[Moosebunk]

Wouldn't expect anyone to read all of this fishing report. Our arctic trip was probably the best I have ever taken though, and so to do it any kind of justice I needed to make it the best piece I feel I could have written online, maybe anywhere. Enjoy.


For Larry Willett.



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, probably the best looking fish that swims. To John there was no better catch, and this was the reason he lived to fish each summer from that lake cabin in the Dumoine Hills, where these brilliant fish would readily take the fly.

During 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, except 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 the same place within that told me to go north a decade ago. A char much like the rugged wilderness where the concrete ends and the big blue and pure air skies begin. A fish so elite, it chooses to swim only where all others would seek a warm bath before a hypothermic death.

Reading about char over the years, Ungava became the pinnacle for me, and so finally last year I made plans with my wife to visit an outfitter in the Nunavik region. Over the winter I prepared by tying flies and searching out everything online I could find about Ungava’s char, I even spoke with a local friend here in Moosonee who had worked for the same camp I contacted. Early April came, and after making a number of unanswered attempts over the winter to touch base with our outfitter (Pyramid Mountain Camps) by phone and email, I was forced to give up on them.

Things worked out perfectly though, for our vacation dates matched an availability to fish with Plummer’s Lodge at Great Bear Lake and my loving parents had agreed to watch our girls. A consolation prize Plummer's was not, for if there was ever a destination in my mind which could equal and likely even surpass my dreamy Ungava expectations, it would be having access through Plummer’s to the world record holding char river, the Tree. Immediately we booked, on the condition that I would be requiring some extra time at the Tree for char fishing. They promised to accommodate and I vowed nothing but death would keep me from seeing them in August.


YELLOWKNIFE.

http://en.wikipedia....iki/Yellowknife,_...est_Territories


Conveniently Bren was attending a wedding in Calgary August 7th, so it was just an easy jaunt for her up to Edmonton to join me on the way through from Ottawa to Yellowknife the day after. Our itinerary insured a six hour layover in Oiler fan city to be certain Air Canada would not blow up the plane, crush my luggage, accidentally sever off one of my appendages, or poison me with their $6.00 Quiznos fart-makers. Luckily, me and the belongings nearly made it across the continent unscathed, except for some got rot compliments the roast beef sandwich.

Come the evening flight with First Air we had a little over an hour travel to Yellowknife. Hot towels were followed with complimentary wine, the best airline meal ever and great service. Flying over Great Slave Lake the skies were lit up over this massive arctic waterbody.



When we touched down I found my old highschool buddy Dan and his lovely fiancé Sue waiting for us in the terminal. The real treat in Yellowknife was receiving a first class tour of this intriguing northern city by two locals whom could point out and explain every little detail. I love the north, and it was apparent to me that after Dan and I lost touch 14 years ago, that he moved north as well, over time embracing the same feeling.

Yellowknife has life, and on tour to sites such as Pilot Point, Old Town (the Rock) and a drive around the lake which peeks at the Prospectors Trail and shorelines of Great Slave and other small area lakes, we stopped in for a quick beer at the busiest local bar, The Golden Range. We didn’t stay long in this jam-packed sweat lodge of drunken-dom, as the day in Yellowknife had reached 31C and the buildings there were built to keep out cold and hold heat in.



View from our hotel room at The Explorer Inn



Pilot's Point, atop The Rock.

With the 5:00am wake-up call I had back in Ottawa 22 hours earlier; to what with the time change was now 1:00am Yellowknife time, from Dan and Sue's back deck of their new home, Bren and I said goodnight after a couple drinks. What a great evening.


PLUMMER'S

http://www.canadianarcticfishing.ca/


Plummer’s charters with First Air a 737 to fly anglers to its own gravel airstrip on the Dease Arm of Great Bear Lake. At take-off next morning nearly 100 seats were occupied on the flight which would take us all above the 67th parallel and into the arctic circle.

On route I pulled out my Plummer’s Arctic Lodge Information Handbook and started to make any notes of interest.

The handbook writes about all three of Plummer’s advertised angler destinations on the lake.

The lodges one can choose to visit are noted in the book. There’s the main lodge, Great Bear in the Dease Arm (northeast) of the lake which offers good all around laker and grayling fishing and the only fly-in access to the Tree River for world record arctic char. Another site named Neiland Bay boasts to be the best pike fishing and is a “lake trout hot spot.” The last available lodge is Trophy, and the name eludes to its lake trout fishing.

See Great Bear Lake is the fourth largest lake in North America, the largest lake entirely within Canada and the seventh largest lake in the world. It’s massive with five main arms kind of giving the waterbody a shape like an X but with a tally-whacker dangling from the south. Plummer’s pretty much has a lodge on four of the five arms of the lake except in the southwest arm where the small town called Deline (del-in-ay) is located. Much of the land surrounding Great Bear is governed by the Sahtu and Dene Bands, as well as caribou, grizzly, muskox, moose, wolf and much more regional wildlife. It’s heaven on earth, and a land where there is good chance you could be the first to ever step on ground which has remained to this day what it has been since the beginning of its time.

Lake trout are one thing. Some guys go to Great Bear Lake expecting huge fish, but for once in my case, I told myself I would be happy with a laker over just a "measly" 20 pounds. The fishing was more about the char and the Tree River, and the trip was just as much about Bren’s enjoyment as my own. This was her first big fishing trip with me and I prayed she would have a good time; and that usually means steady fishing action, … and yeah, I prayed for just one char too.

It seemed I must have only blinked because we were soon on the ground looking off into the distance at our home away from home for the week.



