ABRADOR
nothing but minnows, but I was wrong.
Arctic char arrived in force and one
hit my lure like an underwater explosion. As I fought to bring him in, my
guide buddies cheered wildly. In a few
minutes, my fish was on shore – the
biggest char caught so far that morning.
Raising my arms in cocky victory, I let
my line go slack and made a rookie
mistake. I didn’t haul my catch far
enough up the rocky beach. The happy
char seized the moment, snapped
the line and wriggled back into the
water, laughing char-ishly I’m sure.
I’d been expecting a pup tent and a
sleeping bag so I was the proverbial
happy camper and while the mosquitoes were an ever-present annoyance,
the Intershelters and Design Shelters
had few cracks and crevices so the
flying pests rarely launched an indoor
invasion. I used Watkins bug cream
(the absolute best according to bugjuice connoisseurs), wore a bug jacket
and a baseball cap when I hiked, and
had only one bite in over a week.
In the Torngats, the scenery is rugged
and stunning, but the real magic lies
in the inhabitants. I’ve traveled to the
far north in the past, met Inuit people,
seen demonstrations of traditional
sports and games of strength and
endurance, heard throat singing and
watched drum dancing and while it
was all interesting and informative,
nothing I’d seen had ever opened any
serious emotional or cultural doors.
My week in the Torngats changed
absolutely everything.
The Base Camp staff are all Labradorians, and all Inuit, so the cultural
immersion is complete and immediate. Eat, hike and laugh with people
for more than a week and you’ll
learn something – believe me.
Life is basic: eat, sleep and explore
– together. Never go beyond the bear
fence alone, without an armed bear
guard, and stick with the group –
whether you’re hiking to see ancient
tent rings, food caches and burial
cairns or motoring through the fjords
on a sturdy working boat that can
brave nearly any kind of water. Noth-
24 | whiteoaksclub.com | spring 2016
ing is close to anything else in the
vast Torngats that comprise 9,700
sq. km. – every trip requires either a
ride on the boat or helicopter flight.
Our first boat cruise took us to North
Arm, a remote fjord flanked by rugged
mountainsides. The sky was clear and
blue but wearing three coats, a hat and
mitts, I still shivered in the sunshine
as I tried to squeeze the enormity of
the landscape into my camera lens. In
the Inuktitut lanuage, Torngats means
‘Place of Spirits’ and the empty fjords
echoed with the voices of the ancient
nomadic hunters of caribou and seal.
I’m not a hunter myself but I did grow
up fishing from a canoe with my dad
on the St. Lawrence River and thought
I knew what to do with a rod and reel.
Not. We fished from a rocky beach
in a quiet cove where the water was
mirror-still, broken only by the splashes
of our lures. Not used to such shallow
water fishing, I was sure we’d catch
I had to swallow my pride but my
fishing buddies swallowed their char
instead, eating it raw as we crouched
on the rocks. A quick whack on
the head to kill the fish, then sharp
knives sliced into the glistening body,
carving out small red chunks of raw
flesh served up right there on the
shore. Despite the fact that I clearly
wasn’t bringing anything to the party,
my friends shared generously.
Generosity is integral to the Inuit spirit,
a willingness to share everything from
the char to the most precious elements of their cultural heritage. Such
open-hearted kindness is humbling.
SPEAKING INUKTITUT
Torngat: Place of Spirits
Polar Bear: Nanuk
Minke Whales: Pammiuligaks
Black Bear: Atlak
Northern Lights: Atsanik
Friend: Ilannåk