AWARDED THE ARCTIC.

[Moosebunk]

Jim had said to me back in the spring of 2008, "Bunk, the Tree is magical, there hasn't been a week go by since leaving there that I haven't thought of that place."

 

And so...

 

Bren and I were warned, yet we went that summer anyways. Like Jim, not a week for me has passed since... it truly is my favorite place among a number of favorite places on this earth.

 

 

 

To speed youz all up on what went down, during the winter Plummer's Lodges held a contest through Facebook for past guests to write a 750 word story expressing their previous experience. Once submitted to Plummers, friends, family and/or anyone with a Facebook account could cast a vote for their favorite story. The story with the most votes would secure the author a win for a trip with Plummers to Great Bear or, Great Slave Lake for any week in the summer of 2011.

 

Thanks to Plummers, Facebook, friends, family and fellow anglers, by a great big ole whoppin' margin, I won. Cha-Chingo!!!

 

Friends Wayne joked about coming, RJ started the bidding, others hinted about going along, sadly for all there was just one gal to join me for this one, Bren. And so, when asking about her preferences for the trip, ( ie., Great Bears's Trophy Lodge for lakers and pike, Great Slave for something new, or Great Bear's main lodge for lakers with Tree River access to Arctic char ) she made it clear that she wanted to do EXACTLY what we had done our time before. The Tree River and it's Arctic char were a must... and having dreamt so often over the last few years of that heaven on earth in the Arctic, the thought of happily returning provided huge comfort.

 

 

Link to 2008 trip report.

 

http://ontariofishingcommunity.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=23546

 

 

 

DAY 1. TRUE GRIT.

 

 

It wasn't the kid across the isles fault that he felt the need to scream through the latter half of the flight. He was three, cranked out, and probably one millimosphere pressure away from popping his thin little tympanic membrane. As much as he was annoying, his parents surely thought my post-meal-in-flight Air Canada methane after-burnin' was as sickening to the senses as well.

 

The movie I selected, "True Grit." With an early start from Ottawa, a nine hour layover in Edmonton, a two hour time change and a late night planned for drinks with our friends Dan and Susan in Yellowknife upon arrival, yeah... some "grit" just may be in order. It was a good flick pick.

 

On route ya do much just to pass the tick-tock. A few Outdoor Canada's within the carry-on had articles such as, "Tackling a Tradition," "DIY Fishing," and "Rate Your Adventure," to provide some enlightenment. The words and images had me reflecting upon past journeys to rivers like the Cheepas, North French, Ekwan, Mississicabi, Attawapiskat and Moose. How I'd set off alone, with Bren or friends, to carve out whatever memories we could find. Rating a previous adventure it scored 165 and proved to be a "brag worthy" expedition. Later beating Bren's hiney at Gin Rummy was a triumph even greater to gloat about.

 

Somewhere over Great Slave Lake that evening a mental note was made to insert page 6 of the "Plummer's Handbook," to this report.

 

In 1938 while in Yellowknife on business, Warren Plummer and his father kept hearing stories from the local people about a fabulous fishing area called "Taltheilei Narrows." Warren and his dad traveled by canoe 150 miles with a 4hp engine and discovered the legends were true. Taltheilei soon became the location of Great Slave Lake Lodge and the history of Plummer's was born...

 

... Great Bear Lake Lodge in the Dease Arm came to be in 1968. Bordering on the tree line and sitting just above the arctic circle upon the fourth largest lake in North America, the vast views of water and sky amidst dwarfed vegetation and ever-changing scenery make each day unique. Lake trout over a century old can slowly grow to be of world-record size in this waterbody of 12,100 square miles and depths to 1400 feet, and, from the lodge one can fly 232 miles to the Tree River upon Coronation Gulf on the Arctic ocean to fish for world-record sized Arctic char.

 

Fish or not, unlike the first trip I had no actual solid expectations this time around. This was afterall, a win, a win to visit a place that creates happiness to anglers and anyone no matter what their preconceptions.

 

After a few welcomed pints and Dan's hilarious story of Ickball and the Raven, before we knew it our heads were on pillows at his and Susan's home in Yellowknife. Thanks much you two.

 

 

 

DAY 2. FORT CONFIDENCE.

 

 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fort_Confidence

 

"Coffee and OJ don't mix," declares a groggy Bren while nibbling a garbage muffin at the Yellowknife airport. Seated around us awaiting flight are other lodge guests destined for Great Bear Lake. It's at this time I meet an Aussie named Frank.

