These intrepid anglers planned to explore the NWT’s remote Aylmer Lake. The weather had other plans

Having already resigned ourselves to the fact the weather wasn’t going to play nice, it was no surprise when the dawn greeted us again with overcast skies, temperatures only a few degrees above freezing, and a steady wind. Dave and I putzed around camp until late morning, then decided to brave the swells and troll around the island.

It wasn’t long before we discovered every windswept point held lake trout—and big ones, at that. We experimented with several different lures, including Bondy Baits, Williams and Len Thompson spoons, and Cisco Kids, and they all produced, catching several fish in the low 40-inch class and too many to count in the mid- to high-30s. At times, the wind made landing the fish a bit of a rodeo, but we couldn’t have cared less—it never ceases to amaze me how a boat is always warmer and drier when the fish are biting. By the time we returned to camp, I knew for certain the stories we’d heard about Aylmer Lake and the remarkable fishing were true.

We kept one small trout, and that evening enjoyed a traditional shore meal of fresh fish, beans, potatoes and onions. As we ate, a cheeky glaucous gull entertained us, gobbling up the fish’s entrails while concurrently warding off the competition. It was a special evening. The weather was no improvement over what we’d been experiencing, but the great afternoon of fishing, a wonderful meal, and the remote, unspoiled vista brought a certain warming peacefulness.

Was that rewarding evening a harbinger of better weather ahead? Not a chance. The next day, the temperature hovered around 4°C, the wind continued to rage, and it rained much of the time. Most of our gear was already soaked through, so in some respects it mattered little. Determined not to let the conditions beat us, we pulled up camp and made the long, cold trek up Sandhill Bay toward the extreme northern end of Aylmer.

We couldn’t travel quickly because of the waves, and our struggles were compounded by an outboard that decided to go on strike, regularly going into limp mode and dropping our speed to a mere troll. We’d rest the motor for a few minutes and it would resume operating normally, only to soon repeat the sequence. Trying to maintain control in the strong winds under diminished power made it all the worse.

By mid-afternoon, we’d had enough and found a campsite, where we set up just one tent, crawled in and made soup; it’s amazing the difference in your disposition a little warmth provides. The weather softened a little, too, and as if a symbolic signal of better days to come, a solitary white wolf loped by across the uneven tundra. Encouraged, and needing to stretch our weary limbs, we hiked a kilometre or so to a small feeder creek and enjoyed a welcome respite, casting flies to little grayling in the shallow water.