State of the River

I am one of many retirees who migrate from other states to live their "golden years" along the Au Sable River.

Choosing a retirement site - a place where one can find the realization of his dreams and aspirations following a work career - is seldom easy. Indeed, such a decision is usually made with a great deal of soul-searching and gnashing of teeth. For us, however, settling along the banks of the Au Sable was an easy choice.

In our home state of Pennsylvania - as in the entire populous East - there were attractive trout streams where retirement living could have been a pleasant existence. But there were too many threats which made long-term property ownership on a good trout stream an iffy proposition. We had watched helplessly as Spring Creek slowly declined to a faint shadow of its former self. We were appalled by the sudden wipeouts of prime wild trout populations on both the Letort and Spruce Creek, due to slugs of pollution from agricultural operations upstream. The ever-present specter of possible mine acid contamination hung ominously over the mountain streams. And on and on.

When we considered the streams in the West we were turned off by the ugly battles over water rights. Besides, mining in the Rockies posed serious pollution threats as well.

Tallying the pluses and minuses of candidate streams, the Au Sable was a standout. With negligible agriculture and industry along its banks the threat of pollution from these sources is remote. The combined length of the waterway nestled within several counties is impressive and the nature of the terrain precludes massive rainwater runoff and erosion from high, steep hills. Having seen Penn's Creek rise six feet during an overnight cloudburst, we were particularly appreciative of the Au Sable's stable flow.

The sandy soil prevalent hereabouts acts as an efficient filter, allowing rainwater to percolate into the water table and into the river through its many springs. The constancy of flow and water temperature thus provided make for ideal trout habitat.

The superabundance of hard gravel stream bottom not only offers trout an ideal spawning facility, it also makes the river most hospitable to wading anglers. Those responsible for early development showed great foresight when they avoided building highways along the banks of the rivers. Roads closely bordering streams pose a wintertime threat of road salt runoff, in addition to which commercial carriers always present the danger of spills of toxic materials.

The late Vincent Marinaro was an outspoken advocate of the Au Sable system and devoted an entire chapter to the river in his book, In The Ring Of The Rise, in which he observed:

If I must make comparisons, then I will say that the only streams on earth comparable to the Au Sable are the fabled chalk streams of England. . . . The Au Sable . . . more closely approaches the nature of an English chalk stream because of the manner of its creation and maintenance. The chalky downs of southern England, composed of a soft, porous, highly absorbent material accept and hoard every bit of rainfall, releasing it slowly in the form of well-filtered, cool, pure spring water; exactly as such water is delivered to the Au Sable.

We should never forget that our river is a national treasure which, overall, is matched by few watersheds anywhere. Any solutions to the river's apparent reduced productivity should be approached very carefully, based on science alone and with a goal of long-term benefit. No quick fixes, please. Although the river's problems are vexing they are minuscule when compared with some of the disasters I've witnessed in the Keystone State, such as acid drainage from coal mines which kills everything in the stream and turns both the water and rocks red, and doses of industrial or agricultural pollution which destroy all aquatic life.

Is our river too pure? It seems to me, of all the possible causes to which the river's problems could be ascribed, over-purity is one of the friendliest! It means we can begin applying corrective measures to a stream already in good condition, rather than restoring a sick patient to health. That's a tremendous shortcut. Enrichment from natural materials such as leaves is infinitely more desirable than, say, from the effluent which produces big trout in the Bow River below Calgary. Many streams with naturally low fertility may benefit from some form of enrichment. Dr. Edwin Cooper used to jokingly comment that many Eastern mountain freestone streams could benefit from a few outhouses along their banks.

On the other hand, over-enrichment may have catastrophic consequences. In the 1950s the rapidly-growing community of State College in Pennsylvania voted against expanding its sewage filtration plant and within a couple of years Spring Creek became so enriched its weed growth increased at an alarming rate. In certain slow-water stretches the stream became choked with weeds. During daylight hours in such areas the water's oxygen content was high due to photosynthesis. But at night, when the nitrogen cycle took over, dissolved oxygen plummeted to alarmingly low levels. About once a year - usually in August - oxygen levels would dive to zero, killing every living creature in the half-mile or so of affected water (except for midges, which have the ability to store oxygen for later use). It takes only a single such occurrence - lasting only a few minutes - to cause a virtual wipeout.

