates matched an availability to fish with Plummer’s Arctic Lodge at Great Bear Lake and, my loving parents agreed to watch our young girls. Some consolation prize Plummer’s was not, for if there was ever a destination in my mind that could surpass my dreamy Ungava expectations, it was through Plummer’s access to the world record holding char river, the Tree. Immediately Brenda and I booked, on the condition that I would be requiring some extra time at for char fishing. Plummer’s promised to accommodate.

After an incredible float plane flight beyond the treeline, over the tundra and above the Arctic Circle, Brenda and I touched down on the famous Tree River, Nunavut. A quick lunch, our guide Trevor eagerly rushed us both up river to Neiland Bay, then the Presidential Pool where in the early afternoon of August 10th, 2008, I finally made many years of my dreams become reality, catching a first ever Arctic char.

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Standing along the bank only a few minutes, two approaching riders on ATV’s stopped to say hello. The first fellow introduced himself as Jordan and the other Eric. As I moved forward to extend a handshake and introduce myself Jordan interrupted to say, “and you’re Moosebunk.” Somewhat taken aback, Jordan revealed, “I have been reading your stories online for years, since before your first Arctic Expedition.” Rather humbled, especially to hear this from a stranger found talking to me right then at the top of the earth, I had to know more. Turns out Eric is from Windsor but Jordan is from just down the road near Sharbot Lake. Teachers, they spend the school year north in Nunavut and summers back in Ontario. Recently returned and now out and about looking for caribou, both love hunting and fishing, and Jordan himself occasionally follows along at the same fishing forums I do. Parting ways left me grinning from ear-to-ear for much of the morning, as it was quite an incredible chance encounter on a tundra lake in the middle of nowhere.

TALOYOAK 2017.

Shortly after they left, a small herd of caribou slipped by while my back was turned and casting. The clear water I faced was flat calm, the early hours warming. Tiny bugs must have been hatching as the lake’s surface would often dimple from feeding fish. Now and again I would spot the pink or orange glow of a chars fin breaching. Stickleback schools were holding into the shallowest of sandy pockets and several times I did spot small lake trout rushing in from the depths to push and swipe at the bait against the grassy cuts of the shoreline. Another huge caribou would eventually wander through on the tundra behind. Not a whisper nor a noise these ghosts would often stop, stare and quietly move on. For a couple hours try as I might, no cast could produce a char, only the small lake trout were eagerly attacking the offerings. I began to hope a little for the expected rain to fall or just a breeze to rise, for the char were all too keyed in on hatching insects. Conditions could use a change.

Decided to leave the lake be awhile and go check the river. After packing up I headed a little cross country and soon caught up to the magnificent bull caribou seen passing by earlier. We danced on the tundra, our eyes always engaged, moving slowly to and fro, sharing moments captured through the camera lens. For awhile I forgot all about any fish purpose, the reindeer dance carrying me to some other happy place.

Pushing on I reached the river spot where several nice lake trout had been caught the week before. Like I find char, the lake trout in these far northern lakes and rivers often seem most active during the afternoon and early evening hours. At 11:00am in this place, there was still great chance some would be ready. For a brief minute on arrival the air thickened and the sky spit down, I sipped a juicebox and nibbled a granola bar while piecing together my rod and reel, and in that time the rain stopped. That would be the day’s total precipitation.

A half hour of casting yielded a number of lake trout. Caribou antler trees litter the landscape here, especially at this river narrow, where it’s an obvious crossing for them. Unaware of anything once fishing, a barren ground grizzly, wolf pack or polar bear would have had little issue sneaking and stalking over the ridge behind, so when I turned face 180 to the ATV to retrieve a different lure a family of caribou quite startled me. Placing the rod on the ground I quickly went for the camera.

Four smaller bou picked up their pace away once I mounted the ATV. Engine started it was then that the same bull from earlier crested the top of the ridge and strutted across the skyline like it owned the world. Here at this reindeer grave site crossing, reunited to dance again, I rode eagerly up the hill towards him, but he wasn’t in the mood.
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A trot turned to a gallop and he kicked hoof to catch up with his family. Awkwardly, I had somehow slipped the quad out of automatic and into manual so it was a little slower to keep up in first gear until figuring some shit out. The chase only lasted moments though, for the reindeer cut down the hill fast to the shore where five Micheal Phelpibous hit the swift current of the narrows and began free-styling across. Myself reaching the bank, all but the bull had made it over, and there I snapped the last few pictures I could.
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The whole day was busy, the grounds at the crossing with the herd and the many played lake trout was especially so. Another river laker caught afterwards, my wife some weeks later would remark that the fish photo taken of me holding a lake trout through caribou antlers is, “kinda busy!” And she’s right! Zoomed in on the picture, more sets of antlers can be seen laying on the land, and so with this skull and huge rack sitting right near the shoreline, I felt a one-of-a-kind photo would surely pay tribute to the moment.
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Mid afternoon I returned to the lake. Approaching the fishing spot, from a distance a mother and her two boys could be seen there. She was fishing and the children were playing in the field behind her. Once I arrived she stopped casting and appeared to begin stowing things away on her ATV, although she did not leave to go far. Minutes into hours passed, and while I resumed fishing in the area the boys could be heard playing atop the hills not far off. Now and again, looking over my shoulder the family would move a little, up to the cliffs, down to the waters edge, nearer then further away, and sometimes more caribou would just wander through between us. Always I could hear the laughter from those boys in the air, a lasting fun that echoed off the tundra grass and rock. And while fishing I thought on this and that, and happily enjoyed it. These children outside, I would imagine all day, at their family’s camp just down the riverbank a mile or two. A watchful mother allowing them the freedom to roam while keeping them safe from her distance. Surely their summer was spent here at Netsilik, and now that school is back in I guessed it’s the weekend getaways that they must now long for. To be kids of the north, raised much more from the land, wild and free, it is the reality for most youth of Nunavut. And to find myself here at Netsilik, with a family nearby embracing life as Netsilik people themselves, this positively leaves great cause to reflect.

At one point a large, orange char’s back broke the surface. A fish two full and impossible casts lengths away, it gave motivation to keep trying. Every so often water would dimple and I knew those char were still dining on bugs, but man, I wanted one to take a lure so badly. The lake trout kept biting and by days end more than two dozen would be caught and released. It was funny but the greys liked spoons of silver and pink or silver and red, while I found the char liked silver and orange, or gold and orange. Each fish seemingly preferred to eat the matching colors of the other. On this day I tried every trick and everything I had in the box to entice a char, but they just weren’t into it.

Not until the evening arrived and after the millionth cast, did one long bomb get struck hard. I knew it was a char right off the bat because not only do they fight at least twice as hard as any lake trout but, this one went screaming across the glassy surface like a salmon and finished with a triple salchow. After that it was hard runs and reel peel from the depths below, leaving me rather nervous from beginning to end… When finally tailing her in the shallows she was something to behold. An absolutely stunning orange hen, ripe and fat, beautifully colored. Remarkable really, she was a Taloyoak treasure from head to fins, a most fulfilling experience and that perfect reward for all efforts, hope and ability. A day of fishing to truly live for.
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Taloyoak is the most northern community on the mainland of Canada. It’s name meaning “large blind” refers to the landscapes advantages for caribou hunting. Less than 1000 people, this fly-in only town formerly known as Spence Bay is found within the Kitikmeot region of Nunavut. Excellent hunting and fishing, the area is plentiful with large, clear water lakes holding enormous lake trout, whitefish and arctic char.
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As I have come to learn with char fishing since the first Nunavut Nomad experience, this fishing comes down to a number of key specifics, the most important being timing. Within an accelerated summer season, fish are often here one day and gone tomorrow. Patterns do exist but the days and sometimes even the weeks when things will happen are not dates always set in stone. The Ekaluk River in 2019 was a good and humbling example of this. A run of 1000’s of char beginning on the 17/18th of August in 2018, while I camped there in 2019 for five days same days and to the 22nd, hardly a fish could be found. Bloody would be like the Ekaluk, coming down to a matter of time.
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KUGLUKTUK 2021.

