Ol' Sam. A Work in Progress.: Adventure/Fishing

Fishin Magician.

Wed, 20 Feb 2008 18:34:54 GMT

Well, a lovely day in the mountains again. Got to Osprey Lake shortly after 10, stayed til 3pm. I saw a few right Trout off the bat, then it got real slow for a while. When they came around, they'd look at my bait and keep going, I tried everything I had with me but they just weren't interested in biting it. So finally I dropped my flasher into the mud and did a bit of digging with it. Suddenly the bottom was crawling with Trout (small, medium and large), they really wanted to see what was going on. I'd dig, then lift my flasher up out of the mud cloud so they could see my bait.

Maggots, meal worms, rubber worms, plain jigs.....they still wouldn't bite. "Alright, fekk you guys, lets try this!" thinks I, slipping on my crawdad (Yabi pattern). Well, they went nuts for it and I caught two in short order. I'da caught more if the hook size had been smaller. That was around 2pm, after I caught the two the rest kinda lost interest and buggered oft, I lost interest at 3 and came home. But it sure was fun for a while watching the goings on down in the mud. I saw a couple of two to three pounders but always seemed to have Mr. Crawdad in the wrong spot when the big ones went by. I shall go again t'morra. I'm going to order some small rubber crawdads from the Fishin Hole this morning.

Global Warming.............me arse!

Sat, 26 Jan 2008 19:50:50 GMT

Thursday: Jan. 24th. '08. The thermometer on my deck this morning indicated -18°C when I got up at 06:00. Oh Man!! Driving up the Trout Creek road it got colder and colder! Just before we came out of the canyon shadow, Mark's truck said it was -26°C! (-12°F). At Link Lake, at dawn it had warmed up a bit, to only -20°C. We fished til 12:30 and only saw 3 fish all morning. Didn't even get a bite. It was/is still -8 at Link when we left and when we got back down here. F-E-K-K! Cold.

Those are the coldest temps I've seen in the Okanagan, since we moved here 20 years ago.

http://www.theweathernetwork.com/index.php?product=weather&placecode=cabc0282

Why I wasn't here at 'work' yesterday.

Fri, 18 Jan 2008 19:25:11 GMT

Me and the Boys went fishing.

Quarter to eight as usual, we met at the A&W, John and I parked our trucks and piled in with Mark in his 4x4. A quick show of hands vote, and we headed up the backroad from Summerland to Princeton, destination Link Lake. Actually a destination vote wasn't really necessary, we'd been impressed by the size of the lunkers we saw last time we were at Link and all wanted to go back for another crack at them.

Having been ploughed and sanded within the last week, for a nice change, the road was in pretty good shape. 25K up and just before we got to the Trout Creek Ranch, John spotted a moose lying down in its bed close off the road. It was quite close to where we'd seen two of them on our last trip. We stopped and I took his photo, once again he wouldn't stick around to sign autographs. Just on the other side of the Ranch we saw another one, he stood til we stopped, then as I took photos, he began to amble away. He jumped over the fence, catching one hind leg on the top strand. He stood for a minute looking at us, then shaking it, got his leg off the wire and wandered away up the hill. Off we went again til just at the third bridge there was one more moose, for a total of three sightings that morning. That one saw us coming and all we saw of him was his arse end heading into the willows. No Picture.

We got to Link, unloaded our gear and walked down the hill to the lake. There was a lot more snow than a week ago. Perhaps a foot more. Walking along about a hundred feet out I could feel water below the snow under my feet. No worries, just hard walking through the overflow. The weight of the fresh snow on the ice, pushes it down forcing water up through any recently drilled fishing holes, of which there were several. It just doesn't get cold enough here for the temp under the snow to get low enough to re-freeze overflow.

Walking along we came across a recently drilled hole, it must have had a gusher because the snow and ice surrounding it were covered in 'scuds' (small fresh water shrimp). Hmmm, that didn't look good for our fishing. If there are that many scud around, there is no shortage of food for the fish to feeding on. John quickly drilled a hole close to the gusher, but hit lake bed right away so we kept walking.

We kept walking til we got out of the overflow and to the same location we were last time. Three holes were quickly drilled and we set up our 'blinds'. Perfect, we had four to six feet of water depth under about two feet of ice, a nice flat bottom with a low carpet of dormant weeds. Quite quickly we started seeing fish swim lazily by. Lazy is the word and no real big ones this time. They'd cruise by and if our hook was exactly at their nose level in front of them they might take a look at it or have a sniff. They definitely weren't too interested in feeding. Sometimes they'd mouth the bait, have a lick and immediately spit it out. They were not excited by what we were offering. Eventually, Mark found something that worked for about half an hour, catching three in that space of time, John managed to entice a keeper and I caught one little of that went back down the hole as soon as I got him off the hook. We fished til noon, seeing small schools swim by, then right when the solunar tables/calendar predicted a minor feed, they all disappeared. After that, except for a couple of 'minners', we didn't see a dang thing before we left to come home at two thirty.

Oh well, we had fun, no one got skunked and it turned into a beautiful day up there. The afternoon temp soared to a balmy +4°C and the sun shone for half the time. Bare handed all day, in my 'blind' it was warm enough, I took off my jacket. Due to a temperature inversion it was warmer on top of the mountains than it was down in the Okanagan Valley. Coming back down we could quite clearly see all the woodstove smoke and smog trapped under the warm air layer.

Next week the calendar/tables say, about four days of good fishing, so we'll be going up again for at least one of those days. I want to catch one of those six pounders we saw!

Arctic Star Revisited. Worth a copy & paste.

Tue, 01 Jan 2008 22:29:52 GMT

It’s a small world and a long time ago, Hello,

When people say it’s a small world they’re not kidding. Let me explain.

