The day before I left Yellowknife — Friday, August 1 — the Ramble ‘n Ride (a type of culture crawl) took place in the city. Artist studios opened up, musicians played at various venues, demonstrations and workshops were held at studios. I saw that there were a couple of places demonstrating Inuit carving. I’d never seen anything like that, and was interested in going. I found one of the studios — the Ashoona Family Carving Studio — on the map. It was located in Old Town, the historic part of Yellowknife, and I drove there with Harris.

Goota Ashoona — who comes from a multi-generational family of artists — and her husband Bob Kussy were carving various figures in stone and bone. According to Goota, her favourite thing to carve is women and children. In fact, she was in the midst of carving a grandmother with her two grandchildren sitting tucked into her sides, with a big book open. It was an in-progress piece, and it was stunning. Bob was busy carving christmas decorations, which were compelling and fun: made with vertebrae and antlers (as I recall, anyway), he’s proficient. They’re big sellers.

In the studio, one section consisted of a workshop. It had: stacks of antlers, whalebone, soapstone, works-in-progress, failed experiments, and a work area. The other section of the studio was an exhibit area.

Goota and Bob were both very generous of spirit, taking long breaks to talk with me and Harris and others who walked in. (It was, after all, a culture crawl.) Bob was a wealth of knowledge and liberally shared his experience about the state of Inuit art and its recognition in southern Canada. He also talked about where Goota had exhibited her work, and also where her parents had. Goota’s mother is a printmaker primarily, and her father is a sculptor. Goota also happens to be a talented throatsinger, and has performed with an orchestra touring the NWT.

One of Goota’s friends Gila came in and the three of us chatted for a while. I noticed her necklace, which she pointed to and said was a gift from Goota. It was a pendant, a face carved out of ivory.

Gila eventually left. I approached Goota and asked her if she would consider custom making me a necklace such as Gila was wearing. She immediately said yes, and mentioned that mostly she made these necklace carvings for friends as present. I wasn’t sure whether that meant she had second thoughts about it, but after we talked some more, I was assured that she was okay with making me something. She has carte-blanche.

The whole thing moved me.

Harris — a documentary-filmmaker — filmed a number of things at the studio. I kept looking at carvings and talking with Goota and Bob, and eventually Jamie — the partner of one of Goota’s cousin. She also has a work area in the studio. Possessing a degree in fashion design, she is interested in wearable art. A model herself, she has turned to making jewellery, which she finds has a much longer shelf life than clothing. She had created stunning jewellery that incorporates elements from nature — the brilliance of water and thunder — and elements from the North, like caribou bone.

The whole experience was filled with warmth and friendliness, altogether characteristic of the people I met in and around Yellowknife.

I’m back in Vancouver now, from a fine trip that really put me in another frame of mind. My black fly bites are healing, the special meats I brought home (caribou jerky, smoke muskox, buffalo sausages) survived the plane trips. The weekend has been great. I’m grateful.

As Robert Service said, “I want to go back and I will.”

Maybe next time, I’ll go when the Aurora Borealis sets the sky to flame.

Pre-canoe trip

Since I’ve been in Yellowknife, I’ve sampled a few scrumptious northern staples:

Caribou stew – Day 1 at Folk on the Rocks. It was made by women who were also experts at making bannock. The stew was different from any I’d had. Pretty tasty. The bannock was heaven.

Arctic chowder – Day 2 at Folk on the Rocks. Made by the same women as above. With big chunks of veggies. I enjoyed it, though I’m used to more spices.

Lake trout – At Bullock’s Bistro. Massive fresh piece of lake trout with a fries and a big coleslaw. Tasha, Kirianne, Harris, and I each ordered a plate. When I was eating the trout, I started to feel like the fish was filling my body and I was becoming a trout. A spiritual experience and a culinary highlight of this trip.

Fresh garden greens – Tasha has a very big plot in a community garden. We sampled from it liberally for several days: salad greens and more.

Post-canoe trip

Musk-ox and caribou poutine (Québec roots showing through) — It’s a long way from my vegetarian days. Harris and I went to the Wildcat Cafe for dinner the night we got back from the bush. I asked the nice Québecoise waitress about the fare and she said with great relish that she had one every day! Sure enough, it was hands down the best poutine I’d ever had. Sorry, Québec. Harris had a buffalo burger and said it was really good. We shared a salad that had all the greens we could could expect at Caper’s in Vancouver.