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Had the Falls all to myself and was happy to arrive early. The morning grayling bite was hot, wished I had gotten there sooner. On one early cast my lure got rammed and scrammed by something very powerful. A fast reel peel tore the line just into the main channel current where whatever it was, popped off! I wanted badly to believe it was a char and it could have very well been. Beyond that, each other hit was simply aggressive and fun, as graying don’t really take line but yet they’re certainly spirited little fighters. Armed with a light to medium-light rod like one used for crappies, walleye or small trout, or a 4 to 5wt fly rod, catching dozens and dozens of these beauties would make for an incredible day. The best for the morning would be a 17-incher that I decided to bury under some rocks in the river, to keep fresh for a meal.
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Grayling are new to me but old too. What I remembered about fishing them the few times in the past is, they like calm water, they like glass. This is probably because their main forage is bugs..? Snd bugs on the surface of the water are more easily seen when it’s calm, and eaten when it’s still. So on the Coppermine, where I was, in a very turbulent area, the best pocket I fished for hook-ups was where several currents in the eddy off the main channel, collided and swirled to a shiny still. A room-sized playing field that from two different vantage points was a full cast from either directions. If no wind the lure would land in a circular slick, a calm spot like the eye within a hurricane chaos, that was only lightly whirl-pooling if moving at all. Above this target, beside and below, water moved faster and in opposite directions. The entire day I pulled 90% of the fish from that very spot-on-the-spot.

Bloody Falls being so scenic and this day having good sunshine, after hours of fishing I took a break to photograph the area and try to find some scenic vantage points of the falls.

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Really took the time to take it in. Dipped the water bottle into the river, sat awhile on one of the benches above the falls, shed a few layers to cool down, took a selfie or two and was pleased the mosquitoes were hiding in the shade of the alders…

Kugluktuk is the westernmost community in Nunavut located north of the Arctic Circle, at the mouth of the Coppermine River where it feeds into Coronation Gulf. It has a unique microclimate which extends a narrow band of stunted boreal forest trees northwards toward the Arctic Ocean. ‘Kugluktuk’ means ‘place of moving water’ and the root word ‘kugluk’ means ‘waterfall.’ Upriver from this hospitable hamlet is the beautiful Kugluk cascade, also known as Bloody Falls, an ancient fishing and hunting location that is now a territorial park of historic cultural importance.

Casting out there was little action for awhile. Lots of snagging rocks, half my time was spent walking and wading off in different directions to get unstuck. But then finally I got nailed by something heavy that took off on some fast straight runs and really worked the stick. Did I finally have that char? No I did not.

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The river whitefish had been biting this day too… kind of. Failing to mention earlier, I had already caught three smaller than this one. Their fight for a whitefish is quite impressive, nothing like the wimpier lake versions we have back in Ontario. Whities here on the Coppermine will make the odd run to the saltwater, getting caught in nets at sea. They also spend their lives moving through heavier river currents, so in essence are quite strong and conditioned by harder environs. Whites will eat minnows and the young of other fish. Up here that could be anything from sculpin, stickleback I presume, grayling, char, lakers, herring and even capelin if at sea. They’ll also eat any and many bugs, anytime! So to have them going after spoons I was chucking for char was pretty cool. Problem for them is, unlike the much smaller grayling, with even smaller but forward facing mouths, whitefish yaps are down-turned so they have a trickier time grabbing a horizontally retrieved lure. They will try, but they often miss. So far I’d caught two in the mouth, one in the head and one in the back but they all came from off this specific little rocky ridge between me and the slick spot, and they held out on the further deep side.
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By now I had resigned my hopes for char. Timing! Again it came down to timing. Leaving in five days, work and on-call would occupy me until the end. It was kind of laughable really, how much “pressure” I put on myself to catch fish that have already been caught many times and trips before. What was there to prove really, that I can catch char? That the story and this experience can only end in this one specific and glorious way? Did I need to feed the social media “likes” to have a one fleeting moment of triumph, you know, those fine feelings that euphorically wax then wane, until for some sick reason there is some desire to do it all again..? Maybe it was some of that stuff, all of that stuff, but honestly there is likely something more to it too. That something I have written about and eluded to in other stories, a pure determination. The meeting of an objective, proving to myself that I can do it, do it here, there, or anywhere. That I will and still can do it despite each passing year that age is stealing energy bit by bit more.

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

Lazily standing around gazing I suddenly saw a char. Right there, right in the slick, right where I had been casting for like five or six hours, right where that fish had given me the wicked ripper into the current! Right there a fucking char, silver-sided and darker backed, for whatever odd reason jumped out of the water like a missile, two feet in the air and dove back in to score a perfect 10. What in the ever loving fuck was that all about!?

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

Whipping that Strobe out there I was a quarter of the way back and right in the pocket. BUMP! And with a mighty hookset… SNAAAAAP!!!
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Can have all that pure determination but without the right bit of luck, ya get fucked! That was my Bloody Kug”luck”tuk.
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GEARING UP FOR ARCTIC CHAR.

When headed up to the high Arctic you sure as shit are not taking the kitchen sink. The gear you will be best to choose needs to be minimized and selective, well protected for the air travel, and of better quality that’s ready for some abuse.

Online it is likely well documented what choices are right for the more popular river trips. Ask your outfitter at the time of booking, or check with their website, media pages, handbook, past guests and any other connections to be found online. Otherwise, if you’re setting out to some off the beaten path places on your own, with limited to no resources for helping you research, consider my advice and these options below.

The Rods.

Over the years I have tried several choices but today my go-to favorite rod is an 8 ½ foot, 2-piece, medium/heavy, salmon/steelhead spinning rod. It has a fast action, rated for 8-17lb test monofilament line and 3/8 to 1 ounce lures. This two piece packs into many readily available rod tubes suited for average 2-piece, 9 foot fly rods. Several airlines have allowed me the narrow 4 ½ foot travel tube as carry on for stow in the overhead, it’s like carrying a thick cane. Shimano Clarus is the model, and they have a baitcast version with the exact same specs which I used primarily on the first Tree River trip in 2008. The spinning rod casts further for me, but some may find that to be opposite. 2022 was my first season back with the Clarus since 2008 and it did not disappoint. Price point is very reasonable, so much so that you could buy two for one, traveling with both in one tube or, very least a second tip half in the event of damage to the first.

Prior to this Shimano rod, for the 2016 to 2021 years I used a wonderful Lawson 5-piece, 9 foot, medium power salmon/steelhead travel rod, moderate action rated for 8-15lb test mono, 1/4 to 7/8 ounce lures. Broken down the rod packed up into a standard suitcase and was super portable for back-packing. A great number of fish were caught with it, until it broke. It’s two minor flaws were its power and action. An average quick hookset wasn’t fast enough at times. The moderate action with its lesser power made it a bit too “whippy.” There were plenty times I just couldn’t stick ‘em fast and hard enough, especially with smaller, nippy char. As well, bigger, fresh ocean chromers returning from the ocean, their power a number of times were a little too much for this stick. But again those pros were the portability for travel, a power which often ensured good overall enjoyment from fish big and small, and an action that could cast lures a country mile.

My friend Jordan also went with a medium/heavy rod that was longer and beefier. A 2-piece, 9 ½ foot, moderate action, Fenwick Eagle salmon/steelhead spinning rod rated for 10-20lb test and 3/8 to 1 ounce lures. I remember once he got used to it he quite liked it. That length and strength with that action did a better job to stick fish but, a quicker, harder sweeping hookset is still required. Jordan easily summons that intensely hard and fast, bass hookset, so that action works for him. The rod casts a long way as well.

My preference is the faster action for long rods. It ensures the rod makes up for any delays, something that after many hours of hiking and casting your fatigue may cause. But, you sure do not want too stiff and fast a rod that will tear hooks out of wily, strong char either. With the more stiffness you might lose the slightest bit of casting distance too, although between the two actions I have owned it’s not been enough to worry about. Salmon/steelhead rod makers I believe understand the fish that the rods are built specifically for.

You’ll need a second rod for two things… a back-up in case the first is destroyed and, something more suitable for sensitive applications like cast-jigging, jigging deep or trolling.

A rod number two choice I carry is a 3-piece, 7 foot, medium & medium/heavy spinning rod. The Fenwick “Methods” comes with 5-pieces. (butt section, 2 mid sections, 2 tips) and that is genius to have when traveling as an all around back-up choice covering plenty of angling styles. The mid sections are built either moderate/fast or fast, the tips are either medium/heavy or heavy. You basically create the build you prefer, and four choice configurations provide actions ranging moderate to fast. Highest power spec for this travel rod is a rating of heavy (yet more similar to a medium/heavy 1 or 2 piece) 8-17lb mono line, and I believe 3/8 to 1 ounce lures as well. And think, you are actually carrying extra back-up pieces for your back-up rod. Because it may be discontinued though, it is the specs and idea of it you should take note of. Although casting distance is often lost with a shorter rod, this length and action provides you more sensitivity and finesse. For better feeling the bottom when drift jigging, cast-jigging, deep jigging and, if ever there’s a chance to troll I choose this style of rod.

