An aquatic mite belonging to the genus Piona, one of those found commonly in ponds in the vicinity of Baker Lake.

Such were our thoughts as we stood in the ankle-deep waters of a little pond on a hillside overlooking the small airport in the town of Baker Lake. We were well north of the tree-line in Canada's Northwest Territories.

We worked the nets through tufts of grass and sedges growing up from the soft pond bottom. Then back to shore where we dumped the contents of each net into a shallow, white tray filled with clear water. Down on hands and knees, we watched the contents of the tray for signs of life. Small creatures appeared, swimming out of the tangle of vegetation into open water-tiny, planktonic crustaceans, a darting beetle, a graceful fairy shrimp. There. . . could that be it? A mite, a water mite! One small, eight-legged creature has turned our lottery ticket into a winning number. All the planning has paid off, and this expedition is now sure to be some kind of a success.

This was the beginning of our two-week stay in the Keewatin District, a land of permafrost and tundra in the far northeastern section of the Northwest Territories. We had examined water mites from the Yukon and from much of the length of the Mackenzie River. Staff from the Entomology Department had collected specimens for us from Ontario's Hudson Bay lowlands. And we ourselves, two years earlier, had sampled these tiny aquatic arachnids in the Inuvik area, 1500 km to the northwest. But all previous collecting sites were still within Canada's forested zone. We had to answer the question, basic to a complete understanding of the country's invertebrate life: how far north of the tree-line can these "significant" elements of the aquatic fauna live? Would we find anything at all?

It was to answer these and other questions that we had travelled to Baker Lake, a small Inuit settlement, about two-thirds of the way north along the western side of Hudson Bay at the head of Chesterfield Inlet, 300 km inland from the sea. Although the settlement has a total population of fewer than 900, Baker Lake's airstrip is big enough to handle twin turbo-prop commercial airliners, and there are eight scheduled airline flights per week during the summer. There are no roads or railway lines leading to Baker Lake.

Ecologically, the settlement is smack in the centre of low arctic tundra, a region with a harsh climate but a rich ground cover of lichen, mosses, and low herbaceous plants that flower profusely at the height of summer. One thing it doesn't have is trees. The nearest of those is found about 500 km south.

We knew the aquatic mites we were seeking maintained rich populations as far north as the end of Canada's treed zone. They were abundant at Inuvik, 500 km closer to the north pole but, because of a climatic jog, only at the edge of the treeless tundra. In a similar position ecologically, Churchill, Manitoba, also has a varied mite fauna. But no one before had seriously investigated water mite populations in the climatic zone represented by Baker Lake.

Fortunately, we didn't have to worry about any lack of suitable habitat. Baker Lake may not be the wettest spot in the north, but for a community with only six miles of roads, it has a wealth of accessible lakes and ponds. In the south, we usually have to drive hundreds of miles to visit a handful of suitable habitats. At Baker Lake, we were able to find and sample mite populations in twenty-seven different sites during the two-week period.

Getting around would have been a problem, however, if we had had to rely on our usual four-wheeled transportation. There are not many trucks in the town and even fewer cars. There were none for rent when we were there; even when there are, the rates are as high as the latitude. We managed nicely, however, by taking a leaf out of the Inuit book. For shopping, for visiting friends, or just for pleasure driving, the universal summer vehicle of today's north is the all-terrain cycle, a motorized tricycle with fat, knobby tires and a made-in-Japan label. They are dependable and can go almost anywhere. And they're remarkably easy on the natural environment. Those over-inflated tires can roll gently across even the most delicate tundra flower without harming it.

All-terrain cycles enable the Inuit to indulge their love of the land. Although some of the men now work for private business or for federal or territorial government operations, many Inuit seem still to live for the weekends when they can get out of town. In mid-summer, individuals or families set out across the tundra or push off in motor boats, set up tents in some remote location, and spend a day or two, or sometimes several weeks, fishing or hunting. In winter, snowmobiles take the place of all-terrain cycles in satisfying the urge to get back on the land.

Despite these modem innovations, many people still have dog sleds for the winter, both the larger cargo sleds and the shorter, lower racing sleds. And they still keep dog teams like those that were their fathers' only lifeline during dark, bitter winters. The owner of a team may have four or more dogs tied out, either near the house or just beyond town on the edge of the tundra. A chain is staked tightly to the ground, and the dogs are tethered by shorter chains attached to it at intervals. Each animal will have a wooden shelter and a metal pan for water. These animals are not pets in the southern sense, and when their owner comes out in the evening with the day's meal of fish, the ensuing ferocity and excitement might be a little frightening to the average dog lover.

