This is my story about fishing in the Arctic which is one of the most primal and beautifully remote places on earth.

1. 24 www.travelinganglermagazine.com
The Tree and
Horton rivers in the
Canadian Arctic are
magical places for
reasons beyond their
legendary trout. Story
and photos by John
Cleveland
T
HE CANADIAN
ARCTIC IS AN
exotic universe of
endless geological
history shaped by the rivers of
ice that were its architect. Evi-
dence of our planet’s ancient
formation is still lying on the
surface of this land as glacial
scars and burnished moraine
beautifully integrated into
the canvas of this vast barren
wilderness. The undisturbed
elemental energy of the Arctic
has made it one of my favorite
places to iron out the wrinkles
in my soul and reconnect with
the wisdom and wonder of the
natural world.
C
CHASING
HASING
U
UNICORNSIN
NICORNSIN
THE
THEL
LANDOFTHE
ANDOFTHE
M
MIDNIGHT
IDNIGHTS
SUN
UN

2. traveling angler 25
The‘unicorn’ of the Arctic, a 37-inch
behemoth char caught by Jim Craig. His
guide Scotty Orr is doing the heavy lifting.

3. 26 www.travelinganglermagazine.com
Amazing journeys be-
gin with a dream, and
I have been drawn to
the dream of fishing
in wild places for
wild fish ever since I
can remember. I have
been lucky enough to
fish in the Canadian
Arctic several times so
when I was invited to
visit Plummers Arctic
Lodge on Great Bear
Lake this past August for their annual fly
fishing week I was able to add another
journey to my list of memorable trips
there. Introducing friends to the Far
North is always a special treat for me and
as luck would have it my friend Jim Craig
was almost done packing for the trip by
the time I had finished asking if he was
interested. Jim, a trout fishing guide and
head instructor at the Michigan’s Trout
Unlimited fly fishing school, is a practical
down to earth outdoorsman. The goals
he envisioned for our trip reflected that
elemental simplicity. He wanted to catch
a lake trout, an Arctic char, and a grayling
on his fly rod, while simply enjoying
whatever adventure took place each day
we were in the Arctic. Included in our
trip would be a two-day fly out to the
Tree River which is one of the premier
Arctic char fisheries in the world; a fly
out to the Horton River to fish for gray-
ling; and four days of hunting for trophy
lake trout at Great Bear Lake, one of the
top lake trout fly fishing destinations for
lake trout.
As Jim and I stepped from the
chartered plane onto the gravel tarmac
of Plummer’s Great Bear Lake Lodge’s
runway it was as if we had been beamed
through a portal to another world. The
hollow voice of the Arctic wind tasted
like an exotic elixir seasoned with the
flavors of lichen, caribou moss, and
Arctic willow hinting of the adventures
about to unfold this coming week.
Plummers Great Bear Lodge is situ-
ated as a warren of white cabins with red
tin roofs perched on a pear-shaped spit
of glacial moraine offering panoramic
views of the lake from every cabin. Our
guide this week would be Scotty Orr
whom I have fished with several times
on Great Bear and Great Slave lakes. I
knew Scotty would be a great companion
to share the week with as he is a talented
storyteller, and a master guide with 14
years of experience fishing in the Arctic.
After getting our gear stowed in our
cabin, we spent the afternoon pulling big
steamer flies attached to heavy sink lines
behind the boat. It didn’t take Jim long
to discover how powerfully strong a lake
trout can be when stuck with a sharp
hook. Jim hooked a half dozen trout in
the 5-to-10-pound range that gave him
a hint of how deep the “fight or flight”
instinct is integrated into a northern
lake trout’s DNA. They are tough, stub-
born and love to sound for the bottom,
making them very capable of turning a
10-weight fly rod into graphite dust.
That evening after dinner the lodge
manager Chuk Colter told us we would
be in the first group tomorrow to fly to
the Tree River camp for a two day over-
night to fish for Arctic char. With high
expectations we barely slept a wink. As
it turned out, our expectations were met
and exceeded.
TheTreeRiver
The De Havilland Otter took off from the
main lodge at 8:30am for the hour and
a half flight to the famed Tree River in
Nunavut. To the avid char fisherman, the
Tree River is considered “Holy Water.” It
appears against the barren landscape as
a lightning bolt of opalescent water that
percolates out of glacially stocked aqui-
Plummers Great Bear Lodge is remote and as
far away as you want to be.