A while back I was browsing the day’s news on the Internet and ran across a story on Yellowlnife. This was particularly interesting to me because many years ago, during the summer of 1967, I traveled from Minneapolis, MN to YK with my uncle. Our ultimate destination was Arctic Star Lodge where we planned to do a bit of fishing. After grabbing some lunch and taking a few pictures in town we boarded a de Havilland Twin Otter for a short flight to the lodge. I’ll never forget that flight because at the time I pretty much ate, breathed and slept airplanes and flying (I was 18 years old). This was my first flight in a sea plane and the fact that it was Twin Otter made it even more exciting. I remember sitting in the plane as people were coming aboard when I noticed a fellow who looked like he hadn’t shaven in a few days, wearing old blue jeans and a rather tattered shirt come on board. Most of the people on the plane were obviously business types, in spite of the fact that they tried to dress like outdoorsmen, so this guy stood out. He was the real deal. He kept coming in to the plane and then going back out again. This went on for quite a while and I thought maybe he was a mechanic, or a baggage handler. In any case I was anxious for the adventure to begin and to get into the air. The only thing that was missing was the pilot. A few more minutes passed and the gentleman returned once again. This time however, the door closed behind him as he continued up to the cockpit, took the left seat and began the start sequence on the two Pratt & Whitney’s! He didn’t look like any commercial pilot I’d ever seen! This was going to be fun!

We arrived at the camp without incident, got situated and then went to the main lodge where my uncle met and talked with the other guests. My uncle (and my father who was seriously ill at the time) were both small investors in the lodge and had made several trips to the area in the past and knew several of the repeat guests. I can’t remember any more, it’s been so long ago, but I think they became aware of the lodge and Bud Williams from a common friend who was a sports writer out of Minneapolis.

I remember that first night there was some problem with the power generators and Bud came by to see if my uncle could give them a hand in fixing it. My uncle, Sam H. along with my father Louis, owned an electronics business in Minneapolis. I guess Bud thought that his electronics knowledge might be of value. I don’t remember what the out come was, but I know we had power, so they must have gotten it fixed.

The next day we headed out on the lake with our guide with great expectations. Unfortunately, the fish had other ideas. We had some luck, enough for lunch, but not much else. In any case it was great fun. After we got back, uncle Sam and I did some hiking and looked around some old mining camps.

That afternoon, and here is where the world gets very small, my uncle decided that we might have better luck elsewhere. Elsewhere turned out to be Thelon. In your blog, for July 23, 2005 you wrote the following:

“One summer, during one week of slow fishing around the lodge, I was lucky enough, to be guiding a couple of well healed guests. This wasn't always the case, we had a lot of guests who had blown their annual vacation budget on a basic trip to Arctic Star. Anyway, that week my guys became a bit bored by the slow local fishing and decided to try a fly out trip. Fly outs, cost extra and were expensive and we didn't get one often. I was excited by the idea, my guests chosen destination was the Thelon River. “

Well, I suspect that we were the two “well healed guest” you wrote about! I’m not too sure about the “well healed” part, but we certainly were guests J I remember that trip well. For one thing I got to fly in another sea plane and the fact that it was a single engine made it even better! I also remember that the pilot had trouble breaking the surface tension of the calm water and after several attempts at take off, decided there was some problem that needed correcting. I seem to recall that Sam told me there was some issue with the quality of the fuel, even though, looking back, I doubt that was the cause. Most likely if it was a fuel issue, it was that we were carrying too much, but in any case we ultimately got under way.

I remember flying to Thelon thinking that if anything went wrong with the Beaver, we were in serious trouble. All I could see looking out the window was rock and water and not much in the way of emergency landing sites. When we landed and got out of the plane, I remember the white sand beach that separated the lake and the river. I also remember the mosquitoes; I don’t remember any fish, just the damn mosquitoes! Tired of not catching anything except mosquito bites, I wondered along the beach by myself and was struck by the pristine beauty. I also remember that lone caribou walking the beach and was amazed that he didn’t seem frightened. Even though I recall being by myself, reading your story makes me wonder if you and I might have been together at the time.

I also remember that the pilot took off and left us there for a while. If I recall correctly, he had gone off to photograph some abandoned Eskimo villages. I kept thinking to myself, that if something happened to him and he didn’t return, we were in serious trouble! Thelon was so remote that it made me both excited and at times apprehensive. I remember feeling relieved I heard the sound of the returning aircraft in the distance. I don’t remember too much about the return flight, but I do remember having the time of my life.

That was 40 years ago and to this day I’ve never experienced a better vacation. I often wondered what ever happened to the lodge (I guess it burned under somewhat suspicious circumstances) and the people that I met there. Finding your blog was like finding a time machine. It’s really strange when you think of the millions of blogs on the Internet, that I would run across yours. It truly is a small world!

After he retired, Sam spent many of his vacations at Tropic Star and the area surrounding it. He is now 94 years old and still lives in Minneapolis. I am recently retired after working for 35 years in communications engineering and live in Chicago. Oh, by the way, I did eventually get a pilots license including an endorsement for hot air balloons – I still love to fly!

Keep up the blog it’s great reading.

Take care,

Joel.

Morton Grove, IL

Rat Tails.

Sun, 02 Dec 2007 18:19:19 GMT

Went to Osprey Lake yesterday on a calendar, half fish, day. Spent hours looking down an empty hole watching not much swim by. Mid day I think, a one pounder was stupid enough to bite my hook and get pulled into the tent where he flopped around, spilling my coffee and knocking my sausage roll down the hole..........in the end his willfulness cost him his life. I got one, John caught about four and Mark got skunked.

So prior to that, I'm sitting in my ice fishing tent playing 'Submarines' on my cell phone, suddenly, directly under the surface of the ice beneath my feet, I noticed a large dark object approaching my hole. First thought, 'large trout', second thought 'WTF!!!" Startled and resisting the almost overpowering urge to make large movements or sing out, I gently jiggled my hook and tried to stay very still. WTF again, not a fish at all, Mr. Muskrat blows a bubble then pops his nose up the hole. Eyeball to eyeball with me, he took a quick breath and a brief gander before diving down again and swimming away. He did this several times, once almost pulling himself up the hole and out of the water. We were face to face, not two feet apart. Very cool! For the full effect one must experience such an incident for oneself.

