Fencerows: Sturgeon Line
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By John Luthens Matthew Klein, of Fond du Lac, stood in a long waiting line to register his sturgeon on the opening day of Lake Winnebago’s spearing season. He didn’t mind. He stood line with the spirits of the generations; spirits haunting the ice of the Lake Winnebago system in a storied tradition, perched in darkened shacks with spears at the ready. The sturgeon came in on the scales at 78.3 inches and 139.5 pounds. According to his mom, Shelly, it was a family record. That’s saying something. Matthew is 13, and the family sturgeon legacy dates back to Matthew’s great-grandfather. Matthew’s great-grandfather was a charter member of the Southwest Chapter of Sturgeon For Tomorrow and one of the founders of Wendt’s on the west shores of Lake Winnebago, a fine restaurant, boat marina, and come the first Saturday of the spearing season, a popular sturgeon registration station. On the sturgeon opener, registration stations around the Lake Winnebago system draw in onlookers from the surrounding communities like a crafted decoy calls a curious sturgeon. Hearing the stories and seeing the fish pulled off the ice can be as exciting as watching the prehistoric shapes glide beneath. It’s a carnival atmosphere, a celebration of days getting longer and another winter creeping to a close across the ice. It’s a time to renew old friendships and share the stories of years past: ice thickness and water clarity, harrowing tales of ice-saws roaring into the night and shacks pulled over honey-combed ice. And, of course, tales of the ultimate moment; memories ranking in Wisconsin outdoor lore right up there with a white-tale rack scraping through the brush or a musky pounding heavy beneath a weed line. It’s a moment when a dark shadow glides into range, when hours, even years, of patience are rewarded with frantic seconds. “This was my second year spearing. I was sitting across from my mom when fish came through in 16 feet of water,” Matthew Klein told me, with the practiced patience of someone who had already posed for dozens of pictures with his trophy and rehashed the story countless times. The spear dropped true and the fight was on. “The fish started coming up,” said Shelly Klein. “Usually the fish looks smaller the closer it gets to the top of the hole, but this one just kept getting bigger. I knew it was a monster.” Once a sturgeon is speared, it is gaffed before pulling it up into the shack. The bigger the fish is – the bigger the circus. Chairs and gear get tossed out the door and the wrestling match is on. “I couldn’t hook the gaff behind the gills on the first try,” Matthew’s mom said. “I got it on the second attempt and we pulled it in. There was a little more blood spraying around because of where I ended up gaffing it, but we got it out. Then we just started shouting.” Asked if he was going to have it mounted, Matthew said, “I’m not sure yet. I’m still just letting the whole thing sink in.” “You always hope to get a fish like that, but the reason we go out is more important. It’s in the family,” Matthew’s mom said, eyes beaming with excitement. “You know, I can’t help but think that maybe grandpa Wendt sent this fish our way.” Matthew was the picture of composure, still young, but already with the seasoned look of a veteran, step by step, pulling his sturgeon through the registration line, posing for pictures and telling the story. He was doing exactly like the great Vince Lombardi once counseled: “When you get in the end zone, act like you’ve been there before.” There were handshakes all around. There was laughter and back-slapping. A sturgeon registration line is that kind of place. Matthew still had a long line in front of him, but into the sunset of another opener, the tradition and legendary figures of Winnebago sturgeon spearing stretched behind him a lot further.
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