Buffalo sausages – Bought from the estimable local meat/fish shop, Northern Fancy Meats. Harris cooked them up at Tasha’s place and we had them with veggies and salad. Very dense meat, and very tasty.

Arctic char steak – For my last night here, Harris bought some arctic char (again at Northern Fancy Meats) and cooked it up with rice and veggies. Scrumptious. When she lived in the Eastern Arctic, she used to have it everyday.

Musk-ox jerky – Sampled a bit at Northern Fancy Meats and found it delicious.

Day 2: Woke up. Left the tent. Killed mosquitoes and blackflies. Pulled on the bug jacket that Tasha had lent me. (Praise Tasha.) Zipped up the hood so that only my face remained unprotected. Had a morning coffee (decaf, natch), which tasted delish. Sat around — had a hot breakfast cooked on a tiny naptha-fuelled stove. Did some more sitting. Watched the trees.

With all this effort, I needed a dip — slipped into the beautiful clear water, but underfoot it was slippery. Lots of silt. Felt refreshed though. Slipped the bug jacket back on. Picked up one of the books I brought along (also Tasha’s) called The Power of NOW by Eckhart Tolle. Checked out the local lichen.

Later, Harris went for a dip. As she was trying to climb out of the water, she lost her footing on the slick bottom and called for help. I slung a rope to her and she climbed out. She’d sliced open the ball of her foot and blood was pouring out. I pulled out our first-aid kit and played Florence Nightingale. I actually enjoyed putting my first-aid training to use. It was a deep but short gash. Lots of blood.

She could’t put weight on her foot. I checked around the island hoping I’d find a sturdy stick, but only found dead fallen ones that snapped easily. Thanks to the portable saw that Tasha had lent us, I chopped down a small beautiful birch tree. (Thank you birch.) Harris used that as her support until she didn’t need it anymore.

Anyway, as a result of all this drama (not really that much), the already-leisurely pace that we had going on slowed down even more. Not that it was really problematic. We were all set up: we were on an island with no big plans to catch a movie or anything. 

I watched the waves. Looked at the moss. The birch and poplar leaves rustled in the breeze. The arctic terns who had been playing in the wind and emitting their birdsong in squeaks and squaks since we arrived, started to get used to us by the end of the day. I think they got that we weren’t going to eat them.

Day 3: Harris’ foot was healing. I cleaned it up again and put butterfly bandages on it to seal the slice. She limped around. Started putting a little weight on it.

We decided to do some fishing on the neighbouring peninsula — same island. It’s been years since I fished. She showed me how to work the reel, tie the swivel on the line, snap the leader on the swivel, and then the lure on the leader. We both practised casting our lines out and reeling them back in. Very fun! And very meditative. All told, groovy.

A while went by. More casting. A couple of maybe-nibbles. Maybe my imagination. More casting. More time. Sunshine. I got bored — not very zen. I put my reel down and went over to the next peninsula to watch the terns. Sat on a rock. Noticed these tiny plants growing in the unlikeliest of crevices in the boulders that met the water. There was a miniscule pink flower with some orangey bits.

Saw a few canoeists paddling by — waved. It was the weekend after all. Kind of nice to see other people. One family-group in two canoes went to a cottage on stilts on a boulder on the mainland across the lake from our island.

I went back over to Harris. She’d caught a small pike. She was sorry she had — they’re notorious for their teeth and for their vast numbers of bones. Those of the size she caught — under a pound — were best left to live longer and grow bigger and have babies. Unfortunately, this one didn’t take the hint when she’d left her line loose — it couldn’t, had swallowed the lure and was damaged by it. So,  she killed the fish, quickly of course.

I was motivated now. Started casting again. And again. And again. Had one big nibble — this really was a fish. I even saw it. Much bigger than the little pike (or so says my imagination). I cranked on my reel and felt the line go slack. I pulled up…nothing. The swivel, leader, and lure were all gone. The pointy-toothed piscene had absconded with my fishing gear!

I was rather impressed with the fish, though sorry in the moment that it was hurting and not dead or not unhurt, if you know what I mean. Anyway, I kept fishing, caught nothing, had a lesson from Harris on filleting a fish (she’s very skilled at this). We cooked up the little pike for sup, spent a long time making sure we didn’t choke on bones, and spent an hour cleaning up the whole messy affair to ensure big Animal-types didn’t wade across from the mainland to our little island to eat up the pickings and possibly us that night.

Fell asleep that night to the fierce whine of mosquitoes clinging to the tent netting.