 

"My best so far is a 30.5lb laker caught on 2lb tippet. Took me four hours and thirteen minutes to land and covered 2.8 miles water on the chase," Frank shares. I wanna throw a "mate" in there somewhere but even though Frank is of much fun he's quite serious about setting new world line class records. And he's got a few already. Cool dood!

 

The flight to Bear was over in a breeze and when stepping off the plane we were all met with some tropical heat. Impressive heat. This is the arctic? Anyways, we got lunch quick, snapped some pics, got our licenses and found our cabin.

 

Time finally for some photographs...

 

ALOHA PLUMMER'S!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Whilst checking out the new pad and readying the rods and tackle our Great Bear guide for the week popped his head in the door to say hello. Eddie is our guy. 53 years young but not a day over 18, the man has been guiding fisherman to the big ones since he grew his first underhair at 14. A Plummer's veteran, Eddie's seen Great Bear action from 94 on. I had a good feeling about this fella from Lac Du Bonnet Manitober, and so after a delish lunch of fish, soup, fish and some wicked pickled fish dish we were a sail down into the bottom of the Dease Arm of GBL for some laker action off of Jimmy D's, Das Narrows, and out front of old Fort Confidence.

 

Bren caught the first fish of the trip. Studious little buggah she can be!

 

 

Tripping to such an interesting and remote part of Canada can't be complete without taking some time to absorb the scenery, wildlife and history. Near the mouth of the Dease River (see link above) we took a short break from fishing to go ashore and view the remaining chimneys of Fort Confidence.

 

 

 

 

A moment on land with the cotton grass and then back on the water, it is impossible not to breathe deep while actually dipping your cup into the lake and drinking this world all in.

 

 

 

 

In Larry's Narrows Bren and I had screaming reels for a couple hours. Fish after fish. Nothing gargantuan by any means, just 5-14ish pounders. On my second fish of the day I set the hook into a fiver and my brand new Shimano Clarus salmon casting rod snapped at the butt. what the hell!!! Eddie helped me reel the line back in with the broken stick and all to retrieve my lure and fish. Bren on the other hand pegged a solid chunk of unbudgeable lake trout but, it sadly got the better of her. Would have been the big fish of the day.

 

Our five hour afternoon of fish and travel came to an end with Bren and I hauling 24 lakers to the boat. My 13 to Bren's 11. Hehe!!! She's the numbers keeper, I'm just the numbskull. Too bad she lost that one biggun though.

 

 

Had our steak and lake trout supper with a retired lawyer and his wife from Pennsylvania. Ernie and Pat. Lovely people who'd been coming to Plummer's for years. Also, at the table was retired lawyer Ben with his grandson Jake from San Diego, and businessman Brian with his son Chris from Colorado but originally the Ottawa area. Blood pudding consumed, the only orders remaining for the day were a goodnight to the sik-sik, three fingers of malty GlenRothes back in the cabin, and some quiet with the never fully-setting summer arctic sun. Cheers!

 

 

 

 

 

 

DAY 3. CABIN FEVER.

 

 

 

Met a Manitoban named Jack on the dock. He was fishing Plummer's with his walleye tourney partner Doug and both were hanging around the plane awaiting their flight to the Tree for an overnight char fish. Eddie's plan for us was to tour on to Prospect but, with numerous boats heading that direction already, that plan got scrapped for runner-up Cabin Bay.

 

 

It was more than an hours ride out but, while working a mid bay shoal 40 minutes into lines wet, the first fish was caught on a firetiger Husky Jr. Relief.

 

Eddie was escorting a newbie guide out onto the lake and he pointed that youngster in the direction of a productive shoal outside of the bay. One of his guests hit pay-dirt with a 30lb'er being caught. Over 4.5 hours we had started out OK but then got a case of the rubber hooks. By 2:30pm the boat was a dismal 8 for 16 and during the last two hours we had dropped every fish we were aiming to try and catch for a shorelunch. Hunger set in but we weren't yet delirious while watching two kites and two gulls face off on an airborne bald eagle, only to have a golden eagle show up and chase everything away. Food finally arrived on Bren's hook though, so we set off to an old Inuit campsite in Inukshuk Bay. Eddie in 54 minutes had the fish cleaned and both our bellies full with a dish of Mexican lake trout, rice, beans and corn which he whipped up on an open fire. Stylin' man! Nice to get out of the boat, have a beer and stretch the legs, but we were fishing again within an hour.

