The lake sturgeon, Acipenser fulvescens. (Photo courtesy of the Department of Fisheries and Oceans, Canada)
Each spring, several hundred people volunteer to babysit fish. In spawning season, masses of the large lake sturgeon float near the surface of the water, making them vulnerable to poachers. A program called “Sturgeon Watch” is credited with helping to preserve the ancient fish. It’s become a model for sturgeon management and has been copied by other fisheries around the world. The Great Lakes Radio Consortium’s Patty Murray visited “sturgeon camp” and has this report:
Transcript
Each spring several hundred people volunteer to babysit fish. In spawning
season masses of the large lake sturgeon float near the surface of the water
making them vulnerable to poachers. A program called “sturgeon watch” is
credited with helping to preserve the ancient fish. It’s become a model for
sturgeon management and has been copied by other fisheries around the world.
Patty Murray visited “sturgeon camp” and has this report:
It’s a foggy, rainy day, perfect for sitting inside with a cup of coffee.
But instead we’re outside in the drizzle with Ron Reindahl, darting along
the high muddy banks of the Wolf River in Central Wisconsin. He’s looking
for sturgeon.
“There’s some big ones in there.
But there was one this morning, I’m not kidding, it was as big as I am.”
While the sturgeon are spawning, they swarm in large groups near the surface, close to
shore. It would be easy to reach out and grab one of them.
That’s the problem. The fish are tasty and their eggs rival Russian
Beluga caviar.
Concern over the vulnerable fish brought Ron Reindahl out in the elements.
He’s wearing a blue cap with “sturgeon guard” written on it.
He got it from the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources.
It shows that he’s here to babysit the fish while they’re breeding.
DNR wardens say guards like Reindahl have helped stabilize
the numbers of lake sturgeon.
Poaching used to be a big problem. That’s what retired Warden Dale Morey
remembers. Morey is jokingly nicknamed the “sturgeon general.”
From his post in a cabin at “fish camp,” it’s his job to assign
volunteers to sites where the fish are active.
Back in the 1940’s and 50’s, Morey says poaching was seen as a birthright.
“The general public attitude around here was if you could take them, fine.
The wardens were the bad guys. The locals felt they had a right to those
fish and they just took them any way they could.”
Legally, sturgeon can only be killed during the winter spearing season on
the ice of Lake Winnebago.
But some unethical people still try to take them during spawning.
That’s where the volunteers come in.
Retired teacher Mary Ann Eltink is in the basement of the cabin at fish camp. She’s eating a
hot breakfast after a rainy 12-hour overnight shift on guard.
“To be visible there is a definite deterrent. And should any incident
occur, we get as much information as we can and then radio it to the wardens to
follow up on it.
PM: ‘Did you see anything suspicious last night?’
“I wouldn’t say it was suspicious but we were very visible on the bank at twilight, and there was a
motorcraft that came up the river and he was slow at first and speeded up as he
rounded the bend where we were. So we can only surmise.”
Anyone caught with an illegal sturgeon will get a $3,000 fine.
And they won’t be able to fish or hunt in Wisconsin for three years.
Wardens take poaching seriously because sturgeon are a very delicate
resource.
Sturgeon don’t spawn until they’re 20 or 25 years old. So if too many fish are caught
now… the impact won’t show up for a couple of decades.
Back in the rainy woods, Ron Reindahl says that inspired him to volunteer. Like many of
the guards, he says he speared a sturgeon one winter. He’d like future generations to have
a chance at one too.
“Somebody’s got to protect
them. If you don’t do this I can imagine what’d happen. Our grandchildren won’t be able to appreciate
it like I did.”
Reindahl knows he’s doing something good for the sturgeon. And he says they’re doing
something for him, giving him an excuse to get up close and personal to one of nature’s
oldest species.
For the Great Lakes Radio Consortium, I’m Patty Murray.