Day 4: Stopped reading the The Power of NOW. It was making me think even more than I usually do. It’s supposed to encourage being present. It was driving me batty. Not the book’s fault, nor the author’s. It rests with me. My mind can latch on to a thing pretty good sometimes, so I just need to back off the idea and let it rest. Turned to the other book I had — In Defense of Food, by Michael Pollan. 

Pollan talks about eating food — i.e., eating non-processed food, as fresh and organic and green as possible, with other people, at a table. Regularly, like, for instance, every day. He deconstructs the ways in which North American culture has turned from eating food as a social activity within a cultural context to ingesting nutrients in isolation, at our desks, in the car, in front of the tv. (Definitely had me thinking about some of my own eating habits!) This trend encouraged by the food-industrial-complex (his term) that drives us to spend vast sums of money on new food “products”.

Food for thought.

Anyway. I read. I sat. I wrote. I noticed the absence of arctic terns. Took another walk around the island. Decided to risk taking off my bug jacket. Learned that black flies actually bite – they take out a chunk of flesh. Mosquitoes sting. I’d rather the latter. I now had welts on my forehead and cheek. Pulled the bug jacket back on. 

On my way back to the windier and decidedly less bug-infested peninsula, I found a bone — maybe of a cariboo. Went to sit near the water’s edge on this very soft moss. Noticed a low-lying plant with dark red, succulent-looking leaves. 

Saw smoke. Over the mainland, across from the island. Yesterday, I could see the mountain on the mainland, now it was behind a fog of smoke. Didn’t like that.

I did a 360. The smoke was all around us, not directly above, but on the near-horizon. The smell was distinct. I started feeling the smokey skies tucking in around me. Sent me for a little panic. I wanted to go to the family-group on the other side of the lake and ask them about it. I figured they’d be seasoned vets of these parts. I saw them doing leave-taking acitvities, and mentioned to Harris my (fervent!) desire to chat with them. She didn’t scoff.

We climbed into the canoe and paddled across to them. They were really nice folks: Kathleen and Gord I believe. They know Tasha and Kirianne. Small world. Turns out that there was a fire in Sare, 100 km south. There was little danger of it reaching us, and, after all, their son said, we were surrounded by lake. Well, indeed. He was obviously not an NWT-newbie, like me. Thankfully.

Assured that we wouldn’t asphyxiate from smoke or get scorched by fire, I told Harris the good news and we rowed back across the lake to our island. Tired.

We made a fab supper of spaghetti and basil pesto with steamed broccoli and carrots, plus a bottle of red wine. Told stories. Watched the sun not set.

Slept poorly. Started missing a good bed.

Day 5: Fires and smoke make for a bug-jacket-free day. Hurrah!

We decided to not fish anymore — we didn’t want to risk catching a wee pike again.

I walked around the island looking at things. Noticed that this carpet of low-lying green plants were in the shape of a dancing Animal. Also, that the bolders in the bay where we beached the canoe looked like lion and monkey faces. No, really.

Took lots of photographs.

The loons kept calling out — they were more active now. Did they sense the absence of the terns?

Started packing things up for the next day’s sojourn back to the mainland.

Went to the fishing peninsula and found a very large quartz squeezed up from a boulder’s vein, right next to a birch. Thank you Island.

Slept even more poorly that night. Fell asleep around 11 pm and woke up around 2 am and watched as the skies grew lighter and lighter. Read almost the rest of In Defense of Food and wrote exceptionally bad poetry until 6:30 am, at which point I fell back asleep.

Day 6: Packed all of our garbage out. Packed everything back into our dry bags, loaded the canoe and cast off. Clearer skies, less smoky. Still no terns. Still few bugs.

We paddled back to the launch point. It was quick — we had the wind at our backs and this time we didn’t get lost.

At the launch point, two fellows — Bob and Dave (their actual names) — were standing on a very long flatbed. But the “truck” had no cab; they watched us as we came to shore and I went up to them and asked them what those big engine-looking things next to them were. Some type of telecommunication thing, they said. They were building a telecommunication line somewhere in the bush. It would be an hour before the helicopter arrived for the next load. Ah.

They volunteered to help us load our gear into the truck. I pulled the truck as close to the water’s edge as I could — about 30 metres — near the front-end of the flatbed. They were big fellows, and they hauled our massive bags like they were purses. Harris and I were both happy about this.

