Twenty-Four Hours on the Bear

This is the first fish I caught on my September trip to Great Bear Lake. We hadn’t been on the water for an hour when Ron Oe (pronounced exactly as it’s spelled: ohh-eee) stopped his boat. We were about halfway to our destination for that night. The sun was getting low but Ron just had to try for a few grayling. This, he assured me, was the best spot on the river. Ron got a bite on his second cast. My line got tangled on my second cast. Within minutes, Ron had two small grayling in the boat (each about two pounds). He took my crappy fishing rod from me and gave me one of his spares. Within a few more minutes, we each had a fish on our lines. But while Ron was having little trouble reeling his in, my rod was doubled over.

“I must have a snag!” I said. And then I felt the fish pull away. The brake on the reel allows line to come off rather than snapping. The fish was pulling the line off almost as fast as I could wind it on. Ron got his grayling in the boat and then came to assist me. We had no dip net, so I maneuvered the fish to the side of the boat, and Ron hooked his fingers under the gills and pulled it into the boat. I was swearing like a sailor and Ron, through his laughter, mumbled “language.” I later found out Ron is a Christian. So I felt a bit guilty after that. But it was still an amazing experience. I was later told that it is very, very unusual to catch a bull trout on the river. It weighed in at 13 pounds, in case you were wondering.

Later that night we went to stay at Ron's friend's cabin. During World War Two, the Americans mined uranium for one of the atomic bombs from the far eastern side of Great Bear Lake. They used a barge to carry the ore across the lake, down Great Bear River, and down the Mackenzie. But one section of Great Bear River is too shallow for a barge. So the Americans built a road around that section. Bennie’s cabin is on the western end of that road. You can still see a couple of run-down buildings from the camp. Bennie has written “Jesus Loves You” on the roof of one of them. Bennie’s cabin is where the mess-hall used to be. Ron and I stayed in his guest cabin: a small building I assume was left by the Americans which Bennie has fixed up.


Bennie was our guide through the rapids the next day. It wasn’t really rapids per say. Just water that is about three and four feet deep on average, with the occasional rock jutting above the surface. The water is crystal clear, and sometimes the bottom seemed dangerously close.
When we came to the lake, it was like glass. The wake from our boat was no match for the stillness. I thought we would stir up the whole area, but the wake just petered out to be replaced by stillness that stretched to the horizon.
Bennie and Ron warned me it would be cold on the lake. I had been expecting huge swells. Eventually I had to take off my coat. The sky was completely clear, as was the water. I could easily see bottom ten feet eblow us. We would see schools of five and six trout swimming past us as we were trolling. A minute later, all three of our rods would double over with ten pound trout. I caught four all together that day, but lost many, many more.