Fortunately, a couple of weeks ago, John had had mentioned that Muskrats were in the habit of doing this on Osprey, so I remembered and didn't crap my pants the first time Ratty popped up. John said, he'd had one do it to him one day when he wasn't in his tent but rather, was lying on the ice looking down face first with his head over top of his hole. Scared the shit out of him!

Man it was cold up there yesterday, light snow, watery sunshine, -12°C with a stiff breeze. Even in the tent it wasn't exactly comfortable. We were there from 09:00 til around 13:00, I had on, my forty below boots, the bottom half of my old Skidoo suit, plus a fuzzy fleece and heavy coat, but by the time we left my feet, hands and shoulders were getting very cold. By eight o'clock last night the top of my knees were still cold, in fact if I think about it, I can still feel the chill in them this morning.

Snowing this morning, -8°. Red screen, with a heavy snowfall warning for us, on the TV Weather Channel.

Fishing Interlude. 19/11/07

Mon, 19 Nov 2007 18:02:21 GMT

Yesterday. We were the first folks to have ventured out on Glen lake. There was only a little over two inches of ice, every time you moved you could hear and see, new cracks zipping away under your feet. Kinda scary, I didn't get more than 30 feet from shore. When I looked down into my ice hole, it didn't look like there was more than an inch of ice.

We had about three feet of water, then an unknown number of feet of weeds under that. Minus eight C, this morning, so it should be better if we go back towards the end of the week.

I was jiggling my hook, then put it down to get my tea, I looked up and my bobber was gone, I grabbed my rod and the fish just fekked off, pulling my drag. Great fun fighting it below the ice. Just before we were going to leave I got another one on about the same size, got him halfway out the hole and he got off. Gone! He came by, swallowed my bait and started to leave, I gave him a yank and pulled the hook out of his mouth, he kept the shrimp.

I kept jiggling and he turned round and took a swipe at my flasher, I jiggled again and he went for my naked glow hook, again I jerked it out of his mouth. Once more he returned, this time he bit my glow hook, I let him swim away before I jerked again and finally hooked him. Not well enough I'm afraid coz halfway out the hole he twisted off. I watched it all happen about a foot and a half right beneath my feet. Way Kewl!

I was using a little fluorescent pink glow hook with half a Safeway shrimp on it.

Did I take my camera? No........way to much fuss and bother and too heavy to carry. D'oh!! So I kept the one I caught, coz I wanted to bring him home for his photo op and he was so pretty I wanted M to see him too. He was the first Brookie I've caught in 55 years, I had no idea they were so purty! Had him for supper............tasted like dirt. I won't keep anymore from around here for eating, the lakes are too shallow and the fish all taste like mud. I though he was big enough to be different.

17.5"L. 10" around. 2.5 pounds.

Bait.

Tue, 11 Oct 2005 23:46:07 GMT

Look what I'm reduced to catching. Oh, how the mighty are fallen! The only reason I kept this little bit of bait was, because I ripped it's little lungs out removing my fly. The miserable little tyke swallowed it. Nowadays, I'm strictly catch and release.

Holy Crapweasel! ..............

Ha-ha. Single, Barb-less, hook, a wet fly, and a sinking line... catch and release only... That's reminiscent of my old dating technique.

Arctic Star. Bacon, mmmm!

Sat, 23 Jul 2005 18:50:03 GMT

I wonder if the daily contents of our grub box might be interesting. At the very least a list of them might be useful to any Junior Rangers beginning their career. In deference to Yoda, I shall endeavour to ramble not.

Packed in a WWll era ammo box each day, had we:

- 1 box Cornflake Crumbs.
- 1/2 lb butter - same of lard.
- 4 slices of bacon.
- 3 large parboiled jacket potatoes.
- 1 large onion or two medium.
- 1/2 lb coffee.
- 1 large can of evaporated milk.
- salt and pepper.
- 1 can of baked beans.
- 2 eggs. (uncooked)
- tea bags.
- 1 lemon.
- sugar.
- 1 roll aluminum foil.
- 4 slices of white bread.
- paper towel
- Curiously, no garlic in any form.

To these basic ingredients, we added fish; trout, or grayling and prepared three different, delicious shore lunches. A chowder, a fish fry, or fish, baked over the fire in aluminum foil. We'd prepare a different meal for each of the first three days, then it was the guest's choice for the last three. Chowder was the favourite, baked the least. A fish fry is a fish fry and changes little where ever it's cooked. Our chowder recipe was different though, I still use it today. It hasn't made anyone gag, yet. :-)

Funny, you had to hide your cooked bacon, or the guests would eat it before you got a chance to use it in your meal prep. Funny because, most of our guests were Jewish and from the Mid West. It seemed that once across the 60th Parallel and out onto GSL, the rules of Kosher, no longer applied. We used bacon grease to cook every meal or ground the bacon up and dumped it and the canned milk in the chowder. Baked trout was wrapped in bacon. I recall only once, being asked not to use the bacon, canned milk or lard. Go figure...

One other peculiarity; the lack of racial diversity in our guests. As stated, the majority were white, American, Jewish and from the Mid West. Very occasionally there would be a white Canadian thrown into the mix. Canadian guests were/are notoriously bad tippers, and weren't a popular guiding assignment.

Being an observant and naturally curious fellah, I once asked the Manager about this lack of 'guestural', racial diversity. He told me that people of colour were actively and passively discouraged from booking at our Lodge. Different times, different attitudes, I accepted his explanation, but the unfairness and arrogance of it has always niggled at me.

Arctic Star. Pt.1.

Sat, 23 Jul 2005 18:45:25 GMT

Like most things in my life, I fell into guiding by accident. I was working as a hotel desk clerk and maintenance man in The Yellowknife Inn one spring, when the manager of Arctic Star Lodge checked in. I knew him slightly, having met him a couple of times before In Cambridge Bay NU. We got chatting, he knew of my fishing interest and eventually he asked me if I would like to come out to the Lodge and be a guide for the summer. I said I knew little about guiding, he said, it didn't matter they'd teach me. I handed in my hotel master keys and off I went.

