Sturgeon Spearing: A Frozen In Time Ice Fishing Tradition

The sun has yet to rise, but the surface of the frozen lake is already alive with activity. Pickup trucks drive on ice roads marked by repurposed Christmas trees. Headlights diverge toward shanties dotted on the horizon as far as the eye can see. People are bundled in their warmest winter wear as they unload long-handled spears from truck beds.

It’s the second Saturday in February and in Northeast Wisconsin this scene means one thing: opening morning of sturgeon spearing season. 

Journey to a sturgeon spearing shanty

We get to our entry point on the lakeshore — used as a boat launch in summer — and drive onto the ice. My husband, Brett, cracks open the truck windows. We unbuckle our seatbelts and ease over a metal bridge atop an ice crack. I try not to feel unnerved by the creaks and groans of shifting ice under our tires.

We briefly join the main caravan before veering southwest to our family’s small compound of shanties. Our first stop is at Brett’s ice shanty — “shack” in the Gerner household — to turn on the heater. He has to breathe on the frozen paddle lock on the door before the key will turn. His breath swirls around his face and bare hands and I’m thankful to still be in the warm truck next to our dog, Paisley, in the backseat.

My father-in-law, Dave, sits shotgun, eager to get the show on the road. This year he, Brett, and Brett’s brother, Mike, set up their sturgeon shacks on the east side of Lake Winnebago, not far from where Dave was raised in Chilton. His family moved to a farm on the southeast shore of the lake when he was 10 years old, which we passed on our drive this morning. 

Brett gets back in the truck and we drive 100 yards to Dave’s shack, built by Dave’s Uncle Larry in 1957. Improvements have been made over the years, but it’s the same structure his family has used for over six decades. 

As Brett uses a chisel to clear ice that formed over the hole that was cut yesterday, I step out of the truck with my camera to try to capture the sun spilling over the horizon. The wind is bitterly cold. Soon enough the guys scoop out the last of the loose ice and drop Dave’s decoys down the hole — the details of which are protected among spearers like secret family recipes. 

The final ingredient, the spear, can’t go inside the shack until the 7 a.m. start time. We wish Dave luck and drive back to our own post to repeat the process. 

A boom like a gunshot echoes in the distance. Sturgeon season has officially begun.

Preparing for sturgeon season

Wisconsin’s Lake Winnebago system is home to one of North America’s largest lake sturgeon populations and is one of only two places where the species can be harvested with a spear. The first official Lake Winnebago sturgeon spearing season was in 1932, but the practice of spearing these “living fossils” goes back thousands of years in Native American history.

Sturgeon spearing is managed by the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources (DNR) and is supported by local fishing clubs. Proceeds from license sales help maintain a healthy sturgeon population.

After 10 years of observing my in-laws prepare for sturgeon spearing, I’ve noticed some patterns: 

In late summer, they remind each other to apply for an Upriver Lakes tag (a drawing based on preference points and limited to 500 spearers per year). If not awarded an Upriver tag, they buy their Lake Winnebago spearing licenses before the Oct. 31 deadline. 

In January, they talk about how the ice is forming on the lake. 

As the opener nears, they get their shacks out of storage, drive to the lake, and check water clarity in potential spots.

The list continues:

• Strategize
• Listen to reports from local fishing clubs
• Re-strategize
• Fill Propane drums to power gas heaters and grills
• Bring their shacks to the chosen spot on the lake
• Chainsaw 30 inch by 60 inch holes for each shack
• Return home to gather the rest of the supplies including spears, decoys, gaffs, and blankets

Yes, that’s all before opening day!

Waiting for sturgeon

Back to opening morning. We arrive at Brett’s shack, now nice and toasty from the heater. He assembles his spear and hangs it from a hook on the ceiling.

Crossing the threshold from golden hour sunlight to pitch black ice shack is strange at first. Initially, all I can see is the yellow-tinted light illuminating from the hole on one end of the shack. Slowly, my eyes adjust and can see more of our surroundings: a soft glow from the heater, the coffee thermos, Paisley’s body curled on the cot…

We shed our coats and settle in for six thrilling hours of staring down a hole in the ice.

Incoming phone calls from fellow spearers always bring a whir of anticipation. They usually cut straight to the chase. 

“See anything?”

“You get one?” 

After such a call from Mike, with a quickly followed, “Nothin’ yet,” I pry Brett for stories of sturgeon spearing when he was young. 

Sometimes he’d stay at his Great Uncle Leroy’s house on the east shore of Lake Winnebago, not far from where we sit now. The quintessential bachelor, Leroy is a bit of a legend in the family. Brett would sit in family members’ shacks stocked with snacks and a small black and white portable T.V.