In 2011 I took to the Tree River a rod with similar specs. The St.Croix Mojo PowerSpin is a one piece, 7 foot, medium/heavy, fast action spinning rod rated 8-14lb test mono and 3/8 to 1 ounce lures. To be honest, the PowerSpin’s power and line rating specs will fool you. This rod is faster, heavier and has more back-bone fish taming power than plenty of other rod brands noting the same and stronger ratings. For example, I love the 7′ 2″ 1-piece, medium/heavy, fast action, Shimano Crucial rated 10-17lb line with same lure weights, but that stick has a much more limp action throughout than the PowerSpin. (it’s also lighter) I’d say for Tree you’d want to consider some extra strength, the PowerSpin deceivingly strong, specs to look for in an equal would be 10-17 but better yet a 10-20 or even12-25lb line rating. The PowerSpin for me handled a shit-tonne of big and strong char in heavy current on the Tree. It impressed the guide Bob so much that he chose it for a tip end of our trip. That was 2011, and when recently visiting Bob in Kugluktuk past summer, he was still using that rod for char fishing and happy to boast about it. His wife says it’s his favorite, lucky char rod ever. But remember though, it is a 1-piece and may not be a wise travel choice because of it.

Rod summary. #1. A longer, 8 ½ to 9 foot moderate/fast to fast action, medium/heavy power, two or more piece, spinning or casting salmon/steelhead rod best suited to bombing lures a long way, having enough back bone to handle big fish and big currents, not so heavy you won’t enjoy reeling in smaller and average fish, and having it all fit into a standard rod tube or less, for your travel. #2. A shorter, 7 to 7 ½ foot, medium/heavy power, moderate fast to fast action, 2 or more piece, spinning rod. A back-up, multi-purpose, travel rod.

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The Reels.

Today I carry two Shimano 3000 series spinning reels. Every trip 2011 until now that’s been the case.

For the long rod I pair up with 15-pound PowerPro braided line and run a 15-pound softer florocarbon leader that must always be long enough so that the knot between the two lines is on the spool for the cast. Very important! Have come to appreciate this 15/15 combo because it allows the best possible casting distance with enough strength for most char fishing. If on the Ekaluk, Netsilik or Tree Rivers perhaps, where the fish are big and the current strong, a 20/17, 20/20 or even 30/20 would be considered.

On the short rod I pair up with a reel spooled with 20 or 30-pound PowerPro and a more abrasion resistant 20-pound florocarbon leader that again, must have the knot on the spool for every cast. If the trip is more shore casting with a straight retrieve over bottom, maybe a touch bit of jigging too, I like that 20lb braid. But, if the jigging is going to be real rough and dirty, I might choose the 30lb. Lastly, if there is going to be any trolling, especially where big lakers may live or, out on the ocean where char are intensely stronger, then first choice would be the 30lb braid. I might also choose to pack the 4000 series reel for it’s extra line capacity, drag and durability, keeping in mind that a lot of rods this power and length can see a drastic reduction in casting distance with that spool size. You’d maybe want the 4000 on trips with trolling? Splitting hairs here really but it’s all food for your thoughts.

Summary. For the two rods pack two or three reels. #1. 3000 series spinning spooled 15 pound braid mainline to long 15 pound florocarbon. #2. 3000 series spinning again, but spooled 20 or 30 pound braid to long 20 pound florocarbon. If a third back-up, another 3000 or 4000 series spinning reel spooled however, I keep mine 30/20. On trips I always have an extra new spool of 15 or 20 pound braid and spools of choice florocarbon leader material. Also, be sure to have many, many quality snap-swivels of appropriate size and strength for your lures and size of fish.

Some Lures.

Spoons. 1/4 up to 1 1/4 ounces seem best. Any and all colors. Orange/gold, orange/silver, silver/pink, silver/chartreuse, silver/red, red/white, firetiger, perch and 5 of Diamonds. And yes, experimenting with others color options can pay off too.

With me at all times I carry a red Sharpie because something with a bit of red is sometimes all they want. Lake fish seem to like orange/gold, orange/silver because in places where char share the waters with lake trout, the two compete and don’t mind eating each other. Orange-finned lakers are commonplace in the Arctic and so I suppose that’s why the color does so well.

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But thinking of other forage for char, they have smaller char to eat too so silver/pink can be great. In some places you can find ciscos and whitefish (silvers) and grayling (anything) sharing the water. Sculpin, stickleback, cod and shrimp might also be meal choices. But char also LOVE capelin and so silver/chartreuse (green) works for that. If you look closely in my picture of capelin that were found schooled over warming beach sand along the ocean, some have red spots. This is not part of the fish, I believe it is maybe some sign of stress as that redness is always located around the throat/gills. Years ago over a couple of sunny days, a silver/chartreuse Cleo spoon was my best lure where casting to staging char near a rivermouth at the sealine shore. What made that spoon even better, was adding a red dot with the Sharpie and when retrieving the spoon, erratically giving a twitch-jig to let the spoon pause and flutter. To following, opportunistic char, they may have seen this as a sign of a capelin’s distress and did often strike the spoon then. To better know and understand your fish, study its forage, and if you have to, use your imagination too.

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Other lure options are inline spinners in all the same color combos. Locals in many of the communities I have fished, and not fished, swear by this creation for adding a Gibbs spinner to the back of a Len Thompson spoon. The lure is as ugly as sin but, for some reason effective. Four to five inch Twistertails weighted according to depth and current fished can also be very good in some places. They saved my ass on some deeper shorelines where I had to get down to the fish and jig the lure back slowly along bottom. They also work great in very heavy current, quarter-casting and drift jigging. As fall season arrives in the Arctic, bigger male char especially tend to set-up on reds. These nests aren’t always visible depending on light, water clarity or depth but, they’re down there on their red and if not, they’re back off from the spawn area waiting a little bit deeper for their time to come. For whatever reason, an effective spoon bite dies off and to coax the char you’re looking for, (that big bright buck) you will need to offer it something slower, right in their face. They can be like any other fish on a red, territorial and just wanting to bite or slap your offering out of the way.

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Have come to find it odd that of the places visited, it’s actually rare that a lure brand and color is hot at all spots right across the board. On the Tree the 7/8 ounce Pixie is a go-to, but nowhere else have I found that the same. The Ekaluk they like the smaller version, and so far nowhere else does it really do all that well. That’s just how it is with lures.

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As for fly fishing… that’s a whole other can of worms here but I’d know that depending on the specifics for your waters fished and the top size of char you’re expecting to catch, 7 to 9 weight single-handed rods would be about the norm. With reels that have floating line and intermediate sink, tonnes of backing and, leader strengths similar to what was suggested with the spinning outfits. I have both 6 and 9 weights at home and if choosing it’d have to be the 9 for char. The floating line is a pike/muskie taper that’s supposedly good for chucking big streamers and the reel is a quality mid-arbor, click-and-pawl Orvis Battenkill. Good bit of grit to it and holds a decent amount of backing. If I ever see the Tree or Ekaluk again it might have to come with, but I’d certainly be asking other fly fishing friends who have gone before me, what their better fly choices would be.
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Arriving to a spot it took several dozen casts before finally seeing a dark red char of about seven or eight pounds follow into the shallows at my feet. Great I thought, a sign of life, and so I kept chucking some more… After considerable time, lure switches, position changes, casts high and low, jigging and twitching no matter, nothing was garnering any fish attention at all. I decided to begin hiking the shoreline, maybe for even miles just to see what would happen.

BOOTHIA 2023.

An hour or two later I pitched out a little better than a half cast and engaged the reel. Suddenly felt a little “tink” through the rod and no better than half-assed did I set the hook. The line snapped! The long florocarbon leader broke just two inches past where it uni-knotted to the braid. FUCK! Must have been a knick or something? First hit in hours and the line breaks.

I sat down rather frustrated and in no rush retied a leader and snap swivel. The choice of what lure to throw next it was the same Cleo pattern that had just been broken off which I chose to clip back on. Standing I returned to the waters edge and tossed several casts right back towards where the line had broke. Suddenly on one throw it happened, FISH ON!

For a long while it really felt like a big laker was at the other end. That came to mind first fo’sho! No huge and speedy runs like a chromey fresh char, the fish just kept dogging in the distance. I felt every big head shake, every short hard pull and it took awhile… took awhile to finally see its orangeness surface not far from me. And when it did, I got super excited! “Huge char, huge char” started chanting in my head so I loosened the drag just a touch.