Odd, but of about 80 groups I guided on Great Slave, both at Arctic Star and Plummer's, I only really remember perhaps half a dozen. At Arctic Star, the one I have the most vivid memories of, is of course, Big Al from Minneapolis. I have vague memories of a pair of dentists from Houston TX, a couple of Pecan farmers from TX, some businessmen from Chicago and an elderly couple; she in a wheel chair and him smoking a cigar, dozing, jerking awake each time he got a bite; accidentally burning through his line and breaking the fish off.

From Plummer's, I only remember one group. The Chairman and Board of Purina pet foods. Nothing too exciting happened with them except they arrived in a Corporate DC-3 with the Purina logo on it's tail and they brought a ton of Daredevil lures with that same Purina logo as a pattern.

The biggest fish I ever landed while guiding, was a thirty-eight pound Lake Trout. Caught one evening in front of the Barnstrom Falls, by one of the young ladies, Dorise, a slave girl from the Lodge. Truth be known, she hooked it only while holding my rod for a second, I had to do all the fighting and landing. That sucker was so big, I didn't think it would fit in the net. See below:

Arctic Star. Pt.2.

Sat, 23 Jul 2005 18:43:42 GMT

Ice break-up in McLeod Bay is really something to witness. It's so sudden, you have difficulty believing what occurred. Except for the odd bit of water around the shore and in the river bays, as far as the eye can see, there is seemingly solid ice, one to two feet thick, covering an area roughly one hundred by twenty miles. From the appaerance of it, it seems unlikely the ice will melt that summer.

One afternoon in early July an easterly breeze starts blowing, by evening it's strengthened considerably, by night it's a strong easterly wind.

Next morning, all the ice has gone, blown away, vanished! It's incredible, in the space of eighteen hours, from solid ice to nothing but open water and whitecaps. You can't believe your eyes. All that's left of a huge ice sheet is an occasional tiny pan of candled stuff, deposited on shore. Even the fish are surprised by the suddenness and go into a sulk, not biting for a day or so.

Big Al and his crew were at the Lodge early one spring for just such an event. The disappearing ice was a great relief to everyone. For the last couple of days, in front of the Barnstrom Falls, we'd had fifteen boats, all trolling around in a five hundred metre circle, trying to not get tangled in each other's lines.

With the ice gone so abruptly, everyone wanted to broaden their fishing horizons. Big Al and the Boys wanted to go over to Wildbread Bay and The Gap.

Very early one morning when the light was good enough to travel, myself and four other guides, set off across McLeod Bay, for Wildbread Bay via Shelter Bay and Lost Channel. A journey of forty to fifty miles. Big Al and the Boys would fly over to meet up with the boats, after breakfast.

The water temperature was only slightly above 32°F, the air temp, wasn't much more than that. In open boats, in spite of wearing heavy winter gear, we were seriously chilled by the time we arrived at the Lost Channel portage into Wildbread.

The first thing we did after arriving at the portage was build a fire to warm ourselves by and make some coffee. We used the ancient, traditional, Indian guide, fire lighting method. Namely, get a pile of wood, pour gasoline on it, stand back and chuck in a lit match. Whoomp! Instant fire.

Anyway, the wood we gathered was damp and the fire didn't catch very well. Fearing it was going to go out, my buddy Jack decided to help it along with more gas. Well, you know what happened next. As he poured, the fire instantly flashed over to the five gallon gas can in his hand. Poor old Jack was getting singed and panicked, still holding the flaming gas can he took off running. Fortunately the can was almost full, so the fire couldn't really get going in it. The can chugged, whooshed, and alternately belched fire out the top, little spot fires starting in the grass behind Jack, as he ran. We were yelling at him to put the can down.

Coming to his senses after about ten steps, he did and extinguished the fire by putting his foot over the filler hole. We, stamped out the spot fires while Jack went to cool his scorched hand in the cold lake water.

Everything settled down, we made our coffee and of course teased Jack unmercifully about how stupid he'd been and how funny he'd looked. Actually, we were a long way from any emergency help, he was very fortunate his clothes hadn't caught fire. We were all lucky, he hadn't hurled the flaming can away as he ran. He would have been responsible for starting a serious forest fire and burning the dang place down.

We had our coffee and a bite to eat, traversed the portage, and were all set to go when Big Al and the Boys arrived. Except for the incredible fishing, the rest of the week passed uneventfully. At night we tied the boats to the shore and flew home. The flying back and forth was expensive, so we only got to fish The Gap for one week that year

I'll never forget Jack and his flaming gas can, though.

Arctic Star. Pt.3

Fri, 22 Jul 2005 23:40:44 GMT

I guided at Arctic Star for three summers, then one spring, defected to Plummer's Great Slave Lake lodge at Talthelie Narrows. I didn't like Plummer's. At Arctic Star I was recognized as one of their better guides, I was also the 'Handyman', keeping the plumbing etc. going. I'd known the manager Gary Powers, since I'd met him in Cam Bay. Arctic Star had flown guests up from Great Slave and out to Albert Edward Bay on Victoria Island for some Char fishing.
At Plummer's, I was just another guide in a group of about thirty. No clout or perks. Holy Crapweasel! Until I weaseled my way into the mechanic's quarters, I even had to sleep in the main bunkhouse with the rest of the prison population. (Er, I mean local guides) I didn't like that and they didn't like me.
The problem was my previous winter's employment. Several of Plummer's guides were very bad boys, I'd spent the winter before in a very short career, as a Corrections Officer at the local YK jail. Several of my former wards, were now my fellow guides. It made for a very uncomfortable situation, specially sharing the same bunkhouse with them.
The guests at Plummer's were nice enough but I always found Chummy to be aloof and a bit of a snot. Fair's fair, the feeling was probaly mutual. I didn't stay there long, only about three weeks before I left, never to guide professionally on Great Slave again.