Art is another activity popular with the Inuit of Baker Lake. At the artists' co-op we saw locally fashioned examples of typical northern sculpture. And upstairs in the sewing centre, we found something for which Baker Lake is uniquely famous-the felt wall-hangings created by the women of this community. Here was the source of those creations, rich in colour and in the symbolism of traditional life, that we had previously seen hanging not only in the civic centre in Churchill, but also in chic galleries in downtown Toronto and at the Art Gallery of Ontario.

For an aquatic biologist, the tundra country is some of the most beautiful imaginable. There's water, it seems, almost everywhere. Tiny. shallow puddles only a few centimetres deep, sit perched on sloping hillsides with no visible means of water supply. Larger ponds, up to half a metre deep, are situated where they clearly were formed by waters from recently melted snows (there were still snowbanks in protected localities in late July, although some afternoons it was 25 degrees C in the sun). The permanent waters are of two types: large, mud-bottomed ponds, and lakes with gravel and rock shorelines that range in size from a few hundred square metres to Baker Lake itself.

What is of interest to the aquatic biologist, however, is not the waters themselves but what lives in them. And life is abundant. Starting with tiniest planktonic water fleas, the freshwater crustaceans (relatives of lobsters and crabs) also include indolent, flesh-pink fairy shrimp drifting slowly through the water on their backs, and slate-grey tadpole shrimp scuttling across the bottom for all the world like diminutive horseshoe crabs. A host of insect larvae, including darting mayflies, wriggling midges, and voracious water tigers tum every dip of the collector's net into a lively sample. Swiftly swimming adult beetles make up the most active and conspicuous element of the aquatic fauna.

All this and mites too. We collected almost 2000 of these, belonging to nine different genera. Their communities show lower diversity than those to the south, but far more than we had dared to hope.

It was a young bush pilot we met at Baker Lake Lodge who gave us our best look at the wild tundra. Brad was flying a single Otter every other day between Baker Lake and Chantry Lodge, a wilderness fishing camp another few hundred kilometres north. His regular passengers were tourists en route to a fishing vacation and the opportunity to sample arctic char. But between flights, he had little to do. One day Brad flew us and our waders and trays to a lake about 30 km to the northwest, picked at random from the map.

From the air, the oft-repeated description of the north as a sea of lakes becomes breath-taking reality. Brad flew low and brought the float plane down smoothly on the lake we had chosen. After taxiing over to a gravelly beach and helping us off, he also waited patiently for three hours while we took our samples. Here there were no signs of human habitation, and mites were abundant. The absolute stillness of the open tundra, broken only by the cry of a bird or the rushing of the north winds, is a field experience without parallel.

Our visit by bush plane to a totally uninhabited area was not only memorable, it was also a necessary test that mites found near the town of Baker Lake are representative of the true local fauna. It appears that they are, as too are the plants representative of the regional flora. The tundra vegetation we saw at the end of our plane ride was little different from what we had observed in detail near town. Although we had not planned to do so, we happened to arrive just at the time of the famous blooming of tundra flowers. Blossoms were everywhere. On disturbed sites, where mosses and lichens had been scraped away, the magenta blooms of arctic fireweed flourished. There were purple asters, delicate pink cushions of moss campion, and lemony buttercups of several different species. Spiky pastel flowers of pale paintbrush contrasted with violet petals of the insectivorous butterwort and the flossy tufts of arctic cotton. Together they created a patchwork quilt spread across the rolling hillsides.

The north is still a frontier in Canada. It is remote, empty, and during the winter, cruel. But in summer the tundra can be a delightful experience and, with the invertebrates still relatively unexplored, a rewarding site for faunal investigation. We still have to learn, one day, how much farther north those mites actually go. If we can raise the funds, we hope another summer will find us in the biological lottery once again as we dip our nets into another northern pond.

[ RETURN ]

One of the authors extracting mites from an aquatic sample. A thorough job involves long hours of dodging mosquitoes over the collecting tray.

The sled dog is still a prized possession among the Inuit of Baker Lake.

One of the authors with the three-wheeled, all-terrain cycle used to visit tundra ponds and lakes beyond the reach of the few Baker Lake roads.

Clinging tightly to the bare rock, this arctic lichen's cycle of growth and weathering has produced a striking concentric pattern.

click to enlarge

When arctic flowers bloom, the tundra is dotted with a spectrum of colours. Shown here is the arctic fireweed.