The big male took several swim bys to eventually tail it cause for one thing, it just had no quit. Even once it was in hand he still wanted to wrastle and snap his jaw. When I looked him over it was so obvious what I had. A perfect char, a beautiful, perfect specimen of an orange buck char and a huge one at that. Another honest to God fish of a lifetime!
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He released strong and I took a quiet moment to just sit happily and relax. It is deeply important, for both my vitality and purpose that I catch such fish and soak in the moments of any calm joy and satisfaction that come with completing the task of it all. On this day it happened in a most grand way. The more fish I catch the harder it is to feel those big feels, so when they finally come they are magnificent. There is a weight that lifts and the air just fills the lungs more fully, I am lighter, more enlightened, breathing a little bit easier knowing I did exactly what I always set out to do. To reach the goal of catching the biggest and best just to feel that again, the tug is truly the drug! I am reaffirmed that my fishing is still worthy of my own love and praise. It is great to do great and it is only right to allow one’s self to truly enjoy that…

The fishing as slow as it was and what I figured would continue to be, I was happy after the one to just take a hike! Set out along the shoreline looking and casting about with the hope of reconnecting but carrying the contentment of knowing the day had already been made. And so I walked…

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And I walked…

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And I would walk five tundra miles,
and I would walk more tundra far.
Just to be the man who walks all tundra miles
to catch the Arctic char!
Da-dah-da-dah!
Da-dah-da-dah!

Yes, the Proclaimers got right stuck up in the head.

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The vast Boothia lies withing Canada’s central Arctic region. Historically settled by small, nomadic Inuit populations known as the Netsilik, the first peoples were some of the very last to make contact with new Canadians. Through all my travels I find that the small towns visited within the region still remain the most connected to their traditions. Hunting, whaling and fishing is an every day, every chance, all year affair keeping the Netsilik culture alive. The tundra terrain is oftentimes more navigable than that found throughout Baffin’s mountain ranges or upon the Kivalliq’s endless Hudson Bay flat, dishpan, flood plain lakes. Kitikmeot’s Boothia is a little inbetween the two but of all, the most fertile for caribou, arctic char and in some places, whaling. One of the big pros for wandering dummies like me is that the bear populations are fewer, with polar bears “usually” keeping far from settlements leaving only barren ground grizzlies to keep an eye out for.
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Leaving town we rode through the valleys past camps and caribou, along the ocean and over the hills, eventually arriving at Netsilik and Pangnikto Lakes.

TALOYOAK 2020.
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Around Taloyoak there are several trails from the hamlet leading to camping and fishing spots at nearby lakes such as Middle, Redfish and Netsilik Lakes. These pathways are perfect exploring and you may encounter wildlife including caribou, lemmings, marmots, hares, foxes, ravens, seagulls, terns, snow buntings, ptarmigans, gyrfalcons and snowy owls, plus large flocks of migrating ducks and geese during the spring and fall. There are whales, seals, cod and whitefish in the sea and the lakes contain laketrout and arctic char. Wolves, wolverines and polar bears are sometimes seen in this region as well.

Jordan had just ordered himself up a nice new stick and reel. The Fenwick Eagle 9’6″ Salmon/Steelhead medium action 2-piece was catching my eye. Rated for 10 to 20lb line and 1/4 to 1 ounce lures, those specs are right in the zone!!! Looked to be a little faster than my rod too. The reel he went with a 2500 series Shimano, spooled up some 30lb braid and the smart fella ran a long 15lb Seagar floro lead. My stick is still the 9′ Lawson medium 5-piece travel rod. Rated for 8-17lb line and 1/4 to 7/8 ounce lures, it’s a little lighter and whippier for tackling the possible huge lake trout and big strong char that could be swimming, but it does allow nicer play of any smaller and average fish, and it whips out all lures a country mile. With the Lawson I like the 3000 series Nasci for now, spooled up with 15lb braid to a 12 or 15lb leader. A favorite rod of mine, given as a tip from my Norwegian friend, Richard the Viking.

On Jordan’s second cast he hooked into a ripper char. Very quickly I was reminded of the power these fish possess. This one reel peeled a number of strong runs and then unfortunately came unpegged. Jordan confessed, the long rod fight felt great but he’d have to get used to it. Got thinking he’ll make some quick adjustments and dial it in a little more.

We moved spots. Just the one char and a laker at the first stop, the second place held some fish. Right to the shore I had a big laker follow. That was enough for me to stay and work the area hard, besides, we both knew we were on good water, no strangers to fishing there before.

Home court advantage Jordan drove the hook hard into his second char of the day. I heard the whip on set from a long bomb away. Looking over at him another char was tearing into his spool, Jordan called out, “this is a big one!” Didn’t matter to me big or small, I’d pretty much dropped what I was doing and got on route to a camera, then him.

A hot stick, a hotter spoon, a big guy with a crackin’ slop-largie hookset, Jordan’s fish play was as much a joy for me to watch as it was for him. We both knew he was into something fantastic and there was a nervous energy waiting for the char to tire out. These fish are notorious for getting off half the time, but we’d been laughing earlier about 60% of the time, all the time. Thankfully for Jordan the 40% won out!

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What a beauty!! Silver, peach, pink, orange, red or Chernobyl fire, char are simply stunners. A five pounder could surely bully a ten pound laker in a fight, they’re just usually that much more intense. We didn’t measure this fish but if I was to guess it was probably around 33 or 34 inches with a healthy 16 to 17 inch girth. I’ll add more to these deets later, but for now just know it swam off strong.

That’d be it!! Between the two spots we’d beat the bank for about three hours and change. Another area was calling my name though, Jordan had admittedly never fished there before but I knew the way. So, around 2:30pm we booked it 20-minutes to try a river. Upon arrival, my first cast did count for something, a first char of 2020!

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Jordan would follow up with a foul hooked laker which for a time he thought was Godzilla!!! The current pulls strong and so do fish when they’re coming in half backwards. Sadly though, that’d be it on the river spot. Left with the choices of continue on down flow toward the sea fishing new waters, back track to a different lake with lake trout or, return the spot where Jordan had caught his char, the big guy says to me, “man just make a decision!” So, I decided we go back to the earlier char spot and just keep grinding it out there.

No sooner did we arrive that Jordan stepped to the plate and drove one deep. Another one of those insane bull-whips of his, the char went round the bases before sliding on home. This one every bit the trophy his first fish was, it had a little less length we decided, but certainly some more girth. Another peach of a fish, admittedly with Jordan by this catch, he was making me green with envy. It’d have made my trip entirely to just catch either of the two he’d did on this day.

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This one he kept and gutted on the bank while hordes of mosquitoes tried to eat his face. A plastic bag and a rock, submerged in the icy waters not a lick of color was lost while it chilled for hours before we’d finally depart home. Later that evening he’d give me the fish to keep and back in my apartment it did provide two thick, red fillets. Before processing though, I had the chance to measure. 31 inches with a 16 inch girth (gutted) That’s 10 pounds without it’s inards. And it’s why I guessed the other fish had been the size it was, for it had been a bit longer but skinnier. Amazing!!

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Char take me there, they give that big tug on your line and your heart strings. Any angler knows that kind of love.

On a cast that air drifted a little shallower than intended, come the flop and flutter something picked up the lure. It felt so friggin’ weird I wasn’t sure what was on the line. Did the lure foul…? Nope, it’s pulling. Did I foul hook a pan fry laker… maybe? But as the fish reeled into about half way, suddenly the pace picked up and quickly I was into something more. Then there were two hard but short rips. OK… not so laker-like those were, more char-ish. As Jordan approached to see what the fuss was, in the shallows I think he first caught sight of the char, then I did. Suddenly I got a bit nervous… but this time that mattered not, a fish got caught!

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The following day was glorious but I had to work. Jordan took his family, Lauren, William and Jonathan up to where we had fished the day before. Much of their time was spent entertaining the kids and exploring but a little fishing was had too. William loved reeling in some lakers.

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Lauren picked up a rod for about a half hour, she planted her feet where I’d been the day before when that bigger char followed my lure in. As Lauren would explain it, she stopped reeling in to swat some mosquitoes on her hand and when she resumed there was weight on the line. Initially she thought she was snagged but then it got moving. Some intense moments Jordan explained but they luckily landed it. The fish would be Lauren’s biggest fish of any kind, ever! One can’t get any better a picture to catch such a memory as this. Lauren with baby Jonathan packed away on her back in the amounti. That’s too Nunavut not to share.

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ARCTIC CHAR & DOLLY VARDEN WEIGHT CALCULATIONS.

Both Brenda and I have taken our biggest Arctic Char from the Tree River, Coronation Gulf, Nunavut. Keep in mind, many studies over the past half century would support that our Tree char are in fact Dolly Varden. Arctic Char (salvelinus alpinus) and Dolly Varden (salvelinus malma) are two distinct species genetically, in behavior, by appearance and certainly in the minds of many Inuit peoples across Canada. However, the Tree River and its world records to this day are all revered to be for common Arctic char.

Top: Dolly Varden. Bottom: Arctic Char. (Photo: Bunk)

No specific weight calculator exists for Arctic Char. If to guess as to a most accurate formula for determining the weight of this fish, I would believe that the same used for trout/steelhead would be best choice. Know that, a brown trout of same length and girth will weigh lighter than a rainbow trout, and both these trout will weigh lighter than a brook trout. Variable “shape factors” exist for the different trout species but the most standard used for all is 800.