Ha! Another big difference between Arctic Star and Plummer's, besides the 'inmates', was the beer. At Arctic Star we could buy four beers a night, at Plummer's, only two. And, I had no G/F, at Plummer's. That made it hard on a young guy.......

Arctic Star. Pt.4 (The Gap).

Fri, 22 Jul 2005 23:27:47 GMT

That was a great camping spot, I'd had it in mind for 15 years. While guiding for Arctic Star Lodge, I'd spotted it, it's about a mile East of the Lost Channel Portage, on the south side. You can't miss it. I'm not saying where the best fishing was. If you want that, you'll have to find it yourself.

Wildbread Bay and the Gap are ice free, much earlier in the season than McLeod Bay. Sometimes, because the main body of McLeod Bay was still ice covered, Arctic Star would be full of guests with no place to fish. If that was the case, we'd transfer the boats over to Wildbread Bay. Making the crossing to the Lost Channel portage in the midnight twilight, in time for the Lodge to fly the guests over next morning.

Ferrying the boats across McLeod Bay was great fun. We'd start out, in a bit of open water, in front of the lodge. We'd drive the boats full throttle, straight at the ice ahead, running them up on the ice, as far as we could. Not a lifejacket between us. We'd push the boats over that bit of ice, until we hit open water and do it again and again, for forty miles. Sometimes the ice barrier would be narrow enough, without pulling up or shutting off the kicker, we could skid right over it. It took us the best part of the night, to get to Lost Channel, there we'd have a bit of a sleep on a rock, before portaging into Wildbread Bay.

Later in the morning after they'd had a nice breakfast, the guest fisher-folk would arrive by plane. In the evening, the plane would hop over from the Lodge, and fly everyone home for the night. Our work was not finished of course; before bedtime, we still had many hundred of pounds of trout, to clean and prepare for the freezer.

We'd fish The Gap area, for about a week, until the ice on McLeod Bay cleared. Ice free, we guides would ferry the boats back over open water to Arctic Star, at the Barnstrom River.

Rough! McLeod Bay of Great Slave Lake, gets very rough. Many afternoons, I got caught, 15-20 miles down the lake from camp. In a 16' Starcraft, with two pretty scared American whitemen as passengers, sometimes it would take two hours plus, to get home. We'd be going real slow and pounding from wave top to wave top.

In '67 or '68, McLeod Bay was hit by the tail end of a hurricane (I forget which one). A biggie, it came all the way up from the Eastern Seaboard. I'd never seen freshwater waves like it in my life, they had to be 10 feet high. Fortunately, I'd decided to fish close to the Lodge that day.

The waves out on the main lake were huge, some of the barrier island were completely washed over. I almost got swamped just going the two miles back to camp.

It was at the end of the season anyway, the storm lasted for a couple of days, boats were stranded all over the place. One guide, ran out of gas down by Ft Reliance. It took him three days to get back, paddling his aluminum boat like a canoe, stern first, with the kicker pulled up. He'd been sent to Reliance, sans guests, to pick up a few supplies.

The main lodge buildings were damaged. Closed it right then and there, flew all the guests back to Winnipeg. We guides, stayed behind for an extra week to do repairs and winterize the Lodge. I absolutely hated doing the season end close up, and couldn't wait to get out of there... 'till next year.

Arctic Star. Pt.5.

Fri, 22 Jul 2005 23:15:24 GMT

The majority of the guests at Arctic Star Lodge, came from the mid-west of the USA... Chicago and Minnesota. A few from New York and the occasional Texan.

Of all the people I guided, I remember one particular group the most. 'Big Al' and entourage from Minneapolis/St Paul. Big Al, owned a couple of bar-nightclubs, 'The Roaring 20's' and 'The Gay 90's'. Gay, in those days, didn't have the same popular connotations it does today.

I just did a websearch on 'The Gay 90's'. I see it still exists and is now a large and popular 'gay' nightspot in Minneapolis. The blurb even said, unless you really are overtly gay and don't mind getting hit-on, stay out of 'The Mensroom'. 'Big Al' wasn't mentioned.

True or not, I couldn't say, but the rumour around the Lodge was, Big Al, was 'connected'. We were impressed by his notoriety. Whatever, he usually came for opening week, and came with a group of about a dozen friends, family and business associates. In the days before terrorists and airport metal detectors, some came armed. Great people, friendly, fun and good tippers. There was competition among the guides, to guide Big Al and his crew, they were a favorite. The average weekly tip was US$40. 'Al's', were always bigger.

'Big Al', was indeed big, huge in fact. When he got in your boat, if you didn't want to sink while still tied to the dock, you sat him on your left side facing you. Before he boarded and to counter balance him, you moved everything, including both gas cans and lunchbox to the other (right) side. He fished with his son, not a kid himself, who sat on his left.

Still, with all steps taken to counter his massive bulk, as we went down the lake, my boat had a decided list to port. Any thought of getting to any particular favourite fishing spot in a hurry, was out of the question. From stretching for the kicker control tiller, and leaning to the right, my arm was longer and my neck stiff by day's end. My favourite boat driving position was to sit on top of the kicker, feet on my guide's seat, steering by swivelling my butt. It was warm in cold weather and kept my hands free for changing lures etc. With Big Al on board, sitting atop the motor was impossible. I'd have slid right off, sideways.

After a fine shore lunch, when the fishing action dropped off, a lot of guests would snooze in the hot afternoon sun as we trolled slowly round, in the sheltered bays. Nothing like hot sunshine, slow fishing and the putt-putt of a 20 horse, Johnson outboard, and a good dose of stinky, oily, exhaust fumes, to put one to sleep.

Not everyone would be dozing however, after a bit of target practice involving empty beer cans and concealed weapons, a favourite trick of those guys would be to cruise quickly up, behind an unsuspecting and sleepy boat and lob in a cherry bomb. Scare the living shit out of you if you were half asleep yourself. Of course, what goes around, comes around.