 

 

 

 

That little tidbit of mauvish cloud in the distance brought a chill to the air. Again, the weather had been hot... hot for about two weeks actually, and enough so that the guides were choosing to swim in 51C water back at the lodge after a days work. The fish were put off some too by this tropical wave, and reports hadn't been as good as what they usually are. Sure, certain spots lit up at times with activity, but overall the bite was light. Some guides said the fish were being taken over deeper water now, like 40-50 feet deep as opposed to 20-30. That cooling air noticeable come late afternoon, maybe it was the pending end of the hot spell that woke this beauty up.

 

 

9 for 17. That was our result for seven hours. Could have been better on our part for sure. Had one on the line in front of the golden eagle I wished I had boated, probably a high-teen'r and great specimen being that it was a red laker. Slow in a way but we were around when the 30lb'er was caught. Our best was an 18lb grey, with a 12lb red and the rest in the 5-10lb range. Over a supper of pork tenderloin Ernie and Pat reported that Prospect was the hot spot for them, and they had a 30 fish day with two over 20lbs. Ahhh well... can't believe how spoiled we all were actually, and Eddie's awesome shorelunch was the BOMB!!! Bren and I would get our turn to Prospect but it would have to wait. The Lodge Manager, Shane, came by the table to inform us to pack our bags that night, in the morning we were to be off to the Tree River.

 

Walking back to the cabin feeling that cool air coming in, it was going to be perfect timing to go visit the coldest, cold loving, beautiful fish that swim. Tired as I was, excitement kept me stirring through the night.

 

Edited August 19, 2011 by Moosebunk

[Moosebunk]

DAY 4. WILD LIFE.

 

 

How does one squeeze in three full meals, wolves, muskox, a caribou, a seal, a peregrine, a polarbear swim, crossing the tree line into the tundra, visiting the Arctic Ocean and walking five miles while catching a dozen char... read on!

 

 

A foggy cool start, I got in me a whackload of flapjacks for some premium fuel, and for the first time was left no choice but to try corn syrup over the maple. Not as good. While scarfin' it all down Shane came by to let us know we'd be a half hour late on take-off so, to pass the time he sent us to go wolf watching. Ummmm.... sure, but I just ate bud, and for any wolves may be exceedingly appetizing looking.

 

Outside our break-less safari wheels was parked waiting.

 

 

 

Jammed in the truck I met Ken and Ian from Vancouver. These doods are worldly travelers, and combined, one or both have pretty much been to any place you can rhyme off. Along with their guide Mike, we hit the road to find ourselves some big bad wolves. Well... we drove about four minutes.

 

 

Good to know the pack is out back just waiting to eat you once you stray off the lodge grounds. There were three around but it was the one alpha male that caught the lens most.

 

 

We all weren't long getting into the plane. Much of the flight I peered out the window to see precisely where the tree line ended, and the more rocky tundra landscape begin. Two muskox were viewed closer to our destination and shortly thereafter a big bull caribou was seen trotting across the open land.

 

 

Upon approaching the Coronation Gulf of the Arctic Ocean, soon in sight was the Tree River. It's aqua flow stands out unlike any other waters passed by on route.

 

 

Directly below would be camp.

 

 

The plane swoops in over a shallow shoreline for a smooth watery drop onto a bend in the river. Awaiting at a dock there are the guides and camp help to shuttle you just a few minutes upriver to the camp. You get goosebumps arriving to the Tree.

 

 

It is a beautiful warm and sunny day. We meet our guide Bob from Kukluktuk and he tells me it’s been hot for a week. Kids back in his home town are swimming in the Arctic Ocean off the beach and cliffs there. Inside the main cabin six guests; including Jack and Doug, are enjoying lunch and patiently awaiting their groups return back to Great Bear.

 

"How was the fishing guys?" I excitedly inquire. Jack speaks up, "Tough... Doug got one this morning just up from camp. All totaled the group got three. The hot weather has the bite off." I couldn't help myself being that I was so pumped about just being there I surely sounded like a pompous arse when I answered to them all, "We're gonna slam 'em!" "They're gonna be force fed what I give 'em!" "Did yas get to Presidential Pool and further up?" When they all replied no, and not even Neiland Bay, I knew where Bren and I were headed.

 

We said goodbye and made for Cabin 5 to get settled and ready the gear for an afternoon fish. Bob came by to tell me to leave the waders behind, so I just wore the wader boots with some neoprene socks to keep the wet off the toes. Twenty minutes later Bob and guide Mike, Bren, Ken, Ian and myself made up the trail to the boat cache that would ferry us across the river to fish the better upstream pools. Coolest thing, Ken and Ian weren't at the Tree to fish, they were simply there to hike and sight-see. That's there shhtick man-gos, it's what they're about! So, this meant, for the next two days Bren and I had the worlds greatest Arctic char river to fish, all for ourselves. I’m crying about that... truly balling me eyeses out. Trust.