(AC) Weight = length x girth x girth / 800.

No specific weight calculator exists for Dolly Varden but it would appear there is a general consensus for using the more common calculations existing for salmon. Looking back at the Tree River fish in this report, their body shape is certainly like that of a chinook or coho and, having discussed with Tree River guides plus taking note of some outfitter information found online, char found on the Tree and elsewhere are calculated with a salmon formula. Online I can find that there are species and regional salmon shape variables of about 740 to 850, but the most common is 750. There are also websites where fish measurements can be punched in and a calculation given, even one where four different weights will given depending on the accepted salmon formulas. For this report…

(DV) Weight = length x girth x girth / 750.

Calculators are rarely 100% as again the shape factors are rarely 100% accurate and neither are the angler’s measurements. However, they can provide a very close weight to satisfy curiosity.
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Brenda’s & My Fish Records as of 2022.

Brenda caught her first big Arctic Char on the Tree River, August 11th, 2008. The fish was 38″ long with a 21.5″ girth. By several calculations her fish was (AC) 22 to (DV) 23.5 pounds. She caught her second largest fish August 9th, 2011. It measured longer than the 2008 catch at 38.5″ but with a lesser 20.5″ girth. Calculated it weighed about (AC) 20 to (DV) 21.5 pounds.

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August 10th and 11th, 2008 on the Tree River, I caught my two biggest fish measuring the same at 36.5″ long by 21.5″ girth. Shorter deep fish. The weight calculators put those char at (AC) 19 to (DV) 21 pounds.

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At the time all 2008 fish were caught, our guide guessed the fish at about 18 pounds for mine and 21 for Brenda. In 2011 we only measured Bren’s one fish plus a catch of mine at 36-inches long, but no girth taken. Bren’s fish the guide and I guessed on the spot at 21 pounds and mine 17.

Bren often catches the big ones!

Of char caught elsewhere, I have never taken an accurate full measurement. The longest length recorded is 35.5 to 36 inches.
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No need for shouting at ’em, but waving my arms and trying to flash shiny lures their way it was obvious they couldn’t see me. A speck on their horizon, too far away, they wouldn’t have guessed I;d walked to where I was now. Someone from the Beaver was likely running to the cabin, to knock on the door and see if I’m home. But I’m not there… I’m not there! Fuck it I thought! A lump in my throat, a sense of urgency to maybe sprint the hour back to camp, there was no way to do anything. Helpless slid into hopeless and off a cliff falling into despair.
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EKALUK. 2020.

Cambridge Bay is located on the southeast coast of Victoria Island at the western end of Queen Maud Gulf. In Inuktituk it is called ‘Iqaluktuuttiaq’ because it is a ‘good fishing place.’ The center of government for Kitikmeot and administrative and transportation hub for this region, the hamlet is important to both research and tourism. Located close to Ferguson Lake and the Ekaluk River; famous for giant arctic char, this area of Nunavut is the place of dreams for many traveling anglers.

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My heart sank. What if they were going to take me fishing with them? Why else would the big plane land, they already know the river fishing sucks right now, so they wouldn’t land for that..? Of all the mornings to leave early and go wandering off miles away, I’m an idiot, should’ve waited around camp.

Walking back it took a little time to climb myself up out of this one. “Give your balls a tug,” I’d say like Shorsey to myself in effort to cheer up. Remember, it’s like at Christmas, it’s the thought that counts Bunk. And despite losing the chance with this gang to go fishing, the big picture and my grand path leading to the Ekaluk, was not one of disappointment at all, but rather of people’s kindness and my own perseverance. Maybe Aaron, Ron or the others had convinced the pilot to pick me up for the day, that’s awesome! Imagine the cool story for Uncut Angling? Aaron saves the day! Picks up the Nunavut Nomad hitch-hiking over the tundra. Hell, imagine how befitting that end would be for this story? But deep down I somehow knew this one trip was headed for some heartache, it often had an uneasy feeling even when pieces kept falling into place to just make it happen. It was there I started sliding off again, slipping back into pathetic self-loathing…

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The 206 flew away first and a few minutes following the Beaver took off. I was walking at the outflow of the lake when the plane buzzed low right over me. The wing dipped a hello but sadly where I was there would be no chance of landing. A couple casts for lake trout was all I had motivation for. This time out alone and all my fishing and hiking efforts were really beginning to take their toll.

Skirting along the river I was coming up off the bank to cut a corner, crest a hill and shave some mileage. Sun over the shoulders, ahead in the distance two large, dark objects could be seen atop the next ridge over. Hovering about there, moving slow to and fro, whatever they where they were big and in my direct path to the cabin. Some first thoughts that came to mind, grizzlies… don’t think so, they look too dark. Muskox… yeah, they could be, they are big. The gun… hmph! What a time to leave that back in the cabin. Through the 55/200 lens I tried zooming in to see better but they were still unidentifiable. With the camera though, they actually appeared a little more brownish and robust.

If these things lying ahead were at my 12 o’clock, then the wind was coming over my shoulder at 4 heading to 10. The river bed down lower than the myself and these things was about my 1030 but taking that low road I could stay out of sight and bend right around the things on the ridge. Get past them, keep better out of the wind, keep quiet, get to the gun in the cabin, that was the idea.

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All went as planned too… almost. Not all the way back, curiosity got the better of me. Sneaking slow up from the riverbank I had to know. Besides, if they were muskox I thought, they’d probably bugger off or just stand around and let me get some amazing photographs. Creeping, hunched over and cautiously the summit of a small hill was reached and when I peered over the top two sandhill cranes were there strutting about as they do. NO FAWKING WAY!!! No way!!! No way, no way, no way!!! Maybe the beastly things were just over the next nearby ridge? I didn’t see cranes!?? Retreating back down the bank I continued along the river to camp. Somewhere out there behind the cabin on the tundra were two things, beastly things, I was convincing myself that I was not going crazy.

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Finally outside the cabin drying a cold sweat, I would note everything of the morning before eventually resting a stirred soul with some hot soup, coffee and half mouthful of scotch. Still morning there was certainly a feeling this day could be a long and likely fish-less one. Doom and gloom I didn’t have it sooo bad really, cause out on the river, upon the little rocky island, Shuk my Inukshuk remained standing there but with his head and part of his arm having fallen off. Poor little headless guy, that’s having a bad day. I collected my manhood best I could, and with every intention to go to Shuk and fix him slid into my waders and stepped to the ledge. And that’s when I saw this…

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The char were swimming right towards me. They would come in, circle, turn around then head over into some deeper riffles awhile before leaving elsewhere. I rushed down the riverbank.

The first cast and steady retrieve came right through them, the second cast did pretty much the same. The third cast as the spoon was passing I gave it a couple twitches and let it fall, kinda jigged it a moment, and that’s when one in the pod just suddenly turned it’s head a hard left, kicked the tail once and snatched up the lure. Zzzzzzzzzzzzz!!!!

The char was strong taking an initial run down river towards the fast water at the exit of the pool. It peeled line quick and effortlessly at first, forcing me to chase along the bank after it.

Closing the gap the next plays were quick, sharp bursts of speed in various directions. No leaping thank goodness, no big obstacles for it to snap off on either, there was only the fish and I to battle within a clear and clean ring.

Nervous to land without a net, I could see the hook was right through the tip of the snout. Just right there at the very end of its face, leaving cause to worry that it could easily pull out or be shaken loose. There might have been a few good opportunities to try and lead it to shore sooner but, I chickened out wanting the fish to tire more. But, it just wouldn’t tire..? The longer I left it in the water the more it shook it’s head pissed off at me and once I saw how little that hook held the time became even more urgent. During the fight I had reached into my hip pouch to slide on a handling glove, when the char near beached with the next effort I reached quick to grab it.

I may have nearly wept tears of joy, I won’t lie, this one Shuk me! After days and day of hard, char-less fishing, feeling powerless and disappointed, just one good one tipped the scales. Confidence restoring and righteousness returned, a happiness came flooding within.

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If my Ekaluk experience was to be what it had been plus this one, then that is its total value. To cry or rejoice, reject or accept, falls entirely on me. Well, me and my buddy Shuk here too.

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RESEARCHING YOUR CANADA ARCTIC CHAR TRIP.

1. Do your map work. Google Earth is your best tool for looking at the area you plan to visit. You may want to choose or pack differently depending on the terrain you may be hiking, ATVing or possibly boating. Also, studying satellite imagery helps you determine the size of the waterbodies you hope to fish and explore, access areas, fishy looking spots, shoreline depths and maybe even give an idea as to river currents as well. Through imagery you can often tell just by looking at what appears to be raging whitewater in a big system versus meandering, moderate flows cascading here and there over the land. Google’s tools can also measure distances, save specific images to your phone and plot GPS waypoints. There has never been a trip to Nunavut that did not begin with the help of Google Earth first.