Seems like they always brought a good supply of cherry bombs! If you were lucky, you'd get the unused ones when they left. Cherry bombs were great for depth charging Jackfish, in the little slough between the Lodge and the guide's shacks. We guides, hated them poor ol' Jackfish. Stink up the boat, slime you and rip your fingers with their teeth, if you weren't careful. Jackfish fishing, was to be avoided if humanly possible. Occasionally someone would insist. That unlucky guide got a ribbing from the others for a week.

Before the ice was off the main lake, Big Al's was the group, I first had the pleasure of guiding in Wildbread Bay. Each night, we'd leave the boats tied up at The Gap and everyone would fly back to the Lodge. Early spring, trout fishing, in Wildbread Bay was absolutely spectacular. There weren't any trout of great size, the average being under ten pounds, biggest about twenty, but there were many thousands of them and they were hungry. Each evening, after supper and before beer, each guide would have potato sacks full of fish, to clean.

I forgot to mention, Big Al and his crew had daily; 'First, Biggest, Most fish' competitions. First and Most were pretty much beyond my control, Biggest wasn't however. On many occasions I enhanced the size of my boat's largest fish, by stuffing a smaller trout down it's gullet. Not only small trout went in. Hell, anything that would fit and not be seen was used, half a tackle box, sometimes. For this trick I was paid a beer.

In the late 60's, fish limits on Great Slave, were way more generous than they are today (one a day plus one trophy). Each guest was allowed to take home, forty pounds of frozen filets plus two trophy size (usually over twenty pounds) fish. The way we cleaned 'em, it took about twenty fish of varying size, to produce 40 pounds of filets. Plus, we usually ate two or three fish per boat for each day's shore lunch. Thirty six guests a week for twelve weeks...that's a lot of dead fish. In those days, there was no 'catch and release'. "Throw it back? Are you nuts!?"

Lake Trout doesn't keep well, even frozen, three months max, then it gets rancid. I suspect a large quantity of spoiled fish, got thrown out, back in the good ol' US of A. Seems a shame.

The guests took lots of photos of each other and us. Of course, we never took any pictures of the guests. That would have been rude.

Arctic Star. Pt.6.

Fri, 22 Jul 2005 22:58:44 GMT

From Arctic Star Lodge on the Barnstrom River, we ranged almost the whole north shore of McLeod Bay on Great Slave Lake, as far west as the Mountain River and all the way to the Hoarfrost River and Ft Reliance in the east.

Fishing in the proximity of the Lodge in the spring, was fantastic. As the season progressed however, we had to range further and further afield. As the water warmed, the trout dispersed from the river mouths out to the reefs, shoals and colder deep water in the main body of the lake. Finding good fishing in August was always a challenge. In September the fishing got better and because spawning started that month, the fish got bigger. That was when the forty pounders were caught. Just as the fishing got good again, the weather usually went bad. The Lodge closed after the first week of September.

Great Slave can get very rough. McLeod Bay because of it's east/west orientation and proximity to the Barren Lands is particularly susceptible to inclement weather. One year, it seemed like the whole month of July was just one big storm. Squall after squall plagued us on a daily basis. By the middle of the day, the water would be up to my ankles in the guide's well, I 'd actually have to bail with the coffee can. By day's end I'd be soaked to the skin and almost have hypothermia. Thank dog for hot showers. It seemed like I didn't dry out or warm up, until August that year.

One day rounding a point in rough water during a squall, one of my guests hooked into a good size fish. The guest was a young kid with his dad. Unfortunately the kid didn't have the strength or knowledge to fight the fish properly. He was panicking about losing it. Trying to assist him I did a silly thing and got the boat stern first into a breaking wave. Before I knew it, we were going down. For a minute I though we were going to have to swim for it. With water almost up to my knees, just before we got completely swamped...using full power to stay afloat, I managed to run the boat up on shore. All the while, the kid still had the fish on and kept getting me tangled up in his line as it passed over my head, first knocking off my hat, then my hundred dollar, Aviator Deluxe, polarized sunglasses.

Once on shore with his dad's help the kid managed to beach the fish. A nice twenty pound trout. Another boat had seen my distress and came over to help. The five of us, with difficulty, were able to haul my boat up the rocks, high enough above the surf line, for me to pull the drain plug and empty the boat. We built a big fire, had shore lunch and dried out/warmed up. For lunch, I made a delicious chowder out of the kid's fish. No Trophy, for you kid, not even a picture. That happened at the Waldron River.

Ah, the Waldron River. In July there were so many fish there, it was like a glass bottomed, fish supermarket. Some of the guests actually referred to it as Walgreen's. "Hey Nick, y'all gonna take us down to Walgreen's t'day?" It was a very popular fishing spot, fairly close to the Lodge with a great beach and plenty of dead wood for making shore lunch fires. As a bonus, while lunch was being prepared, one's guests, could fish from shore for trophy Arctic Grayling. Later, in the mid seventies, after Arctic Star burnt to the ground, someone built a lodge close by, at Thompson's Landing. Indian Mountain Lodge, still there I think. Yup: http://www.indianmountainlodge.com/default.htm

Apart from Wildbread Bay, during the last week of June, before break-up, there was only one other spot available for us to fish. Right around the corner, a mile from the Lodge, were the Barnstrom River Falls, where said river, emptied into Great Slave Lake. Great fishing, but with 15 boats all dragging fishing lines, in a half square kilometre of open water, it could get very crowded.
In fact, in front of the Falls, was my favourite fishing spot all season. To ensure we caught some fish for lunch, I'd go there first thing every morning. I'd stay there, parked in the eddy behind the rock at the bottom, catching lunch, before venturing out, to head for whatever beauteous, but sometimes unproductive fishing hole, I had selected for the afternoon. Also, to make sure we never came home skunked.
There were many spots to choose from: Bigstone Bay, Benny's Bay, McKinley River, Waldron River, assorted reefs and islands etc. Generally, because the wind always came up in the afternoon, I'd try to stay within an hour's cruising time of the Lodge. Fishing further away, at the Hoarfrost or the Mountain Rivers for instance, could be better, but in rough water, the drive home took hours and, was very uncomfortable for our older guests.
Coming home from Ft Reliance once. One of the boats travelling with me, lost his motor in the rough seas. It snapped right off at the engine bracket and fell into about nine hundred feet of water. He had to be towed home. I keep saying it, but no one in those days wore life jackets. Remarkable that no one fell in and drowned, even more remarkable because very few of us could swim well, including myself.