4. traveling angler 27
the world.
The floats of the Otter
settled in like a butterfly
with sore feet on the blue
waters of the river a quarter
mile below the camp. The
Tree River camp consists of a
small semi-circle with a half
dozen white and red cabins,
and a small dining hall
perched next to the river’s
edge. It would be our base of
operations for the next two
days. After a brief orienta-
tion we stowed our gear in
a cabin and prepared our equipment for
the days hunt for trophy char.
ChasingtheUnicorn
With fly rods in hand, Jim and I eagerly
followed Scotty upriver hoping not only
to catch trophy char, but also to enjoy
the invigoration of the rivers powerfully
wild course through the land. We hiked
the rocky ankle twisting trail paralleling
the river and fished all likely holding
water as we traversed the river’s flanks.
We couldn’t help but stop often to take
in the breathtaking vistas of this Tolk-
ienesque river as it cascaded down the
steep granite strewn valley, its thundering
blue waters smashing towards the sea.
Jim had several bumps, and short strikes
from during the morning, and managed
to land two respectable lake trout, which
was a surprise as they are an anomaly
in the river. Lake trout typically cannot
tolerate saltwater, and no one seems to
know how they managed to migrate to
a closed system like the Tree River and
establish themselves in a glacially fed
river that runs to the sea. Jim didn’t seem
fers deep in the Arctic soil and tumbles
six miles down a jagged cut of Precam-
brian granite to its end at the coastline
of the Arctic Ocean. Its pools and runs
are renowned for holding the largest and
most powerfully spirited Arctic char in
Two friends. A week in the Arctic. And
memories to last a lifetime. Below,
unloading the float plane preparing to fish
the Tree River.

5. 28 www.travelinganglermagazine.com
that attracted migrating fish and was
perfect for swinging a fly. There were
two majestic eagles playing with the lift
of the morning thermals above us as we
beached the boat downstream and hiked
up to the run. The conditions were near
perfect as the sun was still low on the
horizon and we could see active fish
jumping throughout the run.
Jim was wading just off the point and
had swung his Purple People Eater In-
truder through the run without effect for
almost an hour and when it happened.
His line came tight, his 9-weight arced
towards the center of the pool and a
big char lunged into the air in protest at
being stuck by his fly. The situation went
from zero to infinity in one quick strip
set. Scotty immediately stepped up and
readied his net, while encouraging Jim
in slow measured confidences as the big
male plowed its way up and down the
river for 10 or 15 minutes looking for a
route of escape. Jim eventually moved the
big fish towards the shallows and Scotty
made the scoop de gras. It was high fives,
and a loud whoop of joy from Jim as we
realized just how big his fish was. The
37-inch molten silver flanks speckled
with subtle hues of red and blue and
generously rotund orange belly made an
opulent treat for our eyes. After a short
photo session, Jim’s fish took one power-
ful swing of its tail the joined his friends
to mind.
After a couple hours of soaking our
flies in every good looking pool we
could find, Scotty had led us to a pool
named the “Relay Pool.” I was first up
in the casting queue and was about to
learn how the pool earned its name.
I swung my beaded purple and black
streamer across the small pool next to
the shoreline, and a big kype jawed male
crushed it in mid swing. The next 10
minutes were a blur of kinetic action as
the fish turned into the adjacent Class 4
rapids and made a run for it, melting the
backing off my reel as it bolted down the
foaming wrath of rapids with Scotty and
I in tow. Scrambling over the steep ruble
strewn shoulders of the river, Scotty led
the way with the net trying to keep the
rocks from cutting my fly line by hold-
ing it up with the tip of the net. It had
eaten close to 100 yards backing crash-
ing through the torrent of angry white
water by the time it stopped running
and hunkered down in the middle of a
rock infested rapids and would not yield
to my efforts. Then just as quickly as it
had begun it was over as the fly popped
out of its mouth and landed on the rock
faced shore. This had been for me one
of the coolest moments ever of wild
pandemonium as a near 70-year-old guy
chasing a wild fish through a mad minute
sprint across a hillside of boulders in the
Arctic. The magic of the Tree River had
again lived up to its mystique by adding a
very special event to my pool of memo-
ries. When the adrenalin rush ended I
could only marvel.
“Now you know why we call it the
Relay Pool,” Scotty said.
We fished our way back to camp and
I was lucky enough to hit the jackpot
by landing a beautiful char that had just
begun to blush into her opulent spawn-
ing colors at the Nieland Bay pool. It had
been an exhilarating day to be alive in the
Arctic.
CatchingtheUnicorn
On day two the buttery Arctic sun rose
slowly like a hot air balloon above the
hills surrounding the river. It was tacitly
understood that Jim would get the first
shot at a char this morning. Scotty
took us downriver a quarter mile to a
pool named Amsterdam. It ran around
a gravel strewn point creating a seam