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2. Connect some dots. Very little with regards to Arctic Char fishing in Canada can be found online. The Ekaluk, Tree, Sylvia Grinnell, Coppermine and a handful of rivers in Inuvik have the best of it. The rest of Nunavut and even the NWT, are pretty much foreign landscapes that hold nothing but mystery for fishing char. But locals know! And so if you’re planning to visit any Arctic community check in with their Hamlet office’s first, and through them they can oftentimes give you the contact for anyone working there as the community wildlife officer, a hunter/trapper association or even outfitter/guides. Give them a call ahead of time, have your questions ready, many are eager and pleasant to chat with and, once finally arriving to their town, go poke your head into their office for a visit and purchase your fishing license with them as well.

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3. Study char fishing. So what, you can’t find anything or anyone online to help give you information for your trip. Don’t sweat it! By this time you have been pouring over the SAT imagery, maybe some topo maps, and you’ve gone so far as to plot notes, images and waypoints of possible fishing spots and safe passage routes into your phone and handheld GPS. You’re head has already left on the adventure and much, much more is yet to come once your body catches up. You arrive, feel things out, try a little of this and that around town, and eventually friendly and curious folks will meet you and you them, and you’ll get to talking and learning more about the fishing. A number of my trips have had little success from the beginning, as I worked my way from easy to difficult through trial and error and learning as I go.
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4. Safety planning. It is simple. Not all trips will be doable unless you carry a rifle. Dangers from animals that will hunt and kill you are very real in the Arctic.

Photo credit my buddy Brody McGee and his drone. Pond Inlet, NU.
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Some friends of Brody’s were passing by at just the right time so he flagged them down. Tommy, Darryl, Eli and Gina were all super friendly and quick to help. Tommy and Darryl had the panels off the bike in no time, quick to diagnose the starter as the problem. When finally able to just get at it, someone was giving it a tap while trying to turn it over. The bike thankfully fired up. The brushes were faulty, but we at least knew a little better at that point we had a questionable amount of time and potential to keep fishing. That’s when Tommy and others asked if we wanted to join and follow them up the road further to another lake…

CORAL HARBOUR 2018.

… but could we leave this fishing behind?
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“How much further,” I would ask? “About an hour, maybe an hour and a half,” Tommy would say. “Forty-five minutes if I didn’t have to wait on these guys,” I think it was Darryl who laughed. By then another local fella who works at the Health Center with us happened on by. Asking Harry he said matter of factly, “yeah… it’s about 30 miles.” Tommy looked to Brody, looked to me, looked back to Brody and so forth, obviously looking for an answer. “Well, we don’t have the gas to get there and back to here, then back to town,” I hummed and hawed. “I’ll fill your tanks when we get back, don’t worry about that,” replied Tommy. “Well,” I said to Brody, “it means I’d bet we add four hours of driving to our day, taking that away from fishing, half of it during the prime time right now.” “So you guys coming,” Tommy asked again? “You heard ’em Bunk,” Brody continued, “it’s bigger char up there, could be worth it if you get one. I’m game to go but I’ll leave it to you to decide.” “C’mon man! You said you don’t have to work tomorrow! This will be an adventure. Few visitors like you ever get to see this far a place here,” Tommy persuaded. “Okay” I conceded… “let’s get going then.”

As I figured it would the ride stretched to two or more hours. The longer it took the more I just wanted to get there and fish, and that is my own stupid damn fault really. Because when my head was up off the trail and able to gaze out over the landscape I was quite happily impressed. We would first pass beside some lakes, then high along the side of an impressive ridge, before finally traversing into a valley that crept closer and closer to the Southampton Islands’s distinct mountain range. Having actually had more time to stop for photos would have been a blessing, but this wasn’t some planned excursion, we were a group now impulsively on the move. An incredible amount of ponds, lakes, creeks and rivers covered the flat, tundra valley west of the mountains, and we would snake our way through those lands by ATV.

We arrived safely together at our destination and by then were in much need of a late lunch. Tommy had a small cabin on the lake. While Brody and I munched on a couple chicken wraps, some others helped themselves to coffee and one of our fresh char; of course it was eaten right off the skin cold and raw. A weak stomach like my own just can’t seem to do it, although I still think it wonderfully impressive to bear witness to. The decision to go those extra miles was the right one.

Two lakes divided by a small stream had similar names in Inuktitut. Isuuralialaaq and Isuuralik lakes, I think to make it easier it’s best to just stick with one. Isuuralik it is!

Loving our luck at inflows, Brody and I set off on a ten minute ride over to the further lake and began casting where the waters trickled in. The spot was very shallow quite a ways out from the river inlet, and the wind was blowing sideways to our casts along the shoreline. One saving grace for allowing our lures to reach the fishier deeper waters were our waders. Able to walk out to our waists, upwind from where the river came in, gave us good position. Braided lines, longer rods, fully spooled reels, the casts using the wind could soar for miles.

A surprise for Brody and I were the fish being caught. Not char at all, this water actually had lake trout. We plucked a good number of them from out of two to four or five feet of water. Some on the island had told Brody that there weren’t any lake trout here at all, but Tommy knew better. We offered some of those catches to our fellow travelers but they weren’t interested. However, Brody was, he had never caught lake trout before so this was a fun first.

It was lake trout after lake trout for the both of us. On a long bomb I got creamed early by a bullet that peeled me out on a hard northbound before turning and doing the same bearing south. Thinking I had an overly energetic big laker on, it was a good while of back-and-forth with it winning the race, until I finally caught a gleam of silver flash at the waters top. An instant rush seeing this great char, I started heading in shallower to land it, announcing “good fish” to everyone as I did. Brody was the first to get excited and congratulate, and as always was ready with the camera to make the catch look great. So super stoked!!! Tommy and others were happy as well. “That’s a big one,” was said several times. It was a lean char, a silver bullet, and very strong. It was a Coral Harbour atop of Hudson Bay great.
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Coral Harbour lies on the southern shores of Southampton Island atop of Canada’s Hudson Bay. Found in the Kivalliq region in Nunavut, this 9th largest island in Canada has one small town of about 1000 inhabitants. 355 by 340 kilometers Southampton is a tundra playground where polar bears, caribou, fox, geese and snowy owls roam. The char fishing here is best at the north end of the island in Duke of York Bay yet these fish can be found swimming anywhere around the island and within it’s smaller lakes.
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WHO’S WHAT? ARCTIC CHAR & DOLLY VARDEN. Part 1: The Science.

The Arctic Char (Salvelinus Alpinus) “Complex” in North America Revisited by author E. B. Taylor. 2016. Department of Zoology, Biodiversity Research Centre and Beaty Biodiversity Museum, University of British Columbia, CAN.

“Considerable research has been conducted on the evolutionary relationships between and within S. alpinus (Arctic char) and S. malma (Dolly Varden) that have led to some clarification of the taxonomic status, composition, and relationships within the original S. alpinus complex, particularly on what forms are outside, but related to, the S. alpinus complex sensu stricto…

Despite some evidence of a low level of gene flow between species (non unequivocal first-generation hybrids have been encountered), sympatric Dolly Varden and Arctic char maintain themselves as two distinct gene pools. (Gharrett 1991). May-McNally (2015a) also presented evidence of a greater reliance on stream residence by juvenile Dolly Varden relative to Arctic char which tend to be found only in the lakes after about age 3? Which is consistent with the greater use of lakes by Arctic char reported by DeLacy & Morton (1943). Furthermore, the two species appear to have distinct diet and migratory habits as inferred from stomach contents and otolith microchemistry analyses (Dennert, unpublished)…

The distinct species status of Dolly Varden and Arctic char is supported by strong evidence from natural populations and maintenance of discrete gene pools in sympatry despite some gene flow between them. Efforts over the last 50 years, have contributed to a better understanding of char diversity and helped integrate this understanding over a broader geographic context. Most fundamentally, there is now broad recognition of the existence of three distinct biological species within the original complex: Arctic char, Dolly Varden, and bull trout. Each of the species is now considered a distinct entity for conservation purposes both under the US Endangered Species Act and Canada’s Species-at-Risk Act.

A focused study of sympatric populations in northwestern North America using new genomic tools and analyses provides an exciting opportunity to better understand the ecological and genetic phenomena that promote co-existence between Dolly Varden and Arctic char, as well as the loci associated with variable life histories.”
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WHO’S WHAT? ARCTIC CHAR & DOLLY VARDEN. Part 2: The Inuit.