They took care of the bags. Bren and I simply followed a couple fellas-in-the-know right into the main lodge where we could buy our fishing licenses and get our room assignment. Once we did finally get settled into our cabin it was only a few minutes before we hear a "helloooo" from the front door. Bren and I stepped outside on the walk to meet a tall, aging fella, smoking a big cigar.

"Hi, my name's Larry and I'll be your guide... or, at least until ya bump me midweek." I thought his comment a little peculiar and asked, "whatta ya mean ti'll we bump ya? "Well, that's just what some people do. You might get tired of me and want to try someone else." Pondering his words he gave me a sinking suspicion we would either not like him for some reason, or, he had little confidence. "Anyway," Larry continued, "When you're ready to go fishing I'll be down by the docks waiting in boat #7."

I was jonzing to head out for a little anglination on the ole Grand Lac de L'Ours. When Larry pulled up dockside I said aloud, "Lunker Larry and Lucky Number Seven," which the lunker part Larry confessed to be amusing and he gave a brief chuckle. Loaded up it was 2:00pm and we were soon off in search of beaucoup de lac truite.

Fishing started slow in a busy part of the lake where alot of guides were taking arriving anglers. Being later in the day Larry mentioned we wouldn't stray far, but seeings how he could sense our (likely just my) eagerness to get on fish, he changed his mind and we did take off on a half hour ride down into a narrows.



Flatlining Husky Jr's, Bren's choice of the firetiger spoon almost immediately put her on a fish. When she began to let out line Larry told her to put the lure back 75 feet, and Bren for the rest of our time fishing lakers with Larry never trolled a spoon with anything more or less than that exact 75.

The fish she managed to catch came with some difficulty for she was not at all used-to a bigger line-counter reel and stout musky rod. It was great having this area of the lake to ourselves but even better seeing Bren enjoy catching her first lake trout.



Shortly after on a 5 of Diamonds Husky Jr I pegged a laker too. I asked Bren for the count. Larry laughed, "I can tell you take your fishing pretty serious." "Ummm, yeah Larry, I like to catch fish," I grinned.



We only ended up with a short two hour fish. The first bite took awhile before we eventually arrived at the narrows. When it was quitting time Bren and I had gone even keel at seven lakers each. All the trout were greys not reds, and the average size was about what is posted here in the pics. Catching lakers on the surface in early August was a pretty cool thing, the rods never went in a holder either and it was fun setting the hooks ourselves.



At dinner we met a number of anglers. The Ministers from the States, John, Don and the two Bills, all super nice fellas. The British Connection of Nicholas (the only friendly one of the four) and a contest trip winner Peter, whom Bren dubbed the flirt. The Germans, whom started quiet with people but turned out to be awesome, worldly traveled doods. Team Shimano and BassPro, and with the exception of Lee and Jackie I forgot the other two's names. They were quite trophy hungry Torontonians but took plenty time to relax and socialize, and it was funny that Lee first introduced himself by asking if I was Moosebunk. Great guys all of them. There was also Lyn and Jamie from Oshawa, the father and son duo whom by midweek we befriended and really enjoyed their company. Jamie shares a love for scotch, travel and fishing so it was quite easy to hit it off with him. His dad seemed to adore Bren and I think the feeling was mutual. And later in the week we talked with Chummy Plummer himself as well as his personal friends Ken and Jerry whom receive a free pass each summer to come and go as they please.

Bren and I had finished a delicious steak dinner when the lodge manager Shane approached me and said, "you two are headed for the Tree first thing in the morning. No problem if you'd like to stay two nights. Pack your bags" This was music to my ears, exactly how I wanted it to go down, I was pumped.


TREE RIVER.

http://www.dfo-mpo.g...har-omble_e.htm


Larry popped into the tackle shop the next morning. Bren and I were in line to buy our Nunavut fishing licenses, as we were about to board a turbo Otter float plane for a two hour flight which would take us out of the Northwest territories and into the neighbouring province. Before we could escape with a couple extra spoons and jigs for the arctic char, Larry kindly took a moment to draw out a map of the river and highlight some of the fish holding pools; as he remembered them.

I took a seat in the cockpit with our pilot Gary and off we went. In the air the land gradually changed from rocky and sparsely treed tundra to absolute barren and scarred rocky ground with many lakes and the odd lush, green grass, river valley.



During flight we were in and out of the clouds until we finally dropped down on approach to the Tree. This little micro-continent was like a tropical oasis amidst some of the most harsh and isolated barrens of the world. This the home of the planets biggest arctic char.



The camp soon came into view. (looking upriver)



On the ground we met our Tree guide Trevor. A fisheries biologist from Campbell River BC, he was taking his two weeks summer vacation to enjoy some guiding on his favorite river. Right away Bren and I got the sense he was as eager to fish on his first day at camp as we were. Alot of full moons had passed to arrive here, there was really no point in watching another pass us by. Unfortunately, we were forced to thoroughly enjoy some French Onion soup then an arctic char and rice brunch before we could get hiking.

I chose to use the same gear I had been trolling the lakers with. An 8 1/2 foot medium salmon/steelhead casting rod with a new Accurist spooled up with 17lb P-Line. Bren required a spinning outfit so she had my 7 foot Frontier with a Symetre spooling 30lb Power Pro. The lures of choice for char are spoons like Pixies, Cleos and Devledogs in the one ounce range, otherwise white hair or twister tail jigs of about the same weight.