6. traveling angler 29
over 12,000 square miles. Fishing on
Great Bear is about the hunt, the chase
and challenge of big trophy fish on big
water, and we would hunt hard. Trolling
on Great Bear Lake with a fly rod is a
little like riding on a magic carpet of
charged water. When a big trout stops
that fly, it’s like the jolt of being ground-
ed to a 220-volt circuit. They smash it
and head for the bottom of the lake with
the authority of an apex predator. There
is an elemental spirit of deep energy that
I have found in just about every fish I
have had the opportunity to catch in the
Arctic that seems proprietary to their
nature.
As we left the dock the wind was
howling, and the temperatures hovered
in the high forties with a cold scudding
rain that would pelt our Gortex rain
jackets all day, making it a challenge to
stay focused on fishing. At noon Scotty
beached the boat in a protected cove so
we could start a fire and warm up while
eating sandwiches. It was freezing and
Scotty’s deployment of a thermos of hot
coffee was a welcome relief to the wet
chilled air. We ended up with 15 beauti-
ful lake trout hooked by day’s end despite
the weather. It was a relief to feel the
push of warm air as we opened our cabin
door from the oil-fired stove the lodge
staff had thoughtfully lit while we fished.
Part of the thrill of fishing in powerful
weather is the satisfaction of just being
in the azure waters on the Tree River
once more. I couldn’t help but appreci-
ate the thrill I had chasing that wild char
down the river yesterday, and now the
privilege of watching my friend catching
a once in a lifetime trophy that turned
out to be a catch and release line class
world record and the largest registered
in the fly rod category at the Fresh Water
Fishing Hall of Fame. Big fish are a gift
and we were blessed by the best.
Hunting for Lake Trout
After returning from the Tree River,
we spent the next two days trolling large
steamers with our fly rods for lake trout.
Great Bear Lake is the fourth largest lake
in North America covering an area of
Grayling on full display in the hands of Jake, one of the guides at Plummers.
A hungry lake trout with a
mouthful of feathers.

7. 30 www.travelinganglermagazine.com
the mystical envelope of energy of the
Arctic and the creatures that live there.
At the end of the day there is always
something special to be thankful for
such as the passing exotic landscape that
scrolls by like a silent movie as we troll
our streamers across the reefs, the beau-
tiful golden-finned trout we caught, or
the rainbow that appeared at the end of
day that gave us hope we might just be
able to fly out tomorrow for a grayling
adventure on the last day of the trip.
TheHortonRiver
Grayling are an enchanting fish that em-
body the spirit of undiluted wild places
in the far north. These little unicorns
sport beautifully colored neon blue and
pink dorsal fins that wave in the water
column like gossamer wings. They sip
dry flies with an innocence born of their
remote home, and like some people they
are easy to fool, giving confidence to even
a novice fly fisherman.
The float plane taxied to a gravel
beach 200 yards from the mouth of the
Horton River. I looked at my watch:
9:30 a.m. We quickly deplaned and
confirmed a 5:30 p.m. pick up time with
the pilot before he disappeared over the
horizon. We would be fishing with our
new friends from Munich, Germany:
Dieter and his 17-year-old son Killian.
We unpacked our gear and set up our
fly rods on a rocky spit of shoreline next
to the river. Our guides Scotty and Jake
mentioned that there was a deep trough
that lake trout use to ambush unsuspect-
part of and surviving the power of the
day in a wild place on the planet. The
next day there were white caps on the
lake and the temperature was in the
low fifties with partly cloudy skies. We
hooked up with some nice trout in the
mid-teens, and I brought one big laker
to the boat that weighed 20 pounds.
Regardless of size, all the lakers we
caught gave us a spirited fight with good
runs and lots of sounding to the bottom
of the reefs where it felt like they used
their pectoral fins as suction cups on the
bottom of the lake as we tried to wrestle
them to the surface. They were not big
by Great Bear standards; regardless, they
were great sport and a blast to catch on a
fly rod.
It is always invigorating to be within
The author wiwth a hefty laker that couldn’t resist the color pink.