However, most summer days passed uneventfully. A succession of beautiful afternoons, basking in the warm sun, loafing in the back of the boat, chatting with the guests and taking the odd fish off the hook. In the evenings after supper and chores, all the guides including them that had girlfriends, would head for the Lodge store, drink beer, chat up the girls and tell tales of the day. Get half pissed, get up next morning and do it all over again. What a way for a young guy to spend his summers. We got paid (not much) for that.

Addendum to Pts. 1 & 2. A Trip to the East Arm.

Fri, 22 Jul 2005 19:27:09 GMT

You ask. How could two ducks morph into a big Black Bear? Well, he was about a hundred yards away, all I could see of him were his ears and the top of his head. These looked like two ducks, swimming backwards, towards me. I didn't realize it was a bear, until I started to hear him snuffling as his nose went through the water.

My buddy just e-mailed me to remind me of a couple of other things. On the way home we stopped in at another old camp to investigate the possibility of resurrecting and old J-5 Bombardier that was parked in the bush. Also on site was an ancient Cat gen-set, that would never run again. Not wishing it to feel unloved, we tried out my .44 Mag on it. Except for the air cleaner and unlike in the movies, the bullets just bounced right off it.

Don't forget, at that time of year, there is twenty four hour daylight. We got back to town very early in the morning. As we approached the old town to drop me off at my truck, we were greeted by the sound of an altered state hippy, banging on some 45 gallon oil drums on Joliffe Island. " Bong, bong, Bong bong, Bong bong". Echoing out over the still water on a dead calm morning. Weird!!

It was really early in the morning, so after my buddies dropped me off, they went back out on the lake and anchored out by Con Island and the old City pump house. Their intention was to get a few hours sleep before someone came to pick them up and haul the boat out. They were awaked a number of hours later by the RCMP yelling at them on a megaphone. Scared the hell out of them since, they were dead to the world after a hard day's night. Bewildered and groggy, they peeked their heads over the side and said everything was all right. Satisfied, the nice policemen left. Apparently someone had reported that a boat was adrift and the cops were just checking on it. In those days, people cared.

A trip to the East Arm. Pt.2

Fri, 22 Jul 2005 19:13:37 GMT

I believe we started off with a hundred and ten gallons of gas; we cached twenty at Gros Cap and had about twenty left when we set up camp. Uh-oh, we'd burned seventy gallons to go 150 miles and were going to burn at least five gallons a day just cruising around. Oh well, we'll get some more from Plummer.

As it happened Mr. Plummer was not best pleased to see us, was not comfortable with us camped at his back door, so to speak. In those days, recreational boating from Yellowknife to McLeod Bay (East Arm) was virtually unheard of. If not indeed first, we were one of only a very few groups to do it. Nowadays, it's like a freeway through the Narrows, several boats going by every day.

'Ways, 'Chummy' wasn't about to encourage or prolong our stay in the area of his Lodge and would only part with about five gallons of his dwindling gas supply. I say dwindling, because the re-supply barge hadn't got to him yet with his new gasoline. That left the DoF., we got maybe another ten gallons from them. In the end one of us (DC) hitched a ride back to YK on Plummer's DC3, bought some more gas and beer, chartered Trevor (Hole in the Head) Burrows and his Cessna 185, and brought it back out to us, the same day. Trev, gave us a great rate for the plane charter. DC, says the hardest part was finding some empty ten gallon kegs.

We had a nice little camp set up in the trees, on the lee of the island, facing south, out of the wind. Originally we'd planned to go right out to McLeod Bay proper, but it was still mostly covered with about a hundred miles of ice and we didn't get much past the Narrows. From our camp we fished and explored.

Someone accidentally winged a flying seagull with my little .22 pistol and was very upset when it fell wounded, into the water. There, it flapped around with a broken wing as it's mate circled overhead, making a hell of a racket. The poor thing was eventually dispatched with a paddle because we'd (temporarily) run out of bullets.

On another day, we went over to the Lodge and made off with a couple of the young, nubile, first year Uni chickies who did summer vacation work there. All summer, they never got a chance to leave the camp, so we invited the cutest two, to come for a boat ride, do some fishing and see the country with us. Plummer was pissed about that too. At the time I thought, "Screw you buddy, you're a southerner and don't live here. I do, and this is my backyard."

DC, had brought Scuba gear and a wet suit, unfortunately he hadn't brought his hood or his booties. The water temp was 38°F. He tried a dive anyway, putting all his sox on his feet and wrapping them in plastic bags in an unsuccessful attempt to keep them dry and warm. He lasted underwater, about five minutes and didn't see a dang thing except mud. We were all hoping he'd see giant trout swimming around. Afterwards, his feet were bone white and looked frozen. Took him hours to warm them up. He didn't make a second dive. I don't blame him.

We had trout for breakfast, lunch and dinner. We had it baked in tin foil, fried, and made into chowder. We had baked beans, bacon & eggs, spuds and one loaf of very dense Old Country Dark Pumpernickel Rye. That bread was great! It was very filling, didn't go stale and lasted us all week. We hung up some fish over our smouldering campfire one afternoon, to dry/smoke, someone/thing came along and made off with it while we were away. Never figured out who or what.