They also flipped the canoe onto the top of the truck, and then spent 15 minutes roping it all together (with some direction – they hadn’t seen Tasha’s magic with these ropes!).

That was that.

I just love driving Tasha’s standard truck. It was a little more challenging to do so with all of our gear in the back, and particularly with Tasha’s beautiful 16-foot cedar canoe tied to the roof. But still.

I drove east with Harris along the Ingraham Trail, the single road from Yellowknife to Tibbit/Terry/Upper Terry Lakes. It was paved for something like 15 km, and then was gravel-top for the next maybe 20, and then a rougher grade for the last half of the trek. The canoe kept sliding to the right because of the inclination of the road, so I stopped a few times and we adjusted the ropes. The maximum speed limit was 70 km and we hardly ever reached that because of the load and the road. Good thing the gas tank was full as there is nothing but rock and wind and trees between Yellowknife and the end of the road. Part of this land’s beauty.

It was easy to find the end of Ingraham Trail because the road simply stops. At the water. So, I pulled up, we put the canoe in the lake, settled the gear in the canoe, parked the truck a dozen or so metres away from the shore, and pushed off.

It was a gorgeous day full of blue sky and sun, and a very strong headwind. We paddled south directly into it. It was the first time Harris and I had canoed together and I didn’t know her strength, nor she mine. But we both paddled hard and it was good. We saw a bald eagle — I’ve seen plenty of them in and around Vancouver, but somehow it was different in this remote location.

On the water, there was no one but us. I paused in my paddling now and again to look at our topographical map and to check out where we were and where we were going. That was tricky, since during these pauses Harris had to keep us steered in the right direction, meaning south. Eventually, I realized that we had paddled the eastern arm of a Y-shaped system, rather than the western arm of it. So we had to paddle a ways back to where the Y met in the middle, and then paddle south again.

By that time, we were tired. The headwind was still strong. We decided to try to find a camping spot as soon as we could. We kept seeing hospitable-looking locations, but kept finding them inconveniently attached to a greater landmass, and, hence, too accessible to bears for comfort. Finally, we spotted a land that seemd surrounded by water. Actually, there were three actually, but the first was so small that it could only hold a tent. Of the two others, the largest was maybe 100 metres long and 50 metres wide. (Very ballpark.) Lots of trees and rocky areas, a couple of peninsulas. Seemed perfect.

We docked.

Was I ever glad.

We left the canoe and tied it up and went tramping around the island. We found a spot for the tent — tucked in the trees on the northwest side. Nearby were the remnants of well-built campfires. But we wanted our kitchen to be away from the tent, so we checked out the other side of the island and designated that as our cooking area. We also found a spot for the latrine that was away from everything else.

We went back to the canoe, paddled it around to a small bay near the cooking area, unloaded it, set up the tent and sleeping bags, strung up the tarp near the cooking area, unpacked a few cooking things. By that time, I was bushed, as was Harris. I’d forgotten what a lot of effort goes into setting up camp in the wilderness. Also, I hadn’t done so in years. 

I don’t even remember what we had for supper than night. I do remember having a martini though. The lime was fresh, the air contained the rustle of leaves, the arctic terns were playing in the wind. The sun was still strong at 10 pm.

I slept like a log that night.

Today, we finished packing most of our gear into dry bags. We are going camping and canoeing and we have the luxury of good food and lots of it. From fresh veggies to plenty and various carbs to homemade chocolate cake. I even made a thermos of martinis (vodka, cranberry juice, and fresh-squeezed lime) so we can celebrate by raising a glass in the wilderness. We’re roughing it after all.

We decided against going on Great Slave Lake: I met some seasoned outdoorsfolks who said that the winds are swift and unexpected — Doug from next door said that there are waves up to 50 feet that can swoop down on boaters. He was on the lake last weekend and a wave washed into his boat — a motorboat — that would have swamped our canoe. Even experienced paddlers of this lake — the tenth largest in the world — approach it with caution and are very well prepared.

So, we’re going to Tibbitt, Terry, and Upper Terry Lakes, an interconnected lake and river system with some minor rapids — and with lots of nooks and crannies ripe for exploration. No motor boats (yay!) because of the system’s shallow waters — at most 10 feet deep. According to Dave — an experienced outdoorsman and friend of Tasha’s — one small section of Terry Lake is a mere 2 1/2 feet deep, and is unusual in that the bottom is filled with methane gas. Once we paddle through it, if we look back we should be able to see bubbles surfacing.