To date I have had the great fortune of spending extended periods of time in twelve Nunavut communities spread across all three regions of the Territory. Far north, south, east and west, it has been a privilege to stand in all four corners, through my work constantly meeting new people while traveling and stationed in the many towns. An excellent ice breaker I have often found with northerners of any generation, is to share stories of hunting, fishing and the outdoor life. People want to tell their story, it often brings them happiness to share their ways, their culture and past experiences. It is a rare thing to ever meet someone who does not feel excited giving the details of a successful hunt, a winning fish caught in the spring ice derby, or some cool and rare life lesson learned while out on the land. I quite like to spend any extra time granted with my patients, hearing their stories. Sometimes they like to hear mine too.

Because I don’t hunt, conversations that go on longer tend to lean into fishing. On my phone can be found many photos of what I feel are my exceptional fish caught all across Canada and beyond. The char are rather exceptional too, as there are places where I have caught some of the most big and vibrant red fish. So when I pull up the pictures to show-off or prove that the stories shared are not lies, there is usually a wonderful response to follow.

Across much of Nunavut when showing pictures of char they recognize a fish that has sustained their existence for thousands of years. But, most often when I present a photo of the Tree’s Dolly Varden, responses are vastly different.

Kimmirut K.P. “Sometimes we get salmon like that too.”

Cambridge Bay. F.H. “Tree River fish are Dolly Varden, here they are Arctic Char.”

Coral Harbour. M.N. “Sometimes we get those. My husband caught a salmon at Kirchoffer
Falls.” (shows me a picture of a rare Atlantic salmon)

Cambridge Bay. (unknown fisherman) “You ever fish the Tree? I moved here from Kugluktuk, we have really big Dolly Varden over there.”

Kugluktuk. (Wildlife Office) “Yeah, we call them Arctic Char but they’re mostly Dolly Varden. We get the odd char around here, even got a shark last summer too.”

Grise Fiord A.A. “Whoa! Big. Is that a salmon?”

Gjoa Haven. T.N. “In summer we go to Bathurst Inlet. Big char there too but they don’t look like that.”
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A vast majority of Canada’s Inuit people whom I have spoken with about Arctic char are not familiar with Dolly Varden. Responses to my pictures that include such comments above, people’s surprised expressions and impressions, tell me that Dolly Varden are either quite uncommon or, a sight totally foreign to most Inuit outside of the western Kitikmeot region. However, the Tree River is the most special place I have ever visited to fish, for anything, anytime, anywhere! It’s not only the most magnificent Arctic Char or Dolly Varden that swim there which make it special, it’s… well… just something magical, life changing, indescribable! What swims there in those waters could be nameless, and they would still be worth the trip.
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The weather was perfect. Sunny, light western breeze and a comfortable high of 20C, could not have been scripted any better. Waking about 430am a heavy protein fuel breakfast, coffee and plenty water, all dressed in fishing and riding gear I set out. About a two hour run I was eager to reach fishy waters long before most locals would even rise from their beds.

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CAMBRIDGE BAY 2024.

Location is key.
Experience is golden.
Confidence a must.
Timing is everything.

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Within minutes of reaching the shore arctic char were moving by me in small schools. Sometimes over the water circular calm spots would actually appear and flatten the ripples. The odd “V” wake could momentarily show here and there. I’d begin casting well back from the waters edge, working the cast over some land and landing the spoon into tighter, shallower waters closer to shore. If seeing tell tales of fish, I’d place a cast to that. When schools of char roamed in tight enough to shore that I could make them out, crouching down and even sitting if at waters edge, I was less likely to be seen and they less likely to spook. I took the first cast at 8:02am and by 9:00am had hooked, landed, photographed and released seven char, with an eighth only moments following the hour. A char about every seven and a half minutes. My mind was exploding!

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The top spoon was a Devle Dog. Mr. John Cleveland of Eppinger spoons last year had recommended the Dardevlet for char but I had no luck with those at all. The Devel Dog however rarely gets action because I have only ever had so few of them, but on some trips that lure has been the bomb! This one being the last I had in the box, it was after the third fish it got snapped on and nearly the next dozen or so char just crushed it… until one brute broke it off. After that, no spoon on this day would compare.
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Catching a bleeder at the noon hour I figured it was time to begin harvesting. The four hours casting away I was alone and managed a total of fourteen char, losing two as well. The first hour alone had caught half of those numbers, the latter three hours the other seven char. Two seals had come into the area about 10:00am though, to hang around a half hour or so. Better fisherman than I, they must have chased some char out as the bite took time thereafter to recover.

Before long other anglers would begin showing up. Some char would be caught but overall the bite began winding down. The end of day ride back to town at low tide was mint. Adding three more char to the limit, the fridge freezer was stacked half full with thirty pounds of de-boned, skin-on char fillets destined for home.

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Fresh grizzly tracks on the trail were found just after Bob the superstitious scolded me for uttering a few words about the man-eating nightmare. A cooler day with plenty of sun and some more corn syrup in the tank, we were walking the walk to char. Already on our hike an Arctic fox had been curiously following behind, while Bren picked some blueberries and Labrador tea and I took a moment to peek at 2 to 4 inch char-fry scooting about the shoreline stones with the sculpins.

TREE RIVER 2011.

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 would provide.

Jigs and Pixie spoons, Cleos the odd time. Bren was a tonne easier on the tackle this day, losing far less to snags. 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. I think florocarbon kinda helped too, the way you’d expect it would in both clear and rocky conditions. Char don’t actively feed in the river, but they do bite down to crush things drifting by. Sometimes, they crushed our offerings. 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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We had a reservation booked with the Territory of Nunavut to have lunch atop the cliffs overlooking Third Falls on the Tree River. 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.

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 falls of about 25 feet. We wanted time to stand still. Having been there once, it felt like a first time all over again.
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Bren hadn’t caught a fish all day and after lunch she was a woman possessed. We tried casting to the depths of the Third Falls pool but it’s such a big spot that one can not barely whip a long cast half ways across it. In a sense, it is good the hole is too deep and tricky for anglers to really fish, char reaching their birthplace pool should be left alone I suppose.

Back at Second Falls after lunch, I released a couple smaller char before loading up on a silver bullet which rocketed away with a 4-inch white twistertail. She had a wee bit of piss and vinegar in her and actually tried leaping the falls upward while hooked.

Bren would take about no more of it, and so she greased me out of the good spot and got to work peppering cast after cast to the exact same river seam where the froth met the clear water right at the base of the falls. Bob overheating, with boots off and kickin’ back on a “rocky-chair” was sprung to his feet and thrown into a race. Bren had a brute on the line finally.

Snapping photos and helping adjust Bren’s drag a little, the fish wanted to hit the big current and be surely rippin’ gone. She had to keep hard pressure on it and the barbless spoon tight in yap with that rod tip sky high. She forgets to breathe fighting big fish and was turning mad red for an olive gal, while Bob and I were cheering her on. Man she does me proud when she fishes… except when she started doing the “can-opener” on the reel arm to try and gain line on the fish.

She played it perfect enough as the results did show. No E.A.P. suckaz, no need. Bren did it again for the second time on the Tree River. She caught the biggest one. Half an inch longer than her PB but shy in girth, she weighed a 20 pounder to slide in just under her best fish in 2008 that was 21 pounds. Lady luck? I don’t think so anymore. Bren is a very quick study and after her day one struggles with losing tackle, her day two casts were quite accurate, manipulating snags while retrieving and often drift jiggin’ the spoon came easier, and she picked her spots… especially when finding the right time to pluck the big one from it’s underwater lair. Congrats babycakes… the best shot for sure. Now can we get that fish replica mounted for the living room?
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Bren released the fish and went straight back to casting for more. Bob takes me aside and says, “you know, most women after fighting a fish like that would take a break.”
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The Tree River’s World Record Arctic char caught in 1981 weighed a whopping 32 pounds, 9 ounces, although claims of bigger fish up to 36-37 pounds have been made. Fish in this river tend to double the size of average char found throughout the rest of the world. Coronation Gulf where the Tree flows into the ocean, is also nown for it’s exceptionally large char in other places too, such as around Victoria Island and westward to the Coppermine River and even Alaska. The Tree’s char are quite unique, in that small bio and behavior studies link them very closely to Dolly Varden, a more rare char-like relative not quite as similar in appearance and size to the more common Arctic char like those found across the globe.
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The next fish stayed on and UGGGHHHH, made it totally worth getting Covid for FFS! The moment the right fish hits is truly something to love. But it’s just before the fish hits, in those seconds you know without a doubt it’s coming because you feel it right deep down inside of you, that there’s the passion. And the long cast for this fish, to where it needed and I wanted it to go, was perfect! I knew it and felt that was the cast and the fish God’s I had been swearing at earlier in the week, well they did me one holy solid.