 

 

 

 

 

The fish-able pools of the Tree River starting from downriver of camp at the mouth, to the third and final falls where no char can go beyond, have some pretty cool names. Dinosaur House, Red Marker, Amsterdam, Morris Point, Fantasy Island and Last Chance in front of the camp. Upriver it goes, Second Island, Third Island, Slippery Jack, Big Bend, Little Bend, Neiland Bay, Presidential Pool, Anderson Pool, Montreal, Second then finally Third Falls. For the latter part of this day and all the next day, Bren and I would hike and fish upriver. From camp to the Third Falls is 2.5 miles of rock and grassy terrain that cuts up and down through the tundra hills along the river. I was about to get a workout, and when Bob gets to hiking, for such a wee fella he can really boot'er on his homeland turf.

 

Neiland was a short attempt and a bust, but rounding the corner to the Presidential we caught a few glimpses of the odd char sneaking about in the waters there. Peregrine falcon soaring overhead, Bren was the one to first sink her talons into a Tree gem.

 

 

 

The President and I have some history. It was here I got my first ever char and also my two biggest and best at 18lbs. This Brenda chick of mine wasn't about to show me up for too long in my pool... and neither was the George Bush fella they named this particular establishment after.

 

 

 

 

 

I think Bob loved every minute of catching arctic Tree char more than us. It was easy to gravitate towards him as he has this magnetic polar energy and enthusiasm for what he does and where he does it. At 45; and even though he's a pack a day smoker, ( $19.78 per pack in Kug ) he has kid-like stamina and agility built on a solid base of hard tundra rhyolite. A father of eight and plus, he lives and breathes life and the Tree River, a place where memories and friends are made and he's twice broken the world record with two 35lb char. Bob's stride is a conditioned one.

 

Back to the char, I required more... this silvery hen came next. Sexy gal!

 

 

Followed by one fully decked-out, big sharp dressed rooster. Handsome fella!

 

 

They are magnificent to behold. From birth to about five or six years they stay in the river to grow before finally venturing out into the ocean to live their remaining days. Each summer and fall they return to their natal waters to spawn the next generation of record setting wild fish. I have often wondered that if Arctic char could only tolerate warmer climes holding a greater forage base, and also live beyond their 20 years or so, what would be their potential for size then? Surely like their closest cousins the lakers they could be 100 pound fish if living a century, but also with their greater strength and tolerance of salt water could they exceed the power of a tyee? I guess then they would not be what they are, and in reality, why change something so perfect and unique to this world?

 

A speckled trout comes close and is certainly a fish of exceptional beauty, but it is no char. They hold their own.

 

 

 

We left Presidential Pool to fish further upriver. The hike would be worth it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And one tragically lost before us has felt the place worth traveling for an eternity.

 

 

We finished at Second Falls for the day. Arriving there we noticed the fast pool had many fish rolling in the froth and taking shelter in the undercuts of the riverbank. This is the char's last obstacle before reaching the large spawning pool below Third Falls. It's an AWESOME place to wet a line for a few hours, and made even better when you can cast-jig spoons or drift-jig white twister tails to catch char. Our numbers started to climb, and the silver fish were especially hard hitting and crazy to control. Strong, strong, strong like a fresh steelhead.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Even Bob just for fun, managed for the first time ever to simply net two fish at once that were held up hiding in a rock cut. It gave us a good laugh. A laker and char chilling out when suddenly...

 

 

 

Bob had to quickly end his shenanigans and make room for another fish coming to shore for a photoshoot. Same hole, same time.

 

 

Second Falls was a wide gnarly-grin from ear to ear for the afternoon. Bren popped a couple charries and lost them both in battle but she managed one laker there for her troubles. Ominous skies rolled into the south behind us and we heard some thunder rumblin' in the distance. Suppertime coming we made our way back... but, not before stopping again at the Presidential for Brenda to get in one last char for the day.

 

 

Man... she looks pro. I'm the luckiest guy to have a woman who'll fish everyday for a week with me in places like this, and enjoy every minute of it. We're all about a little friendly competition and the odd ribbin' with the fishing, but there's no ego being that we're the best of friends on the same team. Bob on the other hand... I had suspicions all along about who he'd rather champion. Little shiznit that he is... (hehe!) Days count, Bren two char and a laker, me eight char. Just so they know eh! Bested last trips two day total by three already, and still had a day to go.