Anyway, because this system is inhospitable to power-vehicles, there aren’t a lot of folks who frequent it. Mostly canoeists. And not even many of those. So there’s plenty of green and quiet. Dave told us that there are lots of tiny islands all over the lakes. Camping on the islands is more bear aware than doing so on the mainland; it’s where I’d like to set up a base camp, and then do some exploring (and fishing!) by canoe.

Dave mentioned the forest area north-east of the lake system was burned to the ground about ten years ago. Apparently, that creates prime feeding ground for moose, so there’s a chance we might see some of those large creatures. We might also see woodland cariboo — one or two were recently spotted there.

Dave has been canoeing in the region for about 17 years. In all that time he’s only seen two bears: one yearling on the shore as he was canoeing along the lake system — the bear scampered away as fast as possible; the other near Yellowknife (I think) at a camping spot that regularly had lots of garbage in cans — I forget but I think the bear ended up back in the greater wilderness.

Tasha — who’s an environmental educator and has spent time with members of the Dene First Nation in the course of her life and work — told me that according to the Dene, when in Bear country, saying Bear’s name summons Bear. And that it is wiser to call Bear Animal when in Bear’s home. This seems like a handing down of a gift of knowledge. I am grateful for this widom.

As for the water, the whole system is swimmable — I’ve brought my bathing suit! And as for fishing, according to local outdoorsfolks and literature, we can reasonably expect northern pike, lake whitefish, and lake cisco, possibly even lake trout though these tend to live in deeper, colder waters.

I have my rod and reel at the ready!

That’s what they call their folk festival in Yellowknife. I had the priviledge of going to the weekend festivities with my pal Harris, and hosts Tasha and her daughter Kirianne. They are vibrant, joyful, engaging and welcoming people and they have made me feel like part of their community in the space of a few days.

Just getting to Folk on the Rocks was an event.

It was a gorgeous day — as most days have been since we arrived. We caught the city bus, inside of which looks pretty much like the orange school buses I used to ride in elementary school days. But the first 3 metres or so inside the bus is taken up by benches along the bus walls instead of seats that face the front. The whole thing put me in the spirit of going on a school trip.

Anyway, we (the four of us) got on the bus — it was empty. At each stop, one or more people hopped aboard — there were lots of kids. Tasha and Kiri seemed to know everyone. They introduced us, and everybody started talking about the music at the Folk. Still more people got on; hugs; exchanges of news. High spirits. Everyone was going to the Folk.

A tiny two-year old boy took a shine to 10-year-old Kirianne, and was all over her. She knew his family, and definitely got to know them better on the trip. The boy looked out the window and squealed “Plane!” Everyone looked and saw planes zipping by overhead. I mean zziipp! Then someone spotted 9 red-hot Snowbirds flying in formation, and everyone crowded over to one side of the bus to see them. The kids screamed with excitement. A woman spotted a couple of different planes on the other side, and everyone raced to that side to check out the loop-de-loops! Everybody was laughing and talking and for the rest of the ride the whole bus raced from one side of the bus to another, catching sight of plane tricks. The bus driver was amazingly calm throughout. He seemed to slow down at the just the spots where we could get the best views. Though I’m not normally one to watch super-fast, polluting planes fly way too close to the ground (and sometimes to me!), this show was pretty amazing.

Finally, we got to the Folk. A sandy, dusty place sparse with trees on the edge of beautiful Long Lake. It was hot and dry. And rocky. It is after all, Shield country. I loved it. We plunked our stuff down amid a tiny crop of trees, and I took off to various stages.

I was there with my friends for most of the weekend and I heard some wonderful music. Here are a few of the high points:

• Uzume Taiko – a drumming group that i found absolutely stunning, innovative, and wonderfully humorous. I laughed as they struck me to the core.
• Mushfiq Ensemble – a musical ensemble that moved me with their Afghan music, which they sang in beautiful and sometimes haunting English, French, Farsi, Urdi, Hindi, and possibly one or two others. Wow.
• Shane Philip – didgeridoo-playing multi-instrumentalist who also is handy with the guitar, djembe, and a few other instruments. He develops sounds. Gets right into the body.

There were others I missed, like Ndidi Onukwulu. Hope to catch her and others next time!

I went for a walk with my friend Kaisa this evening. She lives in my building. We went out and down and across the street and strolled along where hundreds of people were lounging and playing and hanging out. We wound our way along the beach.

