4.9.2006: Little Salmon Lake trip: hungry rocks eat lure, poles mysteriously missing

"Not again!" A cry echoes in the shores of Little Salmon Lake, 10 km south of Paulatuk. Another frustrated fisherman was defeated by Mother Nature, frantically yanking the fishing pole to release the lure from its embrace. The rock-filled lake bottom had claimed another careless victim, offering the fish a good laugh.

Little Salmon Lake, September 2006. Photo by Markus Siivola.

Little Salmon Lake is a pretty little water located close to Paulatuk. Our intent was to camp over-night at the lake, hopes high for some subsequent char action. Following a 15 km ATV track from town, Bill, dog Kyra, Delia and I reached this peaceful place on a crisp fall Saturday. The striking colors of the season had already painted the tundra in red and yellow. Snow geese were flying in the thousands over and past the lake, towards south, a move signalled by the cooling of the weather.

After a late arrival on Saturday and a few uneventful casts, we decided to crawl into our tents and postpone the fish slaughter for Sunday. On a previous drive-by we had spotted a bear by the lake, and the memories of it kept our imaginations going: all sounds from outside the tent turned into the sounds of a closing-in bear, coming for pray. Mostly it was Bill, snoring and shuffling in the safety of his tent.

Sunday morning rose sunny and clear. We started to scan the shores of the lake in search for char. We had no idea of where the big ones were lingering, as none of us had fished here before. Not that it mattered: the lake had to be full of hook-crazy fish destined to land on our dinner plates, preferably with basmati rice.

Not quite. The beginning wasn't easy and no sign of fish appeared, but that was to be expected: patience is a virtue, especially of ours. However, no matter how zen I was about it, nothing kept on happening. I worked religiously, moved systematically, analysed it, tried different approaches, even tried to think like a fish. Not a freaking nibble. Instead, Delia and I were fighting much bigger objects, say, like the Earth: not only did we hook the rocky bottom several times but lost two of our best lures trying to win the day. Meanwhile, Bill managed to catch a little trout. So there was fish.

The day grew older but "the big ones" were conspicuous by their absence. To add to my grief, I somehow managed to drop my friend's shiny new fishing pole while atv'ing on the tundra and spent a considerable amount of time searching for it. Maybe patience wasn't a virtue after all - dynamite sounded more like it. After resuming fishing and continuing to catch the same-o', I finally heard Delia hollering over a fish: she'd hooked a nice, beautiful char. Reaching quota, she handed me over her lucky rod and I became a man on a mission: the fish were biting and my gear charmed!

However, despite my good intentions, the char did not want to co-operate. I can't say I felt too disappointed amidst the beauty of the land and this pristine lake. I filled my lungs with the crystal clear air. There would be other times and other opportunities.

It was time to leave, so we tore down the camp and packed up the ATV's. The ride back to town was breath-taking in the fantastic red sunset, which finally made the day for me. And after all, we did get the biggest char of the year.

See photos from the trip (opens in a new window).

-Markus

Recently archived stories:
:: 13.9.2006: Park Familiarization Trip: Getting a little too familiar...
:: 08.9.2006: Starting off fresh.