On this hunter’s Far North adventure, the reward was far greater than simply taking game

Acclaimed Canadian poet and writer Robert Service only had it partly right—the spell of the Arctic isn’t just confined to the Yukon. I spent a summer in the Far North after my first year of college, and ever since I’ve been captivated by the remote wilderness and stark beauty of our northernmost landscapes. I’ve since returned many times, but still find myself yearning to go back after every trip. So, I didn’t have to be asked twice when Peter invited me to visit him in Taloyoak, Nunavut, and check out his new guiding operation, King of the Arctic.

Peter is a member of the Netsilik, Inuit who live on and around Nunavut’s Boothia Peninsula region. Meaning “people of the seal,” the Netsilik were among the very last northern Indigenous peoples to be influenced by Europeans or encounter missionaries from the south.

Born and raised in Taloyoak, a community on the southwest shore of the peninsula, Peter graduated from Nunavut Arctic College in Iqaluit with a diploma in environmental technology before serving two years as a conservation officer in Gjoa Haven on nearby King William Island. (History buffs will recognize King William Island as the place where Sir John Franklin’s two ships become stuck in the sea ice in 1846; the entire crew of 129 men died, succumbing to starvation and exposure.)

Eventually, the lure of home and family were too much to resist, and Peter returned to Taloyoak. He now works for the local hunters and trappers association, and is raising a family with his wife, Cindy, a woman who’s quiet and shy, but strong and very smart; it’s easy to tell she’s the rock in their family. Like most Inuit in this region, Peter grew up hunting, fishing and trapping. His recently launched outfitting business is an extension of that lifestyle.

I arrived in Taloyoak on August 1 of last year, not the best time to hunt caribou and muskox, but it was the only opportunity that worked for both of our schedules. The town looks like most other remote Arctic communities I’ve seen, with clusters of colourful buildings erected around the waterfront wherever the rugged, rocky shoreline allows. I stayed with Peter and his family at their home for the first couple of days as we prepared for our trip.

As it turned out, I wouldn’t be going on a typical guided hunt. Instead, I would be tagging along on a family vacation to the eastern coast of the Boothia. There would be 14 people in all, mostly Cindy’s extended family, ranging in age from two to nearly 60. It wasn’t what I had expected, but in hindsight, it offered a wonderful immersion in Inuit culture and tradition that few southerners ever get to experience.

Over the week that followed, I would have my eyes opened to the Inuit way of life in this harsh and unforgiving landscape

Getting from Taloyoak to the family’s summer vacation destination proved to be an experience all in itself—start by erasing all thoughts of a pleasant drive to the Hamptons. Over the course of an entire day and two nights, our three-boat flotilla moved with the rhythms of the tide, first traversing a lake before heading down a river. Twice we had to get around rapids by unpacking the boats, then pushing, pulling and dragging the empty vessels up and over makeshift ramps. And I’m not talking car-toppers here; these were big, aluminum boats equipped with equally big outboards. It took a total team effort to get through the portages, revealing the strong sense of family and community that would prevail throughout our time together.

Finally, we motored into camp, a collection of plywood cabins constructed on the rocky shore of a small bay on the Gulf of Boothia. Though rudimentary, the cabins were warm, comfortable and weatherproof—what more could you ask for?

Over the week that followed, I would have my eyes opened to the Inuit way of life in this harsh and unforgiving landscape. The family members were constantly foraging, with the sea sustaining them in ways I couldn’t have imagined. Almost immediately after arriving at camp, for example, they dropped a net in our little bay. They’d invariably catch a few Arctic char every day, which they’d then clean and hang in the sun to dry. When not netting fish, they pursued seals and narwhals, all in an effort to secure the protein that would sustain them, the hides that would keep them warm, and the products they would sell to generate income.