Kaisa recently went to Finland and spent a beautiful 10 days at a family cottage, which sits in the middle of green and freshness and at water. The closer I get to leaving for Yellowknife, the clearer a vision of wilderness I have, the more it fills me up. The sun (I imagine brilliance, a piercing pale light). The wind bringing earth smells and water. The sound, an absence of things that whir. Like cars, the hum of the fridge.

It struck me that I now have several beautiful things. They’re about fishing. This is new. I have fished in the past – but it’s been many years since I had a fishing pole. And I don’t remember the last time I had things like lures, brand new ones, shiny. I bought them not two weeks ago, and it’s just really dawned on me how pretty they are. I thought I’d show you a few.

Gibbs lures

Now, as you can see, I’m no photographer. But I sure think these lures are pretty. Here are a couple of others:

Mepps lures

And here are my floats:

Fishing floats

I put them here because they make me smile. I’m not sure why.

Now that I’ve talked about the tools I’ll be using to snag a fish and eat it, I’m closer to the reality of ending the life of a living creature. This troubles me a bit, even though I regularly eat fish that I personally haven’t killed. I’m also grateful for the fish that I eat. To the fish. Thankful. Like the fish did me some kind of favour by appearing on my plate. But not in a flip way. Or maybe a bit flip and humorous but also with joy and not cynical.

Not that I over-analyze.

So I was at 3 Vets last Saturday, and I wanted to get bear spray. I’ve been thinking about bears ever since Harris asked if I wanted to go on this trip.

I don’t have a phobia about bears. In fact, I had this amazing (to me) dream about bears a couple of months back right after we organized the tickets for this trip. I was in a forest, and friends of mine were on the other side of a clear, slim stream. The forest was cool and refreshing, since the high foliage blocked the light. I was the only person on this side of the stream. Then, a grizzly appeared, and I wanted to tell my friends to warn them, but realized that shouting this out might also alarm the bear. So, I said nothing, just watched Grizzly as it swaggered up to me. came up really close, put its paws on my shoulders like a big dog. Then, it opened its mouth and I got a really excellent view of its razor-sharp teeth. And I realized it was fully intending to bite me.

I wasn’t really afraid. I reached out and, using my hand as a muzzle, gently wrapped my palm and fingers around its snout and squished the bear down gently on the ground – the forest floor. Grizzly didn’t protest. It just laid down and kept its eyes on me.

And then, I was outside of a massive treehouse that was somehow also built on top of a giant fertile mound of black earth that smelled like growing vegetation. There was a circular path that wound down from the treehouse, all the way to where I was standing, somewhere in the middle. Other people were there, friends. And bears were too, several of them. I couldn’t keep track. They were very active, running around the mound on or near the path. I wasn’t afraid. I was just running with them.

So, this bear spray at 3 Vets. It comes in an aerosol can. I don’t even know how much it costs. I only know that because of this, I won’t be buying any since aerosol cans are now forbidden on planes. Unless there’s something available in Yellowknife, I’m going bear-spray-free.

Maybe I’ll get a wind chime?

Today, I went to MEC. Meant to get there yesterday, but after a few hours at 3 Vets, Harris and I had had enough. I bought a few things that will come in handy:

• water purification system – chlorine-based iodine-free drops that will purportedly “purify” 120 litres of water
• a thermal blanket (those shiny aluminum-looking sheets)
• a new front bike light, which I’ll bring on the trip for lighting; we won’t need much since light lasts long into the night

Yesterday, Harris lent me one of her dry bags. I’ll have to experiment this week with how much of my tent gear I can squeeze into it. We have five dry bags in total that will need to fit in a canoe we’re going to borrow once in Yellowknife.

Next week, we’ll need to get some food supplies – since the cost of food in the north is much higher than along the 49th parallel.

Yesterday, Harris and I went to 3 Vets. We were both looking for a whole bunch of things. I succeeded in getting:

• one collapsible fishing rod with reel and line
• 10 lures
• two floats
• 2 packs of swivels
• 6 lines with hooks
• 1 pack of individual hooks
• pack of weight in 4 sizes
• fishing tackle box
• waterproof pants
• white tarp (12′ x 14′)
• pillow case
• duct tape
• deet
• campsuds (for dishes, hair, face, clothes!)
• first aid kit

Everyone was really friendly. The retail guy in the fishing area loaded both of our reels and gave us the line for free. He also came up to us half a dozen times to recommend specific lures for grayling, trout, and other fish native to Great Slave Lake