 

 

 

She did herself proud, time to roll on out cause we could be in for some rain.

 

 

 

 

Dinner couldn't have been more fulfilling. I'd been snacking on Mike & Ike's and drinking many cup-fulls of water straight from the river, but the legs felt worked and a single beer was enough to draw the lids down a little over tired eyes. Bren was all about taking no rest, and the rain never hit us. Ken and Ian along with their guide Mike had it in mind to drive the half hour out to the ocean for a swim, and whether liking it or not, I was expected to go too.

 

 

 

Nuts. I wasn't about to follow suit... cause like I said, it's nuts. But they froze and had a good time doing so. Ian's testicles will eventually find their way back to the sac in a week or so. A seal watched from a distance, it bobbing in the waves thinking to itself, man... those people are terribly spastic and loud swimmers. And, on the way back to a camp another wolf stood watching us enter the river from a ridge above.

 

 

Quite honestly that could have been one of the most exhilarating days of my life. To start a day viewing wolves in the Northwest Territories, end it capturing PolarBear swimmers off an Arctic Ocean coast in Nunavut, and do sooo much in-between... that's the "wild life" and the feelings worth living.

 

 

Only a couple rounds of scotch with Bob and Mike back at camp, followed by the oil heat back in Cabin 5, could knock me down from this day of highs.

[Moosebunk]

DAY 5. TREE HOUSE

 

 

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

 

Arrived at the President's Pool after Neiland continued to be stingy, it was remembered how I so wanted a photo with a big bright char and the sun on the nesting cliffs in the background. The Tree provides...

 

 

Ya couldn't ask for anymore crimson than that. Sadly, this fish would bleed its color out though, and as it happens with catch and release fishing, sometimes one takes a lure too deep. We tried to release. This char ripped a gill and so we later laid it to rest in a calm, cold pool so we could pick it up fresh on the return home and keep it to feed the camp. Irony was, it had been planned to keep a fish for the table this day anyhow. As is the right way, it would not be a life wasted. And if we didn't pick it up later, certainly that grizzly kicking around would.

 

 

Jigs and Pixie spoons, Cleos the odd time. Bren was a tonne easier on the tackle this day, losing far less to the rocks. She liked only the spoons for her 7 foot spinning outfit, I liked both, choosing to use spoons mostly on the 8 1/2 foot casting rod, and jigs with the 7 foot spinning outfit. The short sticks were medium-heavy and the long rod a whippy medium. Ran 30lb braid as the mainlines and 5-6 foot 16lb floro leads. Presidents was a spoon pool to me, while Second Falls was a better jig bite. I think florocarbon really helped, 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...

 

 

Bob did the honors of capturing Bren and I having a great time up at Second.

 

 

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.

 

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't barely whip a long cast halfways 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" white twistertail.

 

 

She had a wee bit of pee 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 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 20lb'er to slide in just under her best fish in 2008 at 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?

 

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."

 

We turned shortly thereafter to head back to camp. Doran, Maureen and Zach would be happy to see us arrive with our fresh fish, even though they were whipping up a full turkey dinner for our supper come evening. I'd be needing that kind of feed. My legs were exhausted, as by this days end they would have walked about 11 miles up and down hills during the past 30 hours. Something I don't do everyday, every year, of even ever anymore for that matter.

 

 

Bob crossing at the ferry couldn't help himself when Bren put her rod down to say she had finally had enough. He knew just where to put his casts but had to wait to the second one to hook up.

 

 

Ken and Ian were back from their hike in the hills and reported seeing a herd of twelve muskox. I had a hot shower then slipped into an hour long coma in the cabin. It would take that herd trampling me to wake.

 

After dinner still feeling whipped I couldn't let the day finish early, so tired legs and all I convinced Bren to follow me back upriver but on the side we hadn't fished yet, so we could attempt hooking a char or two more out of Slippery Jack. She wasn't really up for it, but she was. We left camp at 8:30pm with plenty of 24 hour daylight remaining.

 

 

After losing the path we ended up on top of things... Bren was but was not amused with me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Slippery Jack was slippery and the fish there slipped away.

 

Days fish totals, Bren the one that counts at 20lbs and me seven more char. Overall total, Bren four plus a laker she'd get the following morning, me fifteen char with an 18lb best.

 

 

 

DAY 6. WOLF HOWL.

 

 

The morning fog was trying to lift and the plane was expected. Downriver in the boat to attempt fishing a last couple hours before departure, sitting on Amsterdam a wolf pack the other side of the hills was heard howling their eerie calls through the morning mist. Bittersweet having to leave the Tree, but necessary. I want to one day soon seriously guide a month there myself... just wonder how any of my present employers might feel about that?