We are beginning to hear an impatient clamor for the stocking of hatchery trout in our river and we should resist it with all the strength we can muster. I came from a state where wholesale stocking of trout streams was so prevalent most fishermen automatically assumed that every trout they caught was there through the courtesy of the state agency. It is a disease without a cure and over time it is sure to worsen. For anglers it's a quick fix: with all those easy-to-catch trout in the stream the valley soon resounds with the cry, "Ain't this great?" For state fisheries agencies deriving operating funds from license sales it is a bonanza. They then can simply publicize the planting of trout in the streams and issue occasional bulletins to remind anglers how many millions of trout have already been stocked, and how many additional millions will be planted before the season ends. Then sit back and watch the coffers fill.

Biologist Ray White calls them "cookie-cutter trout." To Martha Young they were "funny fish." The late Dr. Alvin (Bus) Grove of Penn State University once told me it takes about eighteen generations to breed out the wildness of trout before they can be reared with optimum success in hatcheries, i.e., to grow them to stockable size in the shortest time. Then they are planted in streams and are expected to be wild. Makes sense, doesn't it?

A fine article about trout appeared in the April 1996 issue of National Geographic. Written by senior staff writer Cathy Newman, the piece embraces many aspects of the fish, their habitat, the sport of fly fishing, and the intertwining relationships between man and his quarry.

Visiting Ray White near Seattle, Ms. Newman found little difficulty getting the noted biologist to express his views on hatchery trout. "They're over-fed blimps, disease prone, with frayed fins from rubbing against concrete raceways." Introduced in a wild population "they're like freshmen in a class of seniors. They get in the way and don't know how to act. They contaminate the genetics, compete for food and space, and eat smaller wild trout." Mention fish management to White and he snorts, "Fish management! Fish don't need management. People need management!"

Falling Springs is a small but productive spring creek in Pennsylvania with a fine population of wild trout. Near the stream is a hatchery operated by a sportsman's club to supplement the state's stocking in certain nearby streams. Occasionally, the hatchery's holding ponds would experience an overflow and some of its inhabitants would find their way into the stream.

Once, Marion, George Aiken, and I watched such a hatchery escapee - a fat rainbow of twenty inches or so - swim aimlessly around a gin-clear pool in plain sight. We knew full well that if one of us plunked a big beetle pattern noisily over its head it would react instantaneously as if a glob of food pellets had struck the water. But none of us felt compelled to fish for it. A little later, when the rainbow tried to get under a cut bank, a brown roared out and butted it in its side. When it tried the same ploy in the opposite bank it was met with a similar greeting. Eventually, one of the browns began to chase the intruder in continuous circles, moving ever downstream, and they soon disappeared around a bend. It was a pathetic sight.

Shortly afterwards, I related this incident to Dr. Robert Butler of Penn State and he expressed doubt that the rainbow would have survived beyond two days. Hatchery trout are not raised to withstand that kind of physical stress.

In the 1970, research was done in Montana to determine the effects of hatchery trout on wild populations. It was found that the zealously territorial resident trout would immediately try to drive off the intruders. However, where stockers were introduced in great numbers, the wild fish would eventually give up the fight and move out of the area.

There are signs that we may have to fight the battle of no-kill again. Recently, I was engaged in conversation by a resident who owns a cabin on the river. He noisily blamed no-kill for all the river's problems and after I politely (I thought) disputed his analysis, we soon got into a shouting match. Earlier this year a letter appeared in the North Woods Call from one of the locals who was a major player in the opposition in the late Eighties, again sowing seeds of doubt and resentment.

Then there are the other problems: the Guard, canoes, environmentally uneducated residents living along the river, beavers, poachers, et al. There will always be problems of some magnitude, I suppose, but now we have a strong organization with nearly ten years of experience under its belt to counter whatever threats may appear.

That makes me optimistic about our river's future. RWOL

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