The upper river from camp has 2 1/2 miles of fishable and hikeable waters. Three major sets of rapids all in the class 5 and 6 range, power current through this narrow stretch leaving a number of small tight eddies, and the odd bigger slack water pool. The char can only swim so far and usually spawn at a pool below a waterfall 25 feet high which our guide Trevor refers to in fisheries talk as "a definite barrier to migration." Reportedly only a small number of fish have ever been seen able to actually jump that height. Amazing if true.

Walking tight slopes and slippery hills Bren and I had casted a few spots over the course of a couple hours, when finally it happened. I hooked and landed this awesome and gorgeous red male char. Trev helping with the shoreline net job.







Mission accomplished. Could close the book now if I wanted too after achieving what I set out for. Thing was, we moved upriver a little more and I managed to quickly hook and land a second smaller fish. This was awesome.





This char in the water pic might as well have been painted by van Gogh. Not as red as the other, still a colorful healthy male specimen for sure.

Bren and I had expected to be cold considering just four miles downriver from the camp was Coronation Gulf of the Arctic Ocean. We were both considerably layered and carrying a fair bit of gear for what turned out to be a five mile hike up and down hills and along rocky river shorelines. Both of us were overheating as the temp reached about 25C and we had long-johns, pants and waders on, as well as two pairs of socks and a number of shirts. The only reprieve was when along the way we dipped our cups in the river and drank the pure, frigid, Tree water.

I caught a couple of small lakers, and on route also watched the peregrine falcons glide along the cliffs surely keeping an eye out for one of the many ptarmigan that pecked in the fields. Sik-siks (a sort of Prarie dog) were abundant as well, often popping their heads out of their holes to watch us go by.











And finally the end of the road for anglers, the falls. Atop of this, the river goes for miles and miles, eventually joining up with the two large lakes which form the headwaters.





Bren had been fishing hard all day, probably harder than me. Trev had been great with her, staying close and sometimes helping her 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 was like a rocky ledge of which the lure had to get into the deep side, get down quick in the current and char's face, then somehow pop up from the depths and jump over the shallow step without getting caught up on the rocks. I had jigged walleye in a number of river places just like this over the years, but still, it was a challenge, for Bren it was totally new. Funny thing was, she had no quit in her and just accepted the likely 100 times she got snagged. She always managed to somehow pop off, 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 her reserved quiet excitement. And a helluva fish it was too, for when it breached the surface and thrashed we caught sight of a large char.

It was one of the bigger pools and Bren had plenty room to play. It may as well have been a fresh river chinook that instead of using it's power on the runs, used up it's energy dogging, thrashing and taking short but very hard bursts. But the fish at home in his river tired quickly of the confines of the pool and drove fast to the current. Trev and I went after it downriver with the net, hoping it would cut out of the rushing stream and tight to shore in a narrow eddy.

The fish did this, but we couldn't quite reach it safely with the net. Bren was still trying to hold the fish from all the way back at the pool. The drop from where she was to where the fish was now put her line directly across a small rocky peninsula jutting out from the river bank. I was a little panicked. I could not see her lose this fish, but the braided line was actually rubbing the rocks right at my feet as I stood between her and the fish on the point. I went to Bren who was concentrating hard on keeping the line tight and her single barbless hook firmly embedded in the fishes yap.

I grabbed her shoulders and began walking her down the slippery stoned river bank to her char. She kept the rod tip high, the pressure on, and reeled up 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 the line still occassionally rubbing the rocks ahead of her, the closer we got, the less frequent our worry. As 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.

In this very moment Bren joined a pretty elite group of people in this world, she caught a 21 pound arctic char. And the cool thing was, we had been so oblivious in the chaos we didn't even notice the three other anglers who had come along and watched the whole thing go down. My girl rocks.



A happy but tired expression, and then the release...



It wasn't even supper yet and already I felt as though we had done so much. Heck, it had probably been a couple years since bushwhacking for brookies that I'd walked five miles in an afternoon. Before reaching camp Bren and I stopped for this hillside picture, compliments of Trevor.



If I lived on the Tree all summer I could certainly lose some of that belly hiking for char everyday.

The Shimano and BassPro doods were in camp with us, as well as the German's, a father and son team from Iowa, and two old jewish fellas from out of New York. Dinner time, Lee from Shimano talked about the numbers of fish he, Mercer, Big Jim and others had two years prior. Seemed he was disappointed with the slow fishing this time around. Me, I was content with my two char for the day and Bren's one tanker for her. The conversation made me think of Jim though, who I spoke with before the trip. I wondered how he's making out with his cancer treatments and thought how great it would have been if he could have been with the Shimano guys this time around to fish the Tree with Bren and I too.

While some of the camp went back out fishing after dinner to persue a fish as big as Bren's, I grabbed a bottle of wine for the two of us and had one of the guides, Chance, take us out to the arctic ocean to see the sunset. We thought we'd have the boat to ourselves but last minute the German's jumped aboard with us. Away we went on the river for some sight seeing then, stopping along the way to explore the coastal tundra.



On route to a grave site where a woman had created some sort of lethal love triangle for a couple or horndog knuckleheads.



The kinds of things that just grow on rocks.



Ryolite... second hardest to Granite. Quite shapely ya feel like Q-Bert jumping around on blocks. Anyone remember Q-Bert for Atari???





This years graffitti will be next years hyroglyphics.



In this puddle grows cottongrass. The Inuit use the tops of the plant as wicks for their oil lamps, stuffing for mattresses, or even clumps of it in kids undies for diapers. Young caribou that feed on the grass grow fast and healthy and snowgeese eat the plant during their migration.



It started to rain a little once we reached the sea, but Bren found some company that talks more than she does, and so she didn't want to leave but instead hear more about life in the north.