KUGAARUK 2022.
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I lost another fish afterwards. And then while watching the pool I had a very big fish breach again not more than about thirty feet from me. Hit it, hit it, hit it, hit it. Casting the spot, casting the area, straight retrieve, jig retrieve, speed up, slow down and finally BOOOOOM!!! Right at my feet this fish was in the fastest part of the current throwing headshakes like a laketrout, but it was no laker. In the clear water I watched everything. It didn’t run, it didn’t! It was surprising, the char are more like steelhead but less jumpy, it didn’t run. And then, it did! Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzztttttttttt shhhhhnaaaaapp!!! Took the leader off the braid at the knot but left me wondering if that knot didn’t somehow rub a rock on the run..? Checked my watch, 9:00pm, didn’t have my glasses with me and tying a new leader under the darkening skies would be slow, so I called it quits at 2 for 5. A half hour walk back to town anyways, by the time I reached my pad the skies opened up. Such a great char night that left me wanting more but surely as shit made me feel like I needed a little less now too… Her flesh was gorgeous under the blade and she will make my wife very happy at the table…
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The Inuit of Kugaaruk were amongst the last indigenous peoples in North America to have contact with Europeans in the latter part of the 19th century. Inuit have lived in the area for thousands of years as this was an important place for both caribou and sea mammal hunting. Local ice conditions made it was difficult for traders, missionaries, and explorers to reach the area. Today, many within the community continue the traditions of their ancestors.
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Saturday morning arrived beautiful and sunny, the day I had been waiting for. Pulling away from town the familiar scenery catches the eye. Aside from the vast landscape I spotted a couple sandhill cranes, a small caribou and then a fox. Stepping out of the vehicle to take photos, when walking to the birds I felt a tweak in my left foot, like something pulled and then there was pain, but that wasn’t going to stop me.
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Arriving at a good fishing area I hiked to the waters edge, fingers crossed. Flashbacks of red char from the past my wide eyes had hope while scanning the blue… I did not see what I needed to see.

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

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

Right away this char felt mint! Big and strong, it quickly humbled me into a soft chant of fish prayers. Half way to me it then blew up on the surface thrashing, and when that ultra-orange flash coupled with it’s awesome size was first witnessed, those prayers may have switched to faster swears. Knew at that moment it was the prize that could make or break my entire time in Kugaaruk. Six fish had already managed to free themselves… but not this one! NOT THIS ONE! When he came to my grasp the fish suddenly buckled my knees and an immense joy and relief washed over. Honestly I could have cried. It is very well the largest pure strain, ivitarulik that I have walked, waded, ATV’d, stood and a billion times casted to over the past six summers. Hours upon countless hours of aligning the contracts, the work, time, travel, moon and stars to create each Nomad experience and I can not think of a greater, bigger fish caught than this. A beautiful life memory along with a catch, which together define a pinnacle of my angling experiences.
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And with that amazing karma came a next comedy of errors. Just a few eager casts later I snapped that spoon and my leader off the line. A retie and rush move to another area, I was wading into the water when I lost my footing and plunged into the lake up to my chest. It was evidently clear at that point, with soaked clothes and time wasted, that maybe a reset was necessary before charging back to the fishing. I did still have all day.

Some refreshments, a snack, a change of top layers, a rested foot I sat on a boulder for fifteen or so, looked about the surroundings and planned how to best approach the next casts. It worked! The deep breath during the timeout exhaled the demons and the fish were quick to bite again. From then on, the remainder of the day was an absolute slay. Battle after battle, fish after fish to the tune of about 30 to 35 caught and “mostly” released. A legal catch limit of four fish I was sure to bleed out the allowable, then gut and store under rocks in icy cold water cradles ti’ll collection time end of day. So many arctic char, so many larger and brighter char, it was possibly the best Nunavut fishing I ever had.
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Around 4:00pm the bite slowed right down. Between 10:00am and then it was just so on. Stopped here and there for a couple pork chop sandwiches and washed all things down with water straight from the lake. Not another soul was seen all day. The winds did pick up out of the north but the fish for awhile seemed to like that. The last or second last fish was probably the second biggest of the tour too. A thick-kyped, colored up male that looked stunning in front of the camera. Another hour passed, with no obligations to get back to work I could have stayed all evening and into that night but after the eight hours of amazing fishing I was good with finishing then. Fish to clean once back at the apartment, there was a chance of returning early next morning for a half outing kinda thing, so best to rest up, re-pack and ready for that.
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Thanks for reading,
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Bunk.
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All Arctic Char experiences can be found here at the website with full trip details and 100’s of photos. Look for “A NUNAVUT NOMAD” series in the Travel Section for volumes 1 to 9.
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AND!!! Receive links to newly posted stories and follow along with more at Bunk’s Outdoor Angle page on Facebook!
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https://www.facebook.com/bunksoutdoorangle/
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____________________________________________________ AUTHOR & ANGLER.
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I began fishing in my mid teens, dabbling now and again with large and smallmouth bass, brook trout and bullheads during spring and summer. Upon finishing College for Nursing in 1999, I soon after moved from Ottawa Ontario to the remote, fly-in only, First Nations community of Attawapiskat. While working there I began having a greater appreciation for fishing as a summer outdoor hobby and year round study. Two years later, I found myself moving to the island town of Moose Factory with my girlfriend, she would later become my wife. Over the next eight years my passion for fishing continued to grow by leaps and bounds, learning and experiencing more and more with every passing season. Fishing kept me happy, grounded, focused and busy. It provided so many different challenges, so much to learn about, an incredible amount of possibility and imagination. I was hooked!

With the introduction of the internet and Fishing Forums in the early 2000’s these social groups would become very much an integral part of my entertainment, study and motivation. It would come to be that I had a gift for story-telling and photography, and those finding me online would often be supportive and appreciative of any adventures shared. Their kindness elevated my pride and drive to be better and better with fishing, writing and photography. Mastering that whole package was my process and goal. Mid 2000’s for something to do, I would take a writing and outdoor journalism course and receive a diploma from the North American School of Outdoor Writing in B.C. With this would come a few short years of publication with several fishing magazines. That was kinda cool, but not always enjoyed, for my style of writing and incorporating many photos would often be too grandiose for print. A visual-story teller which many have said “brings others along” for the experience, is how I have always enjoyed to write. Basically, I’d rather readers feel the words as strongly as they relate with and understand them.

The decade in the remote north I would explore the many lakes and rivers fishing for walleye, pike, resident and searun brook trout and even a little whitefish and sturgeon. When quiet on nightshifts or weekends at work, fly-tying and lure making was another hobby for passing time and, so to was researching fishing all across Canada. Around the house, I could not get enough information and was always looking for more, every day. Books, magazines, T.V., many forums and eventually social media, map books and software, guide books, lodge and outfitter websites, fishing was and still is a constant study to this day. In Moose Factory I would buy my first boat, then another, a few snowmobiles, and with those tools escape to fish every chance I could.

Mid 2009 my family would leave Moose Factory for the Ottawa Valley. By then I had made friends through the Fishing Forums and after years of reading about the fishing back home here, making the transition to new waters was not all that difficult. The first fall I’d chase smallmouth bass and try the luck with muskie. As the next years came I would continue on with walleye, pike and brook trout, and add longnose gar, crappie, steelhead, lake trout, splake, rainbows, browns and sturgeon. Eventually, summers that included Arctic char fishing would be found through casual work contracts in Nunavut.

Steadily over the past 15 years I have enjoyed fishing to the tune of about 100 to 120 days a year. Aside from the Yukon, I have visited all other Provinces west of Quebec and both northern Territories. Over the last decade I have taken on some guiding through outfitters and at home, and continued to write for the website. The first big fishing vacations I ever took were to Costa Rica for Pacific sailfish and British Columbia for white sturgeon, both in 2003. Since then I have enjoyed many more annual trip experiences solo, with friends or in groups, that have included great fish such as marlin, shark, tuna, salmon, arctic char, trophy lake trout, muskie, grayling, world class brook trout and more. Never have I found it possible to be a one fish angler only. With well planned timing, during the four seasons there is always something different to chase at its prime, and applying so many styles of angling keeps it fresh and fun. Over the three decades personal choices for favorite fish has changed a number of times. I truly love fish such as brook trout, walleye, pike, longnose gar and steelhead but nowadays, I’d admit to lake trout, muskie and Arctic char taking the top spots. Although I do not live in Nunavut, the summer opportunities for char fishing have played a large part in my overall happiness. All memories from those trips and the many catches, I return to often with great fondness. That species, its fishing and planning, consumes a good portion of my thoughts all year, and when those trip experiences finally do arrive, they receive all of my energy as well. There are few great fish to catch that give as much joy to me as the most beautiful Arctic char do, they carry enormous sentimental value for both a northerner and southerner like me.

Andrew Bunker.
Bunk.
Moosebunk.
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