Spearing was open all day back then, so sometimes he and his cousin would venture outside to ride four-wheelers or snowmobiles.

“One day the DNR warden stopped to talk to my dad because we were too young to be driving unsupervised,” Brett recalls. “I think it’s the only ticket he ever got.”

Later, Dave will confirm the tale, though he says he was watching the boys through the shack windows. And for the record, he went to the judge and the ticket was removed! 

Brett’s phone rings again. Sensing story time is over, I re-situate Paisley’s front legs on my lap and read a book by the light of a headlamp. Sometimes we listen to music or podcasts to break up the time.

If I need to stretch my legs, I step outside to grab a snack from the cooler, throw a ball for Paisley, or take her for a walk to see what’s happening in Dave or Mike’s shacks. If she’s lucky, she’ll score donut crumbs on the floor courtesy of our nephews!

Watching sturgeon weigh-ins

The current sturgeon spearing regulations state that spearing is open until 1 p.m. and fish must be registered by 2 p.m. As people emerge from their shacks into the bright daylight, groups gather to swap stories, grill burgers, and cheers to a great day — especially if someone in the group was successful. The ice roads become busy again as some decide to move their shacks to new spots or drive to registration stations on shore. 

Today we head to the DNR weigh station outside the Quinney Quencher and join the crowd watching as successful spear fishermen (and women) glow with pride as they register their fish. People shout guesses of the weight before it displays on the monitor. Sturgeon that make the “100 pound club” always elicit cheers. 

My dad has joined us for part of the day, which has become a tradition in itself. This year he brought his cousin who grew up on Lake Winnebago in the ‘60s, but has never experienced sturgeon spearing.

Two of Brett’s co-workers also stop by. One is visiting from the Netherlands and it’s interesting to hear her questions and perspective on this unique taste of Wisconsin culture.

No sturgeon for us on day one, but that’s not unusual. The season lasts 16 days or until the harvest cap is reached. Time to head home and regroup for day two.

Harvesting a sturgeon

We don’t expect to bring home a sturgeon every year. The success rate is much higher on the Upriver system (Lakes Butt des Morts, Poygan, and Winneconne), hence the 500 person cap. Lake Winnebago is tougher with a nine percent success rate vs. the Upriver’s 62 percent.

That makes it thrilling when anything swims through the hole. A minnow creates excitement, but a full sized fish especially so.

I’ve been lucky to witness a handful of sturgeon sightings and harvests over the years. Seeing Brett reach for the spear is enough to grab my attention. If the spear is dropped down the hole, I know this is not a drill.

Next is a whirlwind of pulling the spear back up by the connected rope, hopefully with a fish in tow. Sometimes a gaff is used to get a better grip on a sturgeon once it reaches the surface. Lifting a 60 to 100+ pound creature out of the water is no small feat!

This year, Mike’s clan brings in a sturgeon on day four — Valentine’s Day. What could be more romantic than a family gathering in the garage shop for an evening of fish cleaning?

Being a group effort, we all get a portion of the cleaned sturgeon. We’ll make some fresh and vacuum seal and freeze the rest to eat throughout the year. Our go-to methods for preparing sturgeon are boiling, frying, or smoking.

Facing reality: an evolving tradition

For some Wisconsin families, sturgeon spearing is a tradition more sacred than deer hunting or maple syrup making. Yet many who grew up in the Lake Winnebago area, including myself, had no exposure to it. We are acclimated through marriage or an invitation from a friend or a chance encounter. 

At its core, sturgeon spearing is an age-old practice of harvesting fish from the ice with a spear. 

But much has changed over the years, from regulations to more advanced spears and the use of underwater cameras. Varying ice conditions and water clarity affect how we can navigate (truck, UTV, ATV, Argo, snowmobile, or foot) and where shanties are placed on the lake. 

After the 2023 season, Dave finally retired the 66-year-old shack he inherited from his uncle. New flooring and walls were built on top of the original steel frame, so a piece of it lives on.

The tradition has also evolved for me, a non-spearing bystander. My beloved custom of spending opening morning in the shack with my husband and dog came to an end with Paisley’s passing during the 2023 sturgeon season.

Maybe it’s for the best that 2024 brought poor ice conditions. Instead of going out with the guys, I stayed home to finally face this writeup that sat unfinished for a year.

The loss makes me extra grateful for all the time we’ve dedicated to an activity that’s been ingrained in Brett’s family for nearly a century.

Change is inevitable — even for a tradition “frozen in time.”

We can’t stop the clock from turning, but we can pause to appreciate the memories and make the most of our time left with loved ones.