Looking out to Coronation Gulf on the Arctic Ocean at the mouth of the Tree River, Nunavut.

We took the boat right out onto the ocean to dip our hands and sip the mildly saline waters. The waves were calm, as they often are at the top of the world where there is little tide. We looked north and saw Santa in the distance sitting on the Pole, then turned and rode back to camp.

A fog rolled in overnight and the winds switched from the south to the north. Fishing the lower part of the river by boat with our guide Trevor, during the morning we moved no fish while our teeth chattered away. We had dried our clothes of the sweat by the oil stove in our cabin, now we wore far too few layers on a morning that seemingly must have been about 5C. To make it worse was the damp and rain.

Upon sitting down at camp for lunch it was reported that only one char had been caught during the morning. One of the BassPro lads had brought up a centre-pin and 9 foot noodle and he had some success drifting a microjig. The weather being so sour, after the meal strangely Bren and I were the only two anglers in camp willing to brave the cold and rain by beginning a hike back upriver to where we had gone the day before. Our guide was happy with that, but one new eager guide named Rob said to Trev on the way out, "why do you have to get the hardcores?"

Instead of spoons I decided on white 3/8 ounce jigheads and 4-inch white twistertails, actually it may have been Trevor's suggestion to do so. The switch paid off, for after a long and direct two-mile hike over very slippery wet hillsides and soaked fields, the first eddy I cast to coughed up a mediumish male char.



These fish are made for the profile-macro-setting shots. Just stunning.



Larry back at Great Bear Lodge, before we left for the Tree told us to expect about two char a day, so far we were on par with that. We were slowly retreating back towards camp working all the spots to ourselves that afternoon, when the second fish of the day took a well placed jig on the cheek while swimming around in the tailout of the President's Pool. It was a strong fish and when we finally got it to shore I saw why.



This char was the first of it's kind for this trip. I had caught my first "she," and we all know a good woman will kick-yer-arse when need be.

Bren thought she would join in for a pic. Poor girl was still fish-less for the day. In fact, on the Tree Bren only ever managed the one big fish for her efforts.



Just in case Ole' George reads the Moosebunk reports, I thought I'd thank him for leaving a char in the pool for me, and let him know his honey hole still holds the odd beauty.



Trev had been watching me while Bren was on break. I could see the odd red swirling throughout the pool and I had been trying to place the perfect cast on this one for some time. "Drew. Try to hit your cast right there," as he pointed to a small dark hole in the shallows a full cast length away. "Hit that," he explained, "then let your jig swing slow right across the very top of that drop off of the tailout." I put it right there like he said, and on the swing spotted a large red flash to chase the jig. I repeated with a cast just off the mark, but on the third attempt put the lure right on the fish. SWWWIICCCK, the rod tip came up and then bent over to the butt.

It was mine. It tried to pull but I pulled harder. Soon enough it was in my grasp.



This was my big char at 36.5 (L) by 21.5 (G) inches. A char into 18 pounds, and the same weight as my first char the day before which had been a half an inch shorter. I was quite happy with this brute, as I had been with them all. Imagine catching a steroidal brookie of 18 pounds............ wait a minute, I don't have too, hehehe.



Was the last fish of the day. Returning to camp, drying out and warming up before dinner was much needed. Around the site the gaggle-flock-whatever of ptarmigan were out cruising for whatever gaggle-flocking-ptarmigan cruise for.



Bren and I hit the shower and I no sooner got the soap all lathered up and shampoo suds bubbling on the nogging when the hot water turned icy cold, then right off. What is it about the arctic that makes it so frizickin' cold and harsh all the time, eh? Regardless, I loved the challenges, even simple unexpected twists like the shower.

Early risers, I was stoked to get in one more quick fish before 11:00am when the first plane would arrive to pick us up. Thing about that though was, a big hill / little steep mountain of about 200 feet high maybe, lay beside the camp and I wanted some pics of the Tree from it's top. Trev being the good sport and Bren always begging me to exercise more, both were game to make the climb. I have to admit, my cardio blows-goats.



I obviously made it though... one coronary event later.



This was the shot I wanted.

We got about an hour and a half for fiznishin. Trev parked the boat on some rocky island and after reading the water and moving around a little, I watched three fresh char move into the pool. I picked a fish then dropped the jig on his face. Booooyah!!! Charzi-licious



This large male may have not been my biggest on the Tree but it sure as shynola was the sexiest male I caught. I was gay over this fella with his manly kipe and ultra-neon-red skin. This arctic char was so fiery red that gazing upon it's glow too long could have melted my retinas and premanently charred my brain.



Well, I had one blistered and broken big left toe to show for my time hiking like 12 miles on the Tree over the couple days. Never do that again for seven char... NOT!!! This place was awesome. The Tree, a real arctic oasis imagined by some god of splendor then created to warm souls from the bitter stone and ice which have always protected it. I've set myself up to fish some great places in the last few years but this Tree River takes the cake. Absolutely the ultimate for fish and scenery. When the plane came though, I was ready to get a change of clothes, some big lodge comforts and to take it a little easier on a laker troll. But first we had to get back...............

This post has been edited by Moosebunk: 30 September 2008 - 06:22 PM

[Moosebunk]

KUGLUKTUK.

http://atlas.nrcan.g...ies/kugluk.html


The flight path was a little different for the return. The plane needs so much extra fuel on board for safety so, that meant we couldn't fly direct but instead were required to make a gas-stop along the way. I was actually happy with this, for it meant we were going to fly the coastline half of the way until we reached the northern town of Kugluktuk. The sites were spectacular.









