Chummy Plummer: A pioneering lodge owner and true original of Canada’s Far North

In 1938, Chummy Plummer’s grandfather and father, Warren, established a camp at Taltheilei Narrows on the N.W.T.’s Great Slave Lake, and began taking fishermen there around 1950. That original one-room cabin became the foundation of what is now Plummer’s Great Slave Lake Lodge, still recognized as the lake’s premier fishing destination. By 1959, Chummy had joined the family business, and that year they expanded to the southern shore of Great Bear Lake further to the north, operating from the government airstrip at Sawmill Bay. Several other fishing lodges shared the same area and relied on that same runway.

Those were the catch-and-keep days, when filling coolers and bonking 50-year-old fish was the norm. But even a fishery as vast as Great Bear could not sustain that level of harvest. Recognizing what lay ahead, Chummy and his dad made the historic decision in 1968 to move the entire operation—buildings and all—240 kilometres across the frozen expanse of the lake. Through sheer willpower, they completed the gruelling move in time to welcome their first guests that June.

Then the real work began. Chummy built what would become a nationally acclaimed, 1,700-metre airstrip, eventually welcoming Boeing 737s carrying adventurous anglers from around the world. As the Sawmill Bay airstrip faded from use, the lodges that depended on it could no longer continue using just float planes. Plummer’s was the only operation that had planned for change, and it ultimately remained the last lodge standing.

Chummy hosted thousands of anglers and hired hundreds of guides over his 70 summers in the North. If a guide impressed Chummy enough that he remembered his name, the first time hearing Chummy use it became a story the guide would tell for the rest of his life. Although he was more comfortable fixing a generator than being the centre of attention, Chummy never missed an evening in the dining room. He believed every guest deserved their opportunity to “give him their shot,” and he wanted everyone to leave happy. Even accomplished professionals would shyly ask for a photo the first time they met him.

The word “legend” has lost much of its meaning through overuse. Chummy Plummer, who died in July at age 83, was one of the few people I’ve ever known who truly earned it. I’ll never meet another person like him. In fact, I’ll probably never meet anyone who even reminds me of him. He was, and always will be, a legend of the North.