With blue sky overhead, a clean flowing river all around us,
and a refreshing break from summer humidity, it’s no wonder that statements
like, “what a beautiful day,” and “it just doesn’t get much better than this,”
kept slipping out unbidden.
Max Wolter, Fisheries Biologist with the Wisconsin Department
of Natural Resources (WDNR), had generously allowed me and a couple of other
Museum members to join his crew on a float down the Couderay River near
Radisson, WI. I’d named the program “Counting Dinosaurs” in our Calendar of
Events. Evan Sniadajewski and Scott Braden—both Fisheries Technicians with the
WDNR—paddled one gear-laden canoe. Like fiberglass porcupine quills, fishing
poles and nets stuck out from every angle. Max paddled with Jake McCusker, a
college student doing a day of job shadowing.
Before we’d even left sight of the boat launch, Max’s crew
was reeling in fish. In order to get a better view of their research protocols,
we all dropped anchor, and then waded up to Max’s boat. The cool water swirled
around our knees as we navigated the patchwork of sand and rocks on the river
bottom in our tightly tied old running shoes.
Max had a shorthead redhorse (yes, that’s a fish) already in
hand. The diamond pattern of its scales shimmered peach, green, and copper in
the sunlight, and its fins glowed a pretty shade of orange. Its mouth was less
attractive. As a bottom-feeding member of the sucker family, its fleshy lips
were a bit, well, fishy. Even though redhorse aren’t highly sought game fish,
they are good indicators of water quality because they can’t tolerate
pollution.
 |
| shorthead redhorse |
 |
I think that this one is a silver redhorse.
The redhorse we caught were merely an exercise in fish ecology
and identification, though, and soon found themselves being released without
fanfare once we’d admired them. Smallmouth bass, on the other hand, were
measured and outfitted with a tiny tag injected into their cheek. The cheek is used
because no angler is likely to eat the tag accidentally from that location. Unlike
the fancy radio transmitter or GPS unit on a wolf’s collar, these tags are
passive. They can only be detected when the fish swims past a tag reader, or a fisheries
biologist scans them. Still, recaptures provide important information about
where the fish come from, how much they’ve grown, and how long they live.
 |
Mike (a Wisconsin Master Naturalist),
Jake and Max measure the length of a smallmouth bass. It has already been
tagged, and will be released with the hope of being recaptured in the future.
Photo by Emily Stone.
 |
Jake
McCusker (left) was job shadowing during this survey on the
Couderay. Max gave him quite a bit of practice injecting the research tags into
smallmouth bass. Photo by Emily Stone.
 |
Max
scans a smallmouth bass that he’s just tagged in order to make sure that
everything is working properly. If that fish is recaptured, the DNR will be
able to tell where it came from and how much it’s grown. Photo by Emily Stone.
Max and the DNR are interested in tracking the travels of
these bass because back in 2011, their home went through a big change. That’s
the year that the Grimh Dam in Radisson was removed. Built to provide
hydroelectric power in 1928, the 30-foot tall dam had fallen into disrepair.
The North Central Power Company decided against rehabilitating it—much to the
consternation of many in the local community, who’d enjoyed fishing in the
Grimh Flowage.
With the dam removed, though, the Couderay River now flows
freely into the Chippewa River. With the dam gone, fish can flow more freely,
too. Are the bass moving in from below the old dam, or are they swimming down
from upstream, or both? Max’s data will help answer those questions, and help
guide management of these important game fish.
Once we’d tagged enough smallmouth bass from that first hole,
we floated on down the river, and paused in a deep pool just below a bridge. The
guys quickly caught another redhorse—this time it was a greater redhorse, the
biggest and least common species. It scales shimmered golden, accented by those
brilliant orange fins. “If they have color on the fins, there’s no color in the
name,” repeated Max. We’d also caught silver and golden redhorse, whose dorsal
fins lack any vibrant hues.
 |
Evan
holds up a greater redhorse to show us its colorful fins, while Scott holds the
canoe steady. Photo by Emily Stone.
My fish ID skills are growing. Before this summer, I didn’t
realize that there was more than one species of redhorse. I was just happy to
be able to catch a glimpse of red fins and thus sound semi-knowledgeable as I
floated down the Namekagon River.
Greater redhorse are unable to survive in even the slightest
polluted waters. The DNR crew was exclaiming about how many they were catching.
Could this, too, be a result of the restoration of this river’s freely flowing
nature?
While the pool under the bridge wasn’t flowing very fast, it
did have the power to capture our attention. We all peered through polarized
sunglasses trying to make sense of shifting shadows.
“There, do you see it?” coached Max. Then I did see it: a four-foot-long,
dark gray torpedo was gliding smoothly above the pale, sandy bottom. Here was
our dinosaur—a living fossil—the main target of our survey. But I’ll tell you
more about that next week…
Emily’s second book, Natural
Connections:
Dreaming of an Elfin Skimmer, is now available to purchase at www.cablemuseum.org/books and at your local independent bookstore, too.
For more than 50 years, the Cable Natural History Museum has
served to connect you to the Northwoods. Come visit us in Cable, WI! Our new
Curiosity Center kids’ exhibit and Pollinator Power annual exhibit are now
open! Call us at 715-798-3890 or email emily@cablemuseum.org.
No comments:
Post a Comment