 

The air was cool now and Bob remarked how in one night summer had turned to fall. It's hard to believe, but in that part of the world Bob could be exactly right. Warmth may not return for another year... ya never know.

 

Bren caught the last fish for us on the Tree, a small laker. In thanks to Bob I gave him my Mojo Bass rod, some lures and a few bucks to go towards those $20 packs of smokes. He was a wonderful person to share the place and moments with.

 

We packed our char on ice for transport and once the plane arrived we flew away for Great Bear Lake again, with a fuel stop scheduled in Kugluktuk. Admittedly I dozed off for a good part of the flight but awoke for landing.

 

 

Prices at the store in Kug had gone up a little. 12 packs of pop were $29.99 last visit, but now they have inflated to $32.99. My buddy Dan back in Yellowknife told me on a freight run with his employer First Air, he once traded a 6 pack of Coke for fourteen arctic char. Crazy! I wonder if the people in Kug know what we pay for a plate of arctic char in the south?

 

Snapped a pic of the highschool but didn't stay long enough in town to really wander too far and take in the many tourist attractions. It's interesting living, a way Bren and I are actually all too familiar with.

 

 

Kugluktuk is located where the Coppermine River meets the Arctic Ocean. It's cool looking from the air.

 

 

For a little extra I'll add these links...

 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Copper_Inuit

 

http://www.ric.edu/faculty/rpotter/bloodyfalls_kh.html

 

Flying over the Dease Arm at Great Bear our pilot Eddie circled some old cabin remains. It was there that Priests had lived a winter in the 1800's after having traveled north by land and river from Edmonton. (I think it was) The significance to Plummer's would come later as, Chummy while out exploring would find a 200lb iron cook stove that the Priests themselves transported all that grueling distance. Chummy would make mental note of the stove's whereabouts and return later to retrieve it, except that years later when he finally went back, the stove was gone. It took Chummy some years but he later eventually found it again abandoned 80 miles into the barren lands. Chummy would make no mistake a second time. The stove is a testament to him, the Priests and people before us, determination, and the very fiber of early exploration and European settlement in the area.

 

 

A 47 pound laker was the new week's big piggy best for the lodge we learned upon returning. Bren and I received only a short chance to fish the lake before supper, Eddie took us to some spots nearby that harvested little. BBQ chicken and curried Mac and Cheese was a different experience for supper, and this dessert called "gunt" was a sweet bowl of something to note. Was kind of a lost day to fishing but that's the sacrifice for experiencing the Tree, we would make that sacrifice every time.

 

 

 

DAY 7. PROSPECTING GREYS.

 

 

The iced char still awaiting flame, we thought it would be a great shorelunch this day out but, when we woke to big east winds and rain, sandwiches were an easier option. So, because of sandwiches we were last to leave the dock.

 

Out on the lake it was a three foot chop at worst. The skies began clearing almost instantly on the water. Eddie had us fishing some saddle reefs near the Falcon Islands on route to Prospect. We caught nothing until reaching our destination but then Eddie put us on a warming little shoal that produced a few. Fish gave way to coffee bladders though, and Bren's needs required landing elsewhere. Whizzing in paradise.

 

 

 

We didn't take many pics of lake trout all trip. It's a bit of a hassle in the boat, a lot of greys are 5-15lbs, and when you know 100 pounders live in the lake and people often catch multiple 20 pounders and sometimes up into the 50's, you kinda think just those 20's are reason enough to take time out for pics. I also think reds at 15lbs or so, are a very worthy shot. So for this reason; and unlike the arctic char of which I almost want to photograph every single one, we took fewer pics of the lakers we caught.

 

So Prospect was an area across the expanse of the Dease Arm. No mans land. Kinda wanted to pop up a cottage out there for the family and friends to visit. Lotto 649 style. We trolled Husky Sr's mostly, but I also tried using a dipsy with a Whitefish and, a marlin-like jig a buddy gave me to experiment with. I got a fish on the dipsy combo, yet it was Bren who had a behemoth hit a 3oz Husky Sr. weighted down further with a 3oz inline sinker.

 

She was playing with Eddie's big stick. A heavy St.Croix loaded with 80lb braid on a Tekota 600. The drag was set to tear heads off... cause there wasn't really much if any. 20 pound fish were lucky to get 10 feet on the initial run, but Bren's line set to troll at 110 feet was suddenly ripped back to 176. Eddie wanted the net near him immediately. Bren wanted to move the fish but it wouldn't, not for love, money or prayer. It held out at that 176 and if Bren got a foot or two it'd take it back slow. Stubborn this thing was.

