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would have been easy to focus on the miserable weather we’d endured, or the fact we weren’t able to fish as much as we’d hoped; I never did wet a fly for lakers. But my mind didn’t go there.

Instead, I thought of the wildlife we’d encountered, from muskox and caribou to wolf and fox, and the varied bird life, including peregrine falcons and two species of jaegers, those iconic birds of the Arctic. I also thought about how we’d walked in the footsteps of renowned explorer-adventurers Seton and Back, across landscapes that few others have seen. And I recalled our evenings in camp, fireless in that treeless land, but warm with tales, new and old, and an abundance of wry humour.

The fish will always be there should Dave and I return one day, but it’s unlikely we’ll ever replicate the experience we shared that week. It’s a truism of fishing that eventually we forget the fish we caught, but we forever remember the lakes and rivers where we caught them. In that respect, by every meaningful measure, our Aylmer Lake adventure was a memorable success. OC

ALSO SEE PAGE 25 FOR HUNTING EDITOR KEN BAILEY’S REGULAR COLUMN, IN THE FIELD.

BY ROBERT PYE