The week we fished there, The Bomber, a red and white diving lure, worked best. BH caught at least one very nice trout over twenty pounds on it. We caught lots, between ten and fifteen pounds

The weather, except for one day, was hot, calm and sunny. The one grey day we had, the wind blew straight of the ice to the east of us, it wasn't pleasant. We fished a little then lay around camp, telling stories and taking naps. Our beer supply was limited, once or twice we went to Plummer's employee's store and had a few beers with the guides and girls. The girls were yummy, but about eight years younger than me.

One day, I thought I'd walk completely around the island to see what I could find washed up on the rocks. Actually, I was looking for big, floating fish lures (T-6 Flatfish) that had broken off and floated ashore. I'd got about three quarters of the way round and was within sight of camp when I noticed what appeared to be a couple of ducks about a hundred yards out on the lake and swimming towards me. Thinking duck would make a nice change from fish for supper, I immediately unholstered my .22 and to no avail, unloaded a full clip at the supposed ducks. What? They just kept swimming towards me, apparently unconcerned by the lead whistling around their heads. They just kept getting closer and bigger, till I suddenly realized them aren't ducks, them are a big black bear and he's swimming straight at me. He's going to beach between me and camp and the protection of my .44 Mag, that handgun was all wrapped up safely and separately from it's bullets, in the bottom of my sleeping bag.

Not knowing if I'd hit the bear with my .22 and really pissed him off. I started yelling frantically at my two buddies to get the big gun. They couldn't hear me very well and I was getting hoarse by the time they understood what I was saying and pointing at. In the meantime ol' Yogi had hit the beach and was looking around for the source of all the racket.

The boys finally found the big gun and loaded it. The bear could hear and smell us but not see us very well, I think he realized he was boxed in on both sides and the only way out was straight ahead. He took off, racing through the bush, straight across the island and back into the lake. By the time we got across to the other side of the island he'd disappeared into the sun sparkle of the water and we never did see him again. A close call, I was a bit more careful, to always identify my target after that.

From the safety of the water, Plummer's Lodge dump was a good place for observing bears. We went over there a couple of times to check 'em out. They were very big and fat from dining on all the waste food from the Lodge. For the most part they cared not that we were there parked 10 feet from their dining room. We took 'the girls' and showed them too.

All in all, once we got our fuel supply issue sorted out, it was a great week, the first of many trips I made, with different friends over the years, to the East Arm. Our trip back home to YK must have been totally uneventful, I remember no incidents from it. Why were much lighter and faster and clipped along at about 20 mph. In my mind I can still hear the hiss of the water under the bow and the drone of the motor. I do remember, we stopped at our hidden gas cache to retrieve it, the funny thing is, we didn't need it and got back with about ten gallons to spare.

A trip to the East Arm. Pt One.

Fri, 22 Jul 2005 19:05:52 GMT

Holy Crapweasel Batman. I'm older than that, but a couple of days ago I took a fun little quiz. The result would supposedly give me my mental age. Hmmm, seems I'm really only 34. Well I didn't have to take a test to figure that out, I've known it for years. 'Cept I thought 35.
This morning, an old friend reminded me of a camping/fishing trip to the East Arm of Great Slave Lake, he (DC), I and another friend (BH) went on, way back about 1970 or so. We commandeered DC's dad's home built, wooden boat equipped with a 65 HP Merc outboard, loaded it to the gunwales with 10 gal. kegs of gas, some food and camping gear and half a dozen cases of beer, setting off from Yellowknife, (Con Dock) about 10 o'clock one fine, early July, evening.
About 20 minutes into the trip we realized, the boat and cargo were way too heavy a load for that little 65 HP Merc to push. There was not a chance we'd ever get the boat on plane, so we chugged along all night, stopping briefly at the Pilot Islands to stretch our legs.
It was an adventure and a voyage of discovery all the way. I had some experience with GSL, having worked as a fishing guide at Artic Star Lodge and Great Slave Lodge for four summers. All three of us knew in general where we were going, but none of us knew the exact course. The water in that part of GSL is very shallow, full of reefs and murky. We were miles out on the lake trying to follow a line between navigation buoys, meanwhile trying to keep land visible to the East of us.
It was freezing out there on that huge expanse of water. When we left the dock it was a beautiful warm summer evening, twenty miles down the lake the temp wasn't much above zero. We'd worked up a sweat getting going and now we were digging out everything we owned to wear, to protect us from the cold, damp air. We took turns huddling under the bow to get out of the wind generated by our stately passage. Finally early next morning, roughly ten hours and bumping over a couple of reefs later, shivering, we arrived at Gros Cap.
Spooky, yup. Devil's Channel early in the morning, in the mist, is spooky. Devil's Channel, a shortcut behind Gros Cap, we didn't know about and came upon by accident. It was complete with some kind of old ghost village, an old fish packing plant. Tumble down shacks and a wharf, almost completely hidden by over grown bush, looking like they were all ready to topple into the water and disappear forever.
By this time it was quite obvious, we were fighting a losing battle, in the fuel to load ratio wars. We had too much gas for the motor to push, but not enough to get to Talthelii Narrows, fish for four days and return home. We decided to cache 20 gallons of gas in the bush for our return, figuring we'd be able to carry on to Plummer's Lodge where we could beg, borrow or steal more fuel for fishing and cruising around.
Setting out again, we began the long eastward cruise up the Hearne Channel, the wind came up behind us, and almost getting swamped by a following sea, I thought we were done for. Life jackets, what's that? It was dodgy, but eventually we made it across Francois Bay.
Finding a protected cove, we pulled into a beautiful little sandy beach and called it quits for the day. After napping on a breezy point out of the bugs for a few hours, we did a bit of exploring around the bay. Well, wouldn't you know it there was an abandoned Atco trailer parked in the bush. Some old mining exploration camp I suspect. Hadn't been used in years. Inside there was a small outboard motor and a chainsaw. Huh? There's no one around for a hundred miles.... couldn't just leave the stuff lying there.

Late in the afternoon, early in the evening, the wind died down and we set off again. But not before, we used some bushy branches to sweep our footprints off the beach. Next morning, we arrived at the first island, southeast of the Narrows and pitched camp.