 

"Breathe Brenda! Breeeeathe!" reminded Eddie. "It's killing my arm!" she cried. Then she asked me for help. "No babe, this is your fish, just keep the rod tip up and pressure on." "It's really hurting my arm," said Bren. "C'mon Brenda, it can't be worse than having a baby," Eddie joked. "I'D RATHER HAVE A BABY RIGHT NOW!" she replies. "Eddie," I note, "we're stalemate here at 176 still. This fish ain't quitting."

 

Eddie warns he'll have to motor on to the laker at this point, slowly trying to get over top of it. The boat is not in motion long before Bren has to shake the lactic acid out of her left arm. During the switch there's a slight bow created in the line with the boat moving slow in reverse, and that was all the slack that laker needed to win it's freedom. Eddie sank. I sank. Bren says, "would have liked to have known the weight on that one." Eddie replies, "me too."

 

It happened to me last trip in Larry's Narrows and this time around in Prospect for Bren. We can only guess at her fish... and as Larry and others will say, "that's fishing."

 

We moved on and trolled around some islands nearby, and it was there and then that I popped a 22lb'er to boatside. Good hard hit and fight to this one, although it paled in comparison to what Bren had to endure with hers. Got eight feet of line off the hookset with my slightly weaker muskie gear... not 70 feet like hers.

 

 

Eddie and I spent much time talking fishing. He probably wished now and again that I'd shut up about it. Eight weeks, seven days a week, 5:00am to 9:00pm is a guides life. Conditions on the lake can be taxing, being away from home can be even harder. Ed took much in stride. A big hearted fella who loves what he does and lights up every time another fish is hooked... especially if it was Bren's rod that fired. Seems to me that all guides conspire a little with the ladies against their men. Eddie couldn't escape a photo with me though, once another solid fish was caught... Cool guy this Manitoban guide.

 

 

Finished Prospecting at 15 lakers with a 22 pounder taking the cake. Ed's colossal tuna sandwiches were worth the extra morning wait in the end. The hour long ride back through the chop was delayed a few minutes when Ed stopped at a nearby island to point out the family of peregrines nesting there. Extinction of this species was likely never an issue in these parts. Bob had told me the coolest thing about the aerial attacks of the peregrine on other flying birds. They use their speeds of up to 180mph and impact using their chests upon colliding with other birds. This wounds, dazes or kills their prey in flight. Of course nabbing land critters is all about speed and talons.

 

 

Back at the lodge I enjoyed a short visit at the bar with Chummy, then the party began. Eddie popped over having cooked our arctic char and so we enjoyed healthy doses of that with some baby-back ribs. Some 8-Ball, Karaoke, a few other drinks and more scotch, done. This trip Bren and I found it much easier to just be ourselves and really relax.

 

 

 

DAY 8. THE MCGILL SLAY.

 

 

Bren didn't like the salmon and dill eggs Bennie breakfast so she stole a plane and flew off. I had no choice; hostage, I had to go with her.

 

Eddie the pilot, Eddie our guide, Bren and myself dropped six other goobers at a fishing hole called Clearwater then took to the skies another 20 minutes to have McGill Bay all to ourselves for the day. This little gem of a shoal that runs about two miles in length across the mouth of a big bay, is referred to as "Old Faithful" by past guests and guides.

 

 

At 10:30am we dropped lines and had an instant double-header. For the next 7 hours exactly, the boat averaged a lake trout every 5 minutes and 26 seconds until our day ended. No jokey folkys! We ate as fast as we could, pee'd as fast as we could, released fish as fast as we could for seven hours. Bren and I had fifteen double-headers while fishing over 4 to 40 feet of water on and off of McGill shoal. I used the same firetiger Husky Sr. all day, while Bren switched out between a Big Jim Husky Sr and a chartreuse & orange Husky Sr. Five fish at, or over 20lbs made it to the boat and nothing was smaller than about a 4 pounder. Countless laketrout in the teens. While catching one after another I kept hope that a giant would eventually interrupt these proceedings, but it didn't happen. And, there was no way in Hizell we were boating away to look for bigger fish while this show was playing out for us. Bren was now officially awesome at hook-setting and man-handling lake trout on the troll. It's just wicked-rad fun having the rod in your hands when every fish does the smash and grab, and even better times when ya get a tap or two then do the drop-back-lure-flutter and drive a hook home.