The hour long tour flew us over a number of hunt and fish camps owned by the Inuit of the area. The closer to Kugluktuk the more human presence we would see, until finally the town was in view.



At port in the bay by town was a Canadian Coastguard ship, stupidly I never thought to take a pic. When we pulled up to the dock the fuel truck was quick to meet us, although, the pilot said there was time to check out the place, so we did.





Kugluktuk could also be called Coppermine seeings as how it's located at the mouth of this historic river of exploration times. Walking the streets it reminded me very much of Attawapiskat except that instead of being built on clay everything is instead placed on rock. A little further up the road we saw a familiar sign, "Northern Store." I thought I'd check the prices and see if they were comparable to my old home back in northern Ontario.















OUCH!!! You go to the store for these seven items and that will be 75.81 plus tax. And yeah, those cases of Pepsi are 12 packs.

You see, to these Kugluktuk people and many like them in the other northern communities, you tamper with their Native Rights to fish and hunt for sustinence on their home lands, you starve them. Much of the northern Inuit and Aboriginals outside of the public metro eye need to harvest, continue to harvest, and only try to supplement with foods from the store like this. And the hunt is what will also keep them healthy, diabetes and obesity free. Impose rules on the southern Bands traditional harvest rights; as they live cheap, susidized and without true need to live off the land anymore, what plan will come next for others. This really is what I would call food for thought, and sadly, if the prices were even par with Toronto that could only kill, just the same as dying starved. Now another harsh cost is fuel too, and this will limit the hunts.

On my way out the door I got a chuckle from this notice on the public bulletin board. "Or just plain ole stolen."



And that was Kugluktuk as I briefly saw it. The town was sort of busy with people buzzing around on 4-wheelers. Living a decade in the north I could see this place being an interesting life experience.

Pretty cool spot to visit on the arctic ocean. After leaving Kugluktuk Bren had a good nap on the flight while I oddly became nauseated. Shimano Lee was feeling the same way. The ride was a little turbulent but their was a smell of fuel in the plane that didn't air out. I opened my eyes a few times and luckily saw a moose and caribou on route but the rest of the time I was fighting the "chundah from down undah." We landed accident free though.

Back at Great Bear Larry was quick to get us out into the boat for fresh air and a short afternoon fish before dinner. Bren whupped me out on the glass calm waters, catching six lakers to my two. Seems her nap paid off. I went to bed early and exhausted that night but with a real good feeling for the next day.


FALCON ISLAND

http://www.dfo-mpo.g...t-touladi_e.htm


The Shimano boys showed up early at our cabin door bearing gifts and a spooled Tekota for me to use as my back-up Abu bit the bullet. Two great doods for sure we all took little time to talk because the lakers were calling.

Larry was waiting in the boat by the dock. We three took off down the Dease stopping to fish a shallow shoal off a point at what they call Jimmy D's Rock. Larry began to explain the name of this spot when my line was struck hard by a fish. So far so good, the new Shimano garb seemed lucky already.



A rock solid big laker reward.



The morn was pretty grey and damp but I kind of welcomed that. It wasn't like any other day we had laker fished yet, and so my belief was I might have been bang on with my last nights preminition for this day.

Larry kept us moving, not staying long on Jimmy D we zipped over to Falcon Island and set the lines for a short troll. Bren was nodding off and I had to give her the odd nudge, I didn't want to see my gear just slip out of her hands. She was borderline asleep again when something woke her up for good.

The rod buckled right over and Larry gave a quick acceleration to help set the hook. In neutral now, the boat slowed to a stop before Bren could even move the fish. I watched keenly when Bren said "it's heavy" and Larry replied, "good fish."

What a freakin' dog. The laker tugged hard to stay on bottom, testing Bren and the 20 pound mono line. During the week though she had much improved with the outfit I had given to her to use, and I imagine the hooked laker knew it was up against an opponent as equally defined as itself.

One simple mistake and the barbless hook could pop. Bren kept stress on the fish and slowly gained line, counting down on the reel counter as the fish came up. When Larry was close enough he quickly scooped the big girl into the net.



Bren with her definite personal best laker. It was a looooong fish although somewhat anorexic. Big enough on an empty stomach for sure, Larry and I kind of wondered what it would have weighed had it eaten a ten pound laker before being caught. Regardless of that thought, it still would have been the same strong big grey that gave Bren one of the best fish fights of her life.

I couldn't believe my girl, first the 21 pound arctic char, now the 27 pound laker. She was killing me in the big fish department, and in numbers on the lakers too. Her trout was just a monster for sure.



Larry was not one bit surprised by Bren's fishing. He has been a guide all over the place since 1964 and has now spent the last 15 years with Plummer's, remaining their most experienced. "Women always out-fish the men," he remarked. "The topic has come up countless times amongst guides, all agree it's the truth, but we can only guess as to why." He had me interested. "Way I see it is their more patient and often have their lines in the water longer."

Larry was certainly onto something. I had already switched lures a couple times that morning while Bren was still using one of the same two spoons she chose as favorites on her first day. Same thing with the arctic char, she picked the pretty spoon she liked first thing, and didn't stop casting it for six hours before finally bagging the one big fish that really counted. Not many guys I fish with would stick to three lures in four days of fishing. I had gone through the box of spoons I had, probably twice by now.



( Bren's two choices, the firetiger Husky and the weeks best spoon the hammered pink/silver/yellow Husky. I had a fair share of fish come on the 5 of D's and the hammered chartreuse/copper Husky's )

After Bren's fish the light rains lifted and we stopped for our first shorelunch. Falcon Island was a beautiful choice and I could see why it was one of Larry's favorite stops.

