Walleye War

It has become an annual ritual on the tranquil lakes of northern Wisconsin. As the sun sets behind the dense pines that surround Lake Nokomis, tribal drumbeats signal the start of the Chippewa spearfishing season. While the Indians steer their boats into the calm, dark waters, angry protesters try to drown out the drums with air horns, whistles and taunting choruses of songs with such lyrics as "Where have all the walleye gone?"

The scene, which was played out again last week, symbolizes a clash of cultures. At issue are 19th century treaties, recently upheld by the federal courts, that allow the Chippewa to spear spawning walleyed pike in the shallows of 178 northern Wisconsin lakes. Sport fishermen, who are required to use less efficient fishing rods and are limited to three to five fish a day, claim that the Chippewa are harming tourism by depleting the walleye population. "It's 1% of the population exercising their rights to the detriment of 99%," charges Dean Crist, leader of a protest group.

There is little evidence that the walleye population is near extinction. According to the state department of natural resources, which sets the safe harvest level for fishing, sport anglers caught 670,000 walleyes last year, vs. only 16,000 speared by Chippewa fishermen.

Spearfishing was part of the Chippewa way of life long before white settlers arrived in Wisconsin. The Indians claim that the protests are motivated by racism. Says Tom Maulson, an activist with the Lac du Flambeau band: "No respect is given to Indian people. They have to stand up for their rights."

After five years of confrontation that resulted in fistfights and hundreds of arrests, a compromise may be in sight. The Chippewa have lowered their spearing quotas, and the state is making plans for attracting more tourism to the region. But there is still a danger that hotheads will explode during the three-week spearfishing season. "There's fear among people who don't know one another and are suspicious that the other is getting something they aren't," says Robert Tully, a "peaceful witness" who came to Lake Nokomis to observe and document events. "These are all people who love the north woods, but they aren't communicating."