Fishing at 66°N

Frequent high winds kept fishing to a minimum for me here in Nunavut. Maybe an hour or so every few nights from the dock or shore, typically sight-casting to 5-8" grayling with #12-18 dries & nymphs.

It was more practice for Belize (on the extreme small-scale) than it was fishing.

Lake trout were a hard target on the fly rod. For me, anyway. I watched one give one of my white-on-white Clousers a two-second glance before he casually swam on past while I looked on from the dock above. No love.

The one 'laker' I witnessed being caught on a fly was by someone casting for their first time ever, while myself & another part-time fly guide watched, cheered and coaxed him along. A new fly angler was born that night, and I was happy to be a part of it. Welcome to the addiction.

Note: the other guide works at the Location X eluded to in Project Salt.

Pilot graffiti

A few of us managed to weasel a trip in the helicopter for fishing one night. That was cool.

We covered the twenty-odd miles to our first spot in under 10 minutes. Awesome. That location wasn't happening so we flew along the river a couple hundred feet up, scouting for a fishy-looking hole.

Note: Bell 407s are far quicker than any bass boat, flats skiff, jet boat, kayak or truck to hop spots, that is for damn sure.

Our next spot looked far fishier. And it was: I landed a nice grayling of nineteen inches on my first cast. The CGR was the designated hitter on this trip, and the grayling put a most enjoyable bend in the glass. A bend which was compounded by the fast current. Fun times.

I wandered downstream and then upstream of the others, deciding on a perch above the rapid to swing a few different patterns in the current seams. I was trying to find that one lake trout silly enough to get in my species journal. At some point the wind picked up and brought some cold, misty rain but I didn't really notice.

After dozens of casts and a few fly changes, I glanced downriver to check on the others. They weren't there. A quick look over my shoulder told me everything I need to know: the group were standing beside the helicopter, hoods up and hands in pockets against the wind and mist. A couple were looking in my direction. I could read their thoughts: "Hurry the f**k up, you idiot. It's f**king cold!"

I reeled up and strolled over to the waiting group. I told them I had a problem, much like an alcoholic or a druggie.

The first cast is always free, hombre.