8. traveling angler 31
a buffet of graying as they frantically fled
its jaws.
Dieter and his guide Jake took that as
their que to set up their 9-weight rods
and waded out to the edge of the trough
and proceeded to land three or four lake
trout ranging from 15 to 20 pounds
using large baitfish patterns. Later that
afternoon I waded out to the drop off
and launched a flashy pink and purple
articulated streamer into the deep trench
near the mouth of the river. My streamer
came to a dead stop as a lake trout
smashed the fly and spun 70 yards of
backing off my reel in a classic bulldog
battle that lasted 10 minutes before the
17-pound lake trout with beautifully
colored gold-plated pectoral fins came
to hand.
After a six-hour blur of non-stop
catching, I joined Scotty who had
started a small willow fueled fire and
cooked a couple of tasty grayling for
us to snack on during the afternoon. I
had brought along a couple of choco-
late chip cookies saved from the day
before as we sipped hot coffee and ate
like kings of the north while sitting in
Mother Nature’s kitchen.
What had taken place over the
past eight hours was nothing short of
spectacular as each of us caught no less
than 100 trophy grayling on dry flies. It
was unrestrained euphoria, as time and
space took on a new dimension and we
were caught up in a magical Shangri
la moment. When Scotty and Jake an-
nounced last cast at 5 p.m. all of us were
amazed at how quickly the day had
passed. It was as if we had been under a
spell for the past eight hours. Satisfying-
ly exhausted we boarded the float plane
for the flight back to the lodge with a
special appreciation for the time we had
spent enjoying a truly delicious day in
the Arctic. I could not think of a better
way to spend our last day in the Arctic
than the adventure that had unfolded
before us today.
In the end it’s the company you keep,
and the memories you share that make
a journey special. We had an incredible
alchemy of experiences during our week
fishing in the Arctic. We had smelled
the wildness of the wind, felt the chilled
spray of Arctic waters in our faces, and
had the opportunity to see and play with
some of Mother Nature’s most beautifully
wild creatures in the land of the Midnight
Sun.
ing grayling in the lower river, and it
would be worth exploring later in the day
with big streamers. As we stepped into
the river there were hundreds of sleek
silver shadows swarming in the gin clear
current like a school of wild guppies.
The surface of the river was rippling with
feeding activity as dimples and splashy
rises appeared across the entire 100-yard
expanse.
I watched in anticipation as Jim made
his first cast with an Adams dry fly and I
smiled as three or four grayling rushed to
take it. He was instantly connected to his
dream of catching one of his bucket-list
fish. After a scrappy fight with a couple
of feisty air born jumps the 19-inch silver
flanked beauty was bouncing in his net
and we were taking pictures of a man
with a look of joy as he held his first
grayling towards the lens. The huge smile
on Jim’s face needed no interpretation.
I was now ready to try something a lit-
tle different to start off my day. I felt this
would be the perfect place to try a mouse
fly. I’d read somewhere that large grayling
have been known to eat mice if given the
opportunity, so I put on a foam mouse
pattern to test the theory. It didn’t travel
a foot before being T-boned by a big fat
grayling which I quickly landed and re-
leased. After watching my first grayling of
the day slip through my fingers and melt
into the river’s current, I had a feeling this
would be a special day in the land of the
Midnight Sun. As I cast again and swam
the mouse across the surface, a swarm of
grayling wrestled to become the first to
eat my mouse fly. I netted over a dozen
fish on mouse patterns and can now tell
you with confidence that grayling will eat
mice. Throughout the day we received an
enthusiastic reception from the grayling
as our group threw just about every dry
fly pattern imaginable .
We were not the only ones fishing
for grayling that day. Later that morning
there was a frantic cacophony of splash-
ing water in the lower section of the river
as a big green backed lake trout plowed
down the river slashing his way through
He came. He saw. He lived.The author with a
trophy char from the Tree River.