 

 

 

Little Red Riding Hood needed to go to shore... but not so bad that she didn't let the big bad wolf get a football field away first.

 

 

And then it was back to the McGill Slay party hours. Daily totals, Bren 37 and me 43. Just so again... she knows... ya know?

 

80 lakers at McGill. We bested in a day our week long total of 77 from the previous trip, and for total fish on this trip tallied out at 147 for 41 hours of fishing time. 3.5 fish an hour. BooYAH!!! Hard to wrap the noggin' around really.

 

 

 

And this exhausting day ended all too quick.

 

 

It was a calm evening back at the lodge. The hikers Ken and Ian actually took some time out to try fishing on Great Bear a couple hours and they were both rewarded with three apiece. Ian got a 12lb'er, he said. Brian and I talked about gar fishing. Once finding out where I was living he brought up the Ottawa River and how he used to chuck spinners for these big toothies with his buddies behind the rifle range. Surprised me really. Pioneers pre-internet I guess, like most before us. Turned out too his wife was a Doctor in the Carleton Place ER for a time while they lived in Appleton some 20 years back. She'd also worked in Moose Factory. Small world, eh...?

 

Packing the bags and making some notes in our cabin, the last of the GlenRothes got polished off. Outside our window the sky grew a little darker in the distance over the Narakay Islands. "You'll never change what's been and gone." Night fell and the next day boarding the plane home I thanked Chummy for providing us this piece of heaven. Lucky man.

 

 

And thanks so very much to all who gave Bren and I that ounce of their time by awarding me this amazing week in our lives.

 

 

Bunk.

[Moosebunk]

"Someone is sitting in the shade today, because someone planted a tree a long time ago."


Over what is now almost eight years of writing, photographing, traveling and fishing for myself; while sharing with the www, it is actually mind-blowing to realize how all efforts have shaped in so many different ways what is fishing for me.

This past winter, an ultimate example of one of those "ways" was experiencing the amazing support from many friends, family, and online anglers who voted for, "Lying Beneath The Dream Giving Tree."

This is one long thanks to the those involved with the process preceding up and to the final contest win, to ultimately fish another dream come true trip in the Arctic with Plummer's Lodges.

Edited January 8, 2014 by Moosebunk

[Lip-ripper]

Wow... all I can really say...

 

One of the best reports I've ever had the pleasure of reading...

 

Thank you!

[irishfield]

I'm still not sure why you took Brenda over me my friend, but I'll look the other way this time!

 

[ketchenany]

Got to switch puter iPad is having swallowing problems.

 

Amazing report so far Bunk!

[lookinforwalleye]

You do it up right Moose,incredible adventure!

[Pigeontroller]

Awesome report and pics as usual Bunk! Thanks for sharing.

[spincast]

wow

where'd that bucket list go.

 

Your reports are always a great read. Thanks for sharing. That takes your breathe away - and those char are simply beautiful.

[basketclam]

Absolutely unreal trip, and thanks for taking the time to put the report together.

[mercman]

Hard to lelieve such regal beauty exists in this world.Thanks for confirming that it does

 

 

Paul

[limeyangler]

speechless really.

 

Great report as usual Moosebunk

[young_one]

WOW, everything is so colourful!

Awesome report, thanks for sharing parts of the fsihing world I never knew existed.

[HTHM]

speechless

[Gregoire]

Thanks for sharing. that was awesome.

[NAW]

I'm sure I'll say this about your next report.. but that was one if the best reports I've ever read.

 

Man, I'm glad your part of the OFC!!

[Musky or Specks]

I just splooged that was stinking incredible. So awesome that your partner shares your passion.

[Grimace]

That place is beautiful. Incredible.

[Nipfisher]

Another crazy awesome report. Just like we are there with you. You have many true talents.

[WeedLine]

I must do that trip sometime. What an adventure. Thank you for the report

[adempsey]

Looks like it was an incredible trip! Great job on the photos too. Really glad you won that contest to head back. I can only hope that one day I get to experience a place like that.

 

Thanks for sharing.

 

Cheers!

[BassMan11]

Unbelieveable

[bigugli]

A place of dreams. YOU are one lucky man twice over. To win such as trip. More importantly your fishing partner

[ccmtcanada]

I read every word, took in every picture and I am completely speechless. I felt like I was there with you guys! I don't have to say it was an incredible trip...it was unreal to me. When I joined this board, there were two people I instantly wanted to fish with...one was Solopaddler and the other was you! Luckily, I've had the pleasure of fishing with Mike! Your trips, writing and pics are worthy of being published Drew!!! Unbelievable "report"!