Northwest Territories

Field Testing Adventures

A distant propeller sound from a de Havilland seaplane echoes across Bluefish Lake as we get our canoes, fishing rods and backpacks in order along the shore. We find ourselves in the Great Slave Lake region of Canada’s Northwest Territories.

In terms of latitude, we aren’t far from familiar surroundings in Norway—the region sits roughly level with the coastal town of Ålesund. But the views and endless wilderness reveal a distinctly grander landscape, one that for good reason has attracted explorers for centuries.

We find ourselves in the same region that Helge Ingstad embraced in the late 1920s, when he came here to become a fur trapper. He spent four years in the Canadian North, living and travelling among the local Indigenous Chipewyan (Dënesųłıné), learning about the land, survival and their culture. The “Caribou-Eaters” once roamed these vast regions and thrived on what nature had to offer. A lot has changed since then, but the landscape of lakes, bush, streams and wide-open country remains.

A man in a brown hat and cream & green sweater paddles a canoe, smiling. Trees and reeds line the tranquil lake.

A man in a hat and plaid shirt smiles while sitting on a red and white seaplane float on a lake, with a forest in the background.

A person loads a large green backpack onto the pontoon of a floatplane on a wooded lake. Another pack is visible on the pontoon.

Our camp was set on the northern shore of Bluefish Lake, between an upper lake and the grander section stretching south. Between them runs a natural stream taken straight out of a dream. Big enough to flow, small enough to fish. And, as icing on the cake, a smaller stream had diverted closer to our camp, creating a natural pool where we found ourselves taking both an evening and a morning dip.

Steaks over the fire and American Spirits were on the menu for the evening. Unbeatable.

As the fire burned down, the sky came out to play. A wild display of Northern Lights swept above us, feeling so close we could almost reach out and grab them from where we lay in our sleeping bags. There was no better medicine for drifting off to sleep than a dancing sky and the white noise of running water.

Morning light slowly broke through the fog as we got the fire going, coffee boiling and some fresh Canadian bacon sizzling in the pan. After taking the canoes down the stream, flipping them twice and getting all our clothes wet, we packed up camp and started heading south.

The quest was simple: make our way back to Yellowknife, around 30 kilometres south of our camp.

Two men happily fishing by a sunlit river, one laughing while holding a net, the other in a hat, surrounded by pine trees.

Three people gather around a bright campfire in the dark night. The flames illuminate their faces and the surrounding ground.

A man in an orange shirt and beanie holds up a large pike he caught, standing on rocks next to a river with a forest in the background.

We headed down Bluefish Lake, trolling our fishing lines behind the smoothly moving canoes and crossing our fingers for a fresh lunch. The landscape paved the way for a beautiful day as we approached the first portage. Once on land, in classic Amundsen fashion, we discovered that our packs weren’t exactly light. We never make many compromises on “luxuries” when out on an adventure.

But with Jørgen among us, famous for his “Amundsen luck”, things had a way of working out. Just as we started portaging the first half of our gear, we heard a truck coming.

We met Barrett, a dam supervisor who was more than happy to give us a ride over the ridge and down to the inlet of Prosperous Lake. Once unloaded, we laughed at the fact that we had been told the portage was a “short one”. It definitely wasn’t, and carrying everything would have made our day quite a bit longer. We thanked Barrett for his generosity and set off paddling onto Prosperous Lake.

Three men camp by a wide river, gathered around a crackling campfire on a rocky bank. One prepares a fish, another kindling, with camping gear and forest.

A person in a red canoe navigates rapids on a river, surrounded by a dense forest under a blue sky with wispy clouds.

As we hit open water, the wind picked up and gave us a solid headwind—at least something to challenge us a little. Our pace increased along with the wind as we navigated between tiny islands and hugged the shoreline, stopping for breaks and taking in the many remote cabins scattered around the lake. Many of them gave the impression of being the ultimate escape.

After a few hours of paddling, we reached the southern tip of the lake and our next portage. Instead of a dam, we now had a solid stream separating our current route from the next section.After another attempt at fishing the pond, we emptied the canoes and carried our gear down to the next river. With fresh memories of flipping the canoes earlier that morning, we were wise enough to empty them this time. But another stream still had to be conquered.

From above, we planned a route through the rocks and rapids to the best of our ability. You only have one shot, so some kind of plan is always good. But as with many things in life, speed is your friend. We set our course between rocks and drops and flew down the stream. A small crash and a quick adjustment along the way didn’t stop us before we were shot out at the bottom and reunited with our gear farther down the river.

Always time for a little play.

Man in a brown hat and plaid shirt paddling a red canoe on a lake, with a treeline under a blue sky in the background.

With the canoes packed again, we set off on our final leg as the afternoon light faded and darker clouds caught up with us. Paddling between sedge-covered riverbanks, with the occasional pike on the hook, we drifted closer to Yellowknife. Headwind and rain arrived to give us a little reality check and kept our tempo up as we entered the narrower river sections leading towards Yellowknife.

Then the mist we had woken to that morning came sneaking back in as we reached the end of our adventure. The headwind disappeared. The water turned mirror-like. Silence. A perfect ending to our small exploration of the vast landscapes of the Northwest Territories—and one that has already triggered the desire to return.