Quick exploration of the hills and cliffs, Bren found some early blueberries as well as some new, plump, berry we weren't too sure about.







Bren took one over to Larry and asked what they were. "Bake apples," he told her. "Bake apples?" Turns out their also called cloud berries and they're totally edible. Bren got to picking some more for dessert and in no time filled the bowl. Larry said that where he's from in Nova Scotia it would take some time to find and pick as many as Bren plucked within minutes. Very abundant treat here on Falcon, I took a taste and could see how they might have been good for some people, very much like a mushy apple-raspberry I had just the one, then remembered I don't eat fruit.



Peregrine falcon overhead I walked to the top of the hill and snapped a couple pictures of the big northern landscape.





Bren picking, me pic'ing, I spied on Larry a minute preparing lunch. The ole' fella still young with life he wasn't much for cameras. I liked Larry alot, he had a tonne of character.



Bren quite liked him too.



For lunch was Hawaiian trout and Potatoes O'Brian. I had never tried either but was skeptical of the laker as I have often found them pretty greasy. This wasn't the case with this fish, maybe a little grease but otherwise the best laker I have ever eaten. The potato recipe; or variations of, has already been implemented into my shorelunch repetoire.



The sun came out in the afternoon and Larry had us deep down the Dease Arm fishing near old Fort Henry. The region rich in history, Larry pointed out two locations that would have likely been visited by every major explorer seeking the North-west Passage. His stories and knowledge of the areas history only complimented the fact we were pounding lake trout off the deep backside of this saddle which joined two peninsulas.

In a couple short hours Bren and I caught 21 more laketrout, dropping a few as well. On one pass off the point my rod buckled right to the cork and the boat stopped dead. The heaviest fish I had felt all week, I reeled on it and it moved a few feet towards shoreline before making two massive headshakes and spitting my lure out. I sunk in my chair.

Gazing at the shoreline I stared at Jimmy D's logstick. It became quickly apparent why of all the places in the world, someone before me chose this exact spot to leave his mark in time.

"That's fishing," Larry reminded me. "The lodge had one guest return here 11 years in a row until he finally caught a trout over 20 pounds. But, I remember three women coming here as well, all wealthy coffee brokers. One of them had never fished a day in her life, and she had only just dropped a lure overboard and within two seconds had a giant fish take it. When she reeled it in the guide weighed it in the boat and it had beaten the world record. Thing was, when she submitted the claim for the record it was rejected because the fish hadn't been weighed on shore but in a boat. Can't be done that way."

To claim the world record with IGFA there's a tonne of red tape and particulars that need to be followed. It's at the point where it's not even really worth it in some cases. Larry's convinced Great Bear has beaten the current world record lake trout a number of times and it also holds most of the grayling records as well. The Tree River holds the top 10 biggest char too, and the week before our arrival a man reportedly caught two fish that both could have taken the record. Alas, sportfishing has gone catch and release and although many would love to take a record fish, most if they ever caught such a thing would probably have a hard time convincing their new-age sensitive psyches to kill it. Some places like Great Bear and the Tree don't even give the choice anyways.

Many anglers come to Plummer's with high expectations. Record chasers that come weeks end may only catch but a few fish while they spent their entire time in pursuit of the big one, their dream. Larry's seen many folks come and go who were seemingly disappointed with their trip. "Why put that stress on yourself, you're on vacation and paying good money to come all this way up here," says Larry. "A few guides, the new guys especially with sonars and GPS, get anglers all hyped up to catch the big one. It's easy to tell at supper time how the day went for their boats. If everyone's talking around the table it was a good day, if they're eating fast and quiet like soldiers in a mess-hall army barracks, the day wasn't good." With 25 guides on site and a lifetime of experience it's easy to take Larry's word for it. I was happy for the reminder, we had talked about it as well early in the week. I had just lost the big fish but had a spectacular day catching great numbers of beautiful lakers, one at 20 and Bren's beauty as well at 27 pounds. The whole day top to bottom was full of wonder.






LOUTTIT LANE.

http://en.wikipedia....Arctic_grayling


Fisheries studies noted the largest biomass of lake trout existed on the Dease Arm of Great Bear. Surveys also indicated of the lakes trout populace, 3% of the fish were 20 pounds and over. Commercial fishing has never been permitted on the lake because of the huge amount of time it takes for these fish to grow and regenerate potential numbers lost. The lake trout of Great Bear have few choices for a meal, they are grayling, sculpin, ciscoes, whitefish, ninespines, pike and other lakers. Today we were hoping for a different meal, so we started the day trying to search out laker food, arctic grayling.

"They're a summer fish, pretty fussy," Larry warned. "They move in schools and if you find them at the right time you can catch hundreds." Bren and I didn't need hundreds, we needed only three to feed us for shorelunch, but we each needed one to say we had caught a grayling before.

Things started slow. We drifted the shoreline casting #3 spinners on ultralight spinning gear and hadn't seen a fish until Bren's rod just about near snapped, appeared she'd hooked a red. Indeed Bren had, and a good battle on 6lb test ensued before she could land a red of about 6-7 pounds.

A few casts laters she got hit again. This time, a small but insane little fish gave a brief tussle before coming over the gunnel. Bren's first and what would turn out to be the largest grayling of the trip.



We fished a solid two hours before finally catching three grayling. Bren took one more, and I enjoyed a red laker of my own before finally getting my first and only grayling. I was happy to boat the fish both for the meal and the new specie, but enough of these runts I thought, let's get fishing lakers.



