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A wild nature
There's a moment on the flight to Kuujjuaq when the landscape ceases to be legible. The boreal forest clears, the roads disappear, the lakes multiply to the point of being nameless. The captain announces the descent. As we leave the plane, we realize that what is known as "Quebec" from the St. Lawrence Valley is just one inhabited fringe of a territory most of which is virtually empty.
This is where the real journey begins. A private Twin Otter takes off from Kuujjuaq, flying due west for just over an hour, and lands on a dirt airstrip that doesn't appear on any road map. A few hundred meters away, the camp. All around, the Delay River: wide, powerful, several hundred kilometers long, eventually joining Ungava Bay much further north.
Salmon river
The Delay is one of Quebec's most productive salmon rivers. An angler can catch an average of two Atlantic salmon a day, from 5 to 12 pounds; catches of over 18 pounds are not uncommon. The river also feeds native brook trout, pike and lake trout. But what's most striking is not the productivity: it's the isolation. The camp is totally cut off. No roads. No village. Silence, as soon as the canoe's engine is turned off, becomes a character in its own right.
The rhythm quickly sets in. Get up around 8 a.m., have a hearty breakfast, and set off with a local guide and a fishing companion in six- to seven-meter wooden canoes. The guide chooses the area according to the height of the water and the weather. Some positions are taken in the middle of the current, others from the bank in knee-deep water.
Seen from afar, fly casting looks simple; in practice, it has to be earned. On the first two days, you hang on to the bushes, place the fly two metres in front of you and swear in a low voice. On the third, the gesture stretches. On the fourth, you cover a useful stretch of river.
Salmon fighting is like nothing else. It pulls. Hard. The fish jumps out of the water, sometimes several times; you have to alternate between reeling and letting go, keeping your feet on the bottom, resisting the current, lasting.
My first one lasted about fifteen minutes and a dozen jumps before the landing net slipped under it. The photo is quick. The return to the water against the current is slow. As we watch the fish regain its strength and move on, we realize that we've just come across an animal that has travelled several thousand kilometers in its life between the ocean and its native river.
The desire to return
In the evening, back at camp, we chat. With fishing companions. With the guides, who know every pit. With Paul Ostiguy, who operates the camp via Expéditions North and knows Nunavik like few others. In such a remote environment, the human quality of the team does as much for the quality of the stay as the salmon themselves.
What do we take away with us? The desire to come back. For the northern lights. For the caribou migration, which passes through the camp by the hundreds. To go further, perhaps: the Delay joins Kuujjuaq by 150 kilometers of water, and the idea of going down the river has remained, ever since, as a project to be organized one day.
For European travelers in search of authentic wilderness, the Delay River represents one of Canada's rarest experiences. Mitik Nature et Aventure can help you prepare your trip, whether you're looking to fish, hunt or immerse yourself in northern territory.
