The crunch of ice. The whistle of the arctic wind. The chill bite of frozen noses and fingers. Polar bears. Sled dogs. This is what comes to mind when we think of when the word “arctic.” You might want to add Arctic Char to that list. And maybe fly rods.
The film takes a long, hard look at the remote Tree River lying sixty-six degrees north of the Equator. This is the real north – the hard north. Home to hordes of Arctic Char and other members of the salmonid family, the Tree is a vast, harsh river tinted with the silty, green tint of glacial melt. It is a frontier covered in ice, home to rivers that can drive the most passionate angler mad with anticipation.