All week we'd been pulling spoons for trout. Most people chose this method but still a smaller percentage like the Flatfish instead. For comforts sake, considering you hold your rod while trolling and set the hook, I hadn't yet tried any of the tiring lures. This morning I had planned too, and so I gave Bren the Tekota to try out on a different rod, and I borrowed the outfit she'd been using all week which I had yet to try.

Four boats were in the same narrows that we had fished on day one. Larry commented that the fishing must be slow, as, many guides were on the move all morning searching for active fish. We started at a distance from the others, dropping Flatfish on a shoreline troll in 30 feet of water.

Only ten minutes had passed when my lure got smoked out over 60 feet. Larry says, "this is a guides moment," referring to the fact he knew I had a big fish and the net was coming out for it for sure.

A big laker just wouldn't come up, staying down and forcing to sound. Other boats must have been watching on, envious during the poor action hours. "Big lakers do that, they just stay down, sometimes forever," Larry smiled. Well, it didn't take forever, not that long really at all. Horsing with heavy gear eventually the reel gained line from 110 feet back to zero. My big laker was in the boat.



We no sooner returned the fish and reset for the troll when Bren hit a fish too. Not nearly as big for a change. Still though, Larry I think was in the moment in front of his other compadres.

Grayling on the menu we stopped on this shoreline point for a quick meal.



Bren took one last look at her catch before consuming it.



The grayling were delicious. Much like a whitefish but with a hint more oils and just a tinge of color to the flesh. Larry is so tired of eating lake trout he won't do it anymore, so the grayling for him made a nice treat too.

The afternoon was a slower fish but Bren and I still managed six more lakers each. I was doing most of the catching early on...



... but later while trolling along an unnamed shoreline we called Louttit Lane, Bren picked up more fish for herself.

Before dinner back at the lodge Bren was schooling some of the fellas at the pool table; I didn’t even know she really played. One of the British men asks, "where did you learn to play billiards like that?" "The arcade," Bren replied. I couldn’t help but love her. She ran table while I took plenty time to look at and read all the great pictures on the walls. George Bush, Wayne Gretzky, Al Lindner... many people; and many, many fish, decorated Chummy Plummer's creation.

It was beyond midweek now and Bren and I had given no thought to bumping our guide Larry for another. There simply are not enough synonyms for the word interesting in the thesaraus that could sum up what Larry is like. At 69 years old, he talked of this maybe being his last year guiding with Plummer's. I would think that sad.

On the wall were five artists renditions summarizing Plummer's people, history, waters and fish. There sketched in fine ink was our guide...



... it read.

A veteran guide of 31 years, Larry Willett from Enfield Nova Scotia, has spent his life in the bush. He is one of the very few people who have seen the phenomenon of schooling lake trout bursting the surface. He and his sports once caught 38 lakers in an hour. "If you take a guy to a place where the environment wraps around him, the inner ego lets go and he can become a part of the land," says Willett.


NARAKAYS

http://www.scapamalt.com/index.aspx


Jamie the night before had helped me out with a good swash of my favorite whiskey. On this morning, not even the table placemat funnies could help with my weee headache.

The lodge at breakfast was buzzing with anglers preparing to take fly-outs to many of the lake hot-spots. The weeks fishing being slower than normal, a number of guys had yet to catch the big fish they were looking for, whatever sizes those may have personally been. Being last chance now, anyone with money to burn and a yearning for a lake trouticus-maximus, was dishing out the dollar bills in hopes to buy a fish. I think Bren and I were the only ones contently broke enough to pass up the opportunity.

The map indicated some of the cool areas you could go to though, and a separate bulletin listed the prices and gave a description of what each site was all about. If I ever return I'd certainly prepare for one or two of these interesting looking options.



Ya see, on the map we'd been fishing out of the main lodge, every time heading northeast to the bottom of the Dease Arm. Today the weather was calm and cool, and because of that we had told Larry it was time to try our luck heading west, towards the big open lake.

We had the world to ourselves when we left the dock. A half hour ride skimmed us along to a spot called Caribou Point, a natural funnel of death for migrating caribou to be taken by hunters.

We dropped the Flatfish for a change and trolled for some time without a hit. At one point I got smoked by something that instantly let go, but that was all for our action until we switched up to spoons and Larry took us to a very confined hole surrounded by shallow flats. Now inside this space I caught the first fish of the day, a small laker and a red. I realized then I had not taken a single picture of any of the reds we had caught all week, this one being our lunch for the day I figured it should be remembered.



Larry wanted to show us this place called Paradise Cove. The scenic shorelunch spot he stated was always a hit with the ladies.

A cluster of islands called the Narakays sheltered Paradise and also held great numbers of fish amidst it's many channels. We were away from Caribou Point and there in no time.

The Narakays might just be the tallest islands on Great Bear. One in particular rises up 450 feet off the water. When we arrived we set off on a shoreline troll in Paradise and I almost immediately hooked a red.

The fish quickly released we began fishing again until Bren says, "you see the fish?" She was sighting lakers along the calm watered rocky shoreline and once Larry and I started looking as well, passing by we spotted dozens and dozens of trout in the 5 to 15 pound range especially. It was mind-blowing.

We stopped the troll and began casting. With our ultralights we tried frantically to get one of the many fish to bite. Cast after cast we worked the shoreline deeper into the cove before finally stopping, convinced they wouldn't take. My belly almost always grumbling I urged we stop for lunch, hopefully giving the fish some time to turn on the feed too.

When Larry beached the boat Bren and I got it on our heads to hike (and climb) up the tallest peak of the Narakays. Hungry and thirsty I almost gave it a second thought but Bren seemed already excited about the quest so she sort of convinced me by beginning to leave my butt behind.



