I Speak for the Fish is a monthly column written by Great Lakes Now Contributor Kathy Johnson, coming out the third Monday of each month. Publishing the author’s views and assertions does not represent endorsement by Great Lakes Now or Detroit Public Television. Check out her previous columns.
We weren’t sure what to expect when we reached Tippy Dam.
We were told anglers stood shoulder-to-shoulder on the riverbank, casting in succession so as not to cross lines. We were also warned we might not be able to dive. Not by anyone in authority. The dire warnings came from anglers who had fished in the area.
There was no law or regulation against diving in the Big Manistee, and we were working under the Little River Band’s endangered species permit. The Tribe had hired us to check the river bottom near Tippy Dam for sturgeon eggs, and we fully intended to get the job done.
We arrived on site in the early afternoon. Our dive van at the time had a vinyl wrap with sturgeon, muskie, a diver and the slogan “We have the Great Lakes at our fingertips.” These days, we travel more incognito but back then the van drew lots of conversation-generating attention.
At the river, the anglers were indeed lining the entire bank from the dam to just past the boat launch. They scowled as we approached.
Saving Big Manistee Nmé
Fishing line can be seen trailing off the dorsal fin of a lake sturgeon in Michigan’s Big Manistee River. (Photo Credit: Greg Lashbrook/PolkaDot Perch)
One of the many challenges of helping a long-lived species like lake sturgeon, which don’t typically begin reproducing until about 20-years-old, is living long enough yourself to see if your restoration idea worked.
I recently had the privilege of returning to Manistee, Michigan to reunite with and interview some of the researchers who developed the original streamside rearing facility. It was a happy reunion. These biologists have not only lived long enough to see their idea succeed but have watched as streamside facilities became the leading method for lake sturgeon restoration in the Great Lakes.
Watch the interviews and the entire Little River nmé (lake sturgeon) restoration project, from egg collections in the spring to releasing fish in the fall, in the May 2025 episode of Great Lakes Now.
You can also read more about the history of the program, including my early work with the Little River Band’s nmé restoration program in my November 2024 column How Native American are saving lake sturgeon.
After reporting on the program’s progress for two decades, and helping the Tribe initially locate the few remaining spawning grounds in the Big Manistee, I join the researchers and Tribal community in celebrating how well it has worked out.
But, as is often the case, success brings new challenges.
Lake sturgeon struggled to survive in the Great Lakes throughout the 1900s and only a few small populations remained by the turn of the 21st century.
In the 1960s, the State of Michigan began introducing multiple non-native salmon species into the Great Lakes to create an artificial fishery. The State did not begin supporting lake sturgeon restoration efforts until the late 1990s.
Today, the conflict between supporting native lake sturgeon versus non-native salmon is coming to a head on the Big Manistee River.
The Michigan Department of Natural Resources recently launched a new messaging campaign, “Observe don’t disturb the sturgeon” which aims to reduce the conflict. They are hoping the angling community heeds the message.
Fishing bullies
A fish hook is embedded in a spawning lake sturgeon’s tail in the Big Manistee River. (Photo Credit: Greg Lashbrook/PolkaDot Perch)
As we cautiously walked down the slight incline of the wet boat ramp, a fisherman wearing jeans and a tan Carhartt over his camo T-shirt stepped into our path.
“You divers?” He asked suspiciously.
“Yep,” I replied with a sunny smile. His frown deepened.
“You can’t dive here,” he said with such authority you’d think it was private property not a public boat ramp inside a National Park.
“Why not?” I asked. I pretended not to notice the other half-dozen fishermen that closed in on us. Their spokesman took a menacing step towards us.
“You can’t dive here,” he repeated. Only this time, the threat was not veiled.
I should have backed down. Today I would. But I’ve never been one to back down from a bully and I didn’t that day. At least, not at first.
“Well, we’re here to do a job,” I said. “So, we’re going in.”
A dozen more fishermen suddenly surged up behind him and in the space of a few moments we were facing an angry mob.
“If you want to go in here,” their leader nearly spat the words at us. “You’re gonna need to get a park ranger and tell him to bring a couple state boys with him cuz it’s gonna get real.”
That’s when I stepped back or rather my partner Greg Lashbrook pulled me back having correctly ascertained the growing likelihood of us getting a serious beatdown.
I called the Tribal offices from the safety of the van.
The Tribe, as is their way, came up with a work around that avoided any additional conflict. The next day, they launched a boat and took us up to the dam. Thankfully, looks can’t kill as the anglers on shore glowered at us the entire time.
Unfortunately, this isn’t the only time we’ve been threatened by fishermen.
We’re constantly interacting with anglers. We target fish for different reasons, but a good fishing site is also a good fish filming site, so our paths are destined to frequently pass.
Some of our closest friendships have started on riverbanks.
With a fairly active sport diving community around the St. Clair River, local anglers have come to appreciate divers. We are particularly handy to have around if you drop your car keys in or lose your favorite never-fails lure.
In locations where few people dive, we’ve experienced the full gamut with local angling communities from indifference to friendly to threatening. But in our experience, hostility and a misplaced sense of ownership are strongest at popular salmon fishing sites.
Observe don’t disturb
A lake sturgeon’s dorsal fin is covered with sport fishing lures on Michigan’s Big Manistee River. (Photo Credit: Greg Lashbrook/PolkaDot Perch)
Greg was the first diver to film and swim beside lake sturgeon in the Big Manistee River.
He spent four to five hours in the river each day for ten days straight about a mile below Tippy Dam hoping to meet one of the few adults still running up river to spawn below the dam.
Some of these Big Manistee River sturgeon could be 100 years old. They had survived the industrial revolution including the creation of a massive hydro-electric dam on their home river. They had been returning to this river for nearly a century just as their ancestors had done for thousands of years before them.
They were the survivors. The last hope for their kind.
The first adult Greg filmed had multiple lures embedded in its dorsal fin and fresh gashes scarred its back.
The Big Manistee is only about 10 feet at its deepest point with much of the river less than a few feet deep. But unlike many sturgeon rivers that are tannic or have high sedimentation, the Big Manistee can be almost crystal clear at times.
In shallow, generally clear water, anglers should be able to tell the difference between a six-foot sturgeon and their two-foot target species. No doubt the guides and pros can. But given the number of lures we documented on lake sturgeon many either can’t tell the difference or they are targeting the sturgeon too. And that’s not ok.
For the past 50 years, only a few dozen lake sturgeon made it back to Tippy Dam.
This year, researchers are expecting several hundred will be returning to spawn thanks to the Tribe’s streamside rearing facility.
So the question is – will the salmon anglers stop casting voluntarily and allow the sturgeon to pass-by unharmed? The state hopes so.
If not, and sturgeon continue to arrive at their historical spawning grounds near Tippy Dam on the Big Manistee River covered in lures, those anglers are going to experience a little karmic payback when they’re told they can’t be here.
Catch more news at Great Lakes Now:
Meet the people trying to keep a prehistoric fish alive
I Speak for the Fish: How to photograph mysterious freshwater fish
Featured image: Lake sturgeon are returning in larger numbers to the Big Manistee River is Michigan to spawn thanks to the Little River Band of Ottawa Indians streamside rearing facility. (Photo Credit: Greg Lashbrook/PolkaDot Perch)
