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

Aylmer Lake is home to abundant Arctic graylingI’m not sure whether it was my flapping tent or the too many cups of tea I had before bed that woke me, but suffice it to say nature’s call found me struggling out of my sleeping bag at 4 a.m. Groggily, I took just a few steps from the tent onto the sandy beach and commenced what I had to do. Not five seconds later, a gust of wind launched my tent skyward. In desperation, I managed to grab one corner of the airborne shelter with one hand, while simultaneously trying to manage my chore with the other.

Unable to cease midstream what nature had demanded of me, I struggled to hang on to the wind-inflated tent buffeting above me—I’m just thankful there was no one there to witness my struggle. Eventually, I managed to get everything back where it belonged, re-anchor the tent and crawl back into my sleeping bag, but it was a fitful sleep; I couldn’t shake the image of what had just happened, imagining the consequences had my tent flown away across the open tundra.

Our enthusiasm to fish and explore the Lockhart was dashed at daybreak when Dave and I looked out from our beach encampment. Even in our little bay, there were whitecaps, and the wind howled across the open landscape. We were windbound, going nowhere. So, after further anchoring the corners of my little tent with hefty rocks to avoid a repeat of the previous evening’s escapade, we settled in and waited. Occasionally, we’d hike out to explore the tundra and look for berries, but that never lasted long in the cold and wind. The highlight of our day was watching a lone muskox bull feed lazily just a few hundred metres away.

The following morning, we woke to more wind and waves, but they had abated enough that we could carefully cross an open stretch of water to reach the protection of the Lockhart River valley. We motored upstream until our progress was halted by large rapids, where we beached the boat and began casting spinners on our light rods. Over the next hour or two, we hooked numerous grayling as long as 18 inches and a handful of small lakers in the turbulent water.

We also took the opportunity to stretch out in the warming sun where the wind couldn’t find us. Later, back at camp in the cold and wind, I donned all my warmest clothing—where the hell the expected Arctic high was, with its 20°C to 25°C temperatures and mere whispers of wind, I had no idea.

Thinking we were due for a break in the weather, we were instead in for a shock. The next day was colder yet, with plunging temperatures and constant wind. Despite the conditions, we packed up and headed east—a huge part of the lake remained, and we were determined to see it come hell or high water. And high water it was. At one point, a wave broke on us that nearly crested the gunnels.

Drenched, we cautiously continued to our planned destination of Williamson Island, one of the largest of the hundreds of islands sprinkled liberally throughout Aylmer. Along the way, we stopped for a warming cup of soup and a sandwich on one of the few sheltered shorelines we encountered—thank the gods for our Jetboil portable cooker. By day’s end when we reached Williamson, I was chilled and soaked through, welcoming the opportunity to make camp on a secluded beach littered with muskox and wolf tracks. By then we’d had several days on the lake, with very little fishing to show for it.