Destination, the top of that, or the morgue.

As we zig-zagged up the hillside the view just got better and better, until...





... finally we reached the top.



Atop the Narakay we let out a few big "HELLOOOOO-S" into the arctic air, calling out to Larry and the rest of the planet. Larry on the ground could see us perfectly and said later how he wished he had had a camera to get a shot of us.

Looking down we could see him too, and in this pic the boat is just a speck on the beach inside Paradise Cove.



Energy replenished by another superb lake trout meal and beer, our trio set sail again around the Narakays in search of biting reds.

The fish hadn't moved, but unfortunately they had not become any hungrier either. With the sun high and lake flat, the light penetrated deep into the water giving us visibility to 30 feet or so. Hundreds and hundreds of lake trout swam beneath our boat while we quietly trolled over them with wide eyes staring into the aquarium. We tried, we really tried to hook these fish, except only seven were caught, six of them joyously by Bren with her ultralight.

After a couple hours we could see either a nasty storm or heavy fog coming our way from the distance. To play it safe we moved off the Narakays and closer to home base.

On route back, Bren and I both landed a couple more fish, me a smaller red, but her a nice grey and the final laker of the trip.



With the exception of my char numbers Bren really put a hurt on me over the week. She took big grayling, big laker and big char, and I am sure quietly and respectively she enjoyed every bit of that. In fact, Bren and I are both competetive in nature and all week long we kept accurate count of our fish, the totals were, Bren - 44 lakers, 1 char and 2 grayling, Drew - 30 lakers, 7 char and 1 grayling. 47 to 38 in favor of the only person I could never mind losing too. On a week that some others were calling slow fishing though, Bren and I released nearly 90 fish during our short six fishing days. I could not complain in the least.

I finished my Scapa back at the lodge, I guess drowning my sorrow for having to leave come following morning. Great Bear Lake and the Tree really took a hold of me, as well as the great lodge, guests and staff at Plummers.



Noon next day we boarded a bus to shuttle us around to the airstrip. As we pulled away I saw Larry sitting alone in lucky #7 waiting for his new arrivals. I wished we had got a better goodbye actually, I hope the place does see him back. Beside the plane, owner Chummy Plummer and the manager Shane shook my hand when boarding, and I gave thanks.

This trip wasn't nearly as much about fishing as it was about love, life, dreams and friends. Chummy's vision, Larry's character, Trevor's passion, Brenda's support, and my fulfillment, all amongst some great company sharing the same space and time. There was no guessing that years ago the char on the cabin wall would lead my life here, but I am so very happy it did. I can see it being tough to ever better the Arctic and Great Bear.


Thanks for coming Bren.

This post has been edited by Moosebunk: 30 September 2008 - 05:51 PM

[danbo]

Breath-taking....

[marc thorpe]

Dude,tremendous report and pics
tks for sharing

[DanC]

I've been waiting for this one Drew. I haven't had the chance to read it all just yet, but the photos are jaw dropping. Especially the Char shots. You are such an asset to OFN. Thanks for sharing..

[Dont Get Caught]

Great read,great pics.

Thanks for sharing that.

[Terry®]

wow
great report
the fish look like you painted them before you took the pictures

[GCD]

WOOO-HOO!!! That was an epic report for sure!!!!!!!!!!


The Lakers, kinda like nekkid wimmins... ya seen one, ya seen them all.

The Graylings were very nice and something you don't see every day!

Those Char though!!! ... them there things really made my sticker peck out!!! The most beautiful freshwater fish I've ever seen, and Frackin' HUGE TOO!!!

... gotta get me some ARCTIC CHAR!!!!

[JeffBornFishin]

Thanks for the post!

Excellent pics

I would love to go up there some time.

Trip of a lifetime you would never forget

[HotelTango]

This is in my opinion the best report I have ever seen on this site. Great job and keep up the good work.

[Jay Hamilton]

Remarkable trip and report. That'll be one to help you through the work days til the next time.

[Moosebunk]

GCD, on Sep 3 2008, 09:08 PM, said:

them there things really made my sticker peck out!!!

That there was mighty poetic... clever too, keeps the mods off ya.

[solopaddler]

Just incredible Drew, like Roy said in your previous thread it's getting hard to come up with adjectives to describe your exploits.
There's no doubt that male char in their spawning colours are by far the most beautiful fish in freshwater, the fish you guys caught are truely spectacular, big congratulations!
Interesting that you mentioned the guy using the float reel on the Tree river.
One of my best friends in the world (who I'll be fishing with in 2 weeks ), lives in Yellowknife and has guided at Plummers and the Tree River camp for years.
He's an old river rat originally from Ontario and he consistently slays big numbers of Char using his float rod and centrepin.

Thanks for taking the time to put that together, lord knows it must have taken a while!

Cheers, Mike

[Musky or Specks]

When I die I want to come back as you. That was an awesome report.

[TbayBoy]

Stunning, just stunning Moosebunk. You have a wonderful knack for both pictures and words and the fact that you get out to some fishing spots the rest of us just dream about only makes it better. Those char are simply unreal looking fish. Time to start saving up I think!

[bucktail]

Speechless....................

[Fishing Fury]

unreal.

[douG]

Thanks again, Drew. *drewls*

[fishtat2]

moosebunk yer the shiznik.thanks for sharing those are some amazing pics.those char are far sexier than those brookies hands down.

[Hooked]

Man....that's beyond words. Why you are not a full-time writer is beyond me? Your pictures and description of events is in perfect sync. You are an envy to many, keep it up.