By Scotty Kyle

I am an ancient creature, a living relic, in some ways the best known and in some ways one of the most misunderstood fish in the world. For millennia, my kind has been used and abused by humans: for food, for trade, for luxury goods, and more recently—for sport. I am white sturgeon. 

An Ancient Lineage

My species has been swimming through Earth’s waters for around 200 million years. To have survived for so long, we had to be incredibly well-adapted—resilient in changing environments, efficient feeders, and masters of evasion. We’ve hardly changed in all that time, because frankly, we didn’t need to.

There are 27 known species of sturgeon across the cooler regions of the northern hemisphere. The most massive among us is my cousin, the beluga sturgeon (Huso huso), who inhabits the Caspian Sea and the rivers flowing into them. They once reached 7.2 meters (23 feet) in length and tipped the scales at 1,571 kilograms (3,463 pounds). Those giants are rare today—but many of us still grow large enough to thrill even the most seasoned anglers.

Meet Me: The White Sturgeon

I’m a white sturgeon (Acipenser transmontanus) — North America’s largest freshwater fish. I inhabit the rivers and lakes of the northwestern USA and Canada, especially the Columbia River Basin. I am the largest sturgeon in North America, the biggest freshwater fish found in both North and South America, and one of the biggest freshwater species in the world. I used to reach a massive 20 feet  in length with a weight of around 680 kg. (1 500 lbs), but now specimens of 10 to 12 feet are exceptional, and the larger ones are now only dreamed of.

We’re built like something from a science-fiction movie. Our long, torpedo-shaped body is covered by hard, bony scales. We have no dramatic colour pattern and are usually dull grey above with lighter bellies. Our broad, flattened head ends with a long snout. Our mouth is toothless, but can be protruded to suck in any likely food item. Our eyes are not large, and we find our food mostly with the help of four long, very sensitive barbels. 

Our food consists of all sorts of smallish creatures that we find on the riverbed: insects, crustaceans, worms, molluscs. We will also engulf small unwary fish when the opportunity arises. All of us spend most of our time close to the substrate, either feeding, resting or migrating, which we often do over large distances. We tend to avoid staying in strong currents, preferring eddies, backwaters or deep pools. 

Slow to Grow, Slow to Spawn

We’re in no rush — life moves at a different pace for us. We are a long-lived species, with confirmed records of over 100 years. Male sturgeon typically reach sexual maturity in their late teens, females in their early 20s. And we don’t spawn annually—often just once every 3 to 12 years.

We generally travel far upstream and spawn in running waters, like many trout and salmon, where our ladies release their myriad eggs that sink and stick to rocks and the substrate. The males then emit milt in the same area. It’s not a very inefficient process, and only a small proportion of the eggs are usually fertile. 

The eggs hatch in a few days and our young drift downstream as they slowly grow and develop. Many stay in the lower, deeper reaches of their rivers while others move into estuaries or the ocean, sometimes for several years. Feeding is often much better in the ocean environment so we can grow more rapidly there. On the other hand, sharks and other predators are a greater threat in the open seas. 

Our cousins, the Atlantic sturgeon, travel widely in the marine environment, reaching even Iceland, but my species does not travel extensively and prefers large estuarine areas like San Francisco Bay. When we decide to undertake a spawning run, we try to return to the areas in which we began life and this is where, in many instances, our troubles start.  

The Struggle to Survive

Migrating upstream is essential for our reproduction. We cannot spawn successfully in stagnant, low-oxygen environments; our eggs and fry need high levels of oxygen found in fast-running upstream areas. There they are also well away from most predators, and so have the best chances of surviving the early, delicate stages of life. But if our critical upstream migration routes are blocked, we cannot breed and will, eventually, die out. 

In many West Coast rivers like the Columbia, humans built a series of dams, from massive hydroelectric enterprises in the mainstream to small ones in the headwaters. As a result, our population became fragmented, broken into several sub-populations isolated between the various barriers. Some are lucky to have enough suitable spawning areas up small tributaries, others are endangered, as they simply cannot spawn.

Add to this growing pollution, increased predation by sea lions and even bald eagles, and it’s no wonder our numbers dropped sharply over the past century. Once abundant, we were nearly wiped out in places like the Mississippi, Delaware, and Fraser rivers.

The Caviar Curse

We were once considered food for the poor. But then the Russian aristocracy made it fashionable to eat caviar, our unfertilized eggs. Caviar became a luxurious commodity, and fishing for salmon suddenly turned into a high-profit business. Unfortunately, back then people didn’t know how to obtain caviar without killing the female, and so this fishing was a double blow to our populations – mature individuals were removed before they got a chance to spawn. 

Every area that had abundant sturgeon was plundered. In the USA in the nineteenth century, we were so abundant in rivers like the Mississippi and Delaware, that for a while North America was the greatest supplier of caviar. This quickly collapsed, as sturgeon numbers decreased. 

A New Chapter: Conservation and Sport Fishing

The good news? Humans are beginning to learn from past mistakes. Today, most caviar comes from aquaculture farms, and wild sturgeon harvesting is heavily regulated or banned in many places. 

Catch-and-release regulations, fishing bans during spawning seasons, and mandatory use of barbless hooks are now helping our numbers stabilize. Dams are being removed or modified to allow migration. Pollution controls are improving water quality—not just for us, but for entire aquatic ecosystems.

Even sport anglers, many of whom once pursued us purely for trophies, are now champions of conservation.

How to Catch Me (Without Harming Me)

I get it—you want to catch me. And if you do it right, I won’t hold it against you. Here’s how to fish for white sturgeon ethically and effectively.

In the ocean and downstream sections of many rivers we are rarely abundant, and may not be legal to pursue. To catch a sturgeon, therefore, you first need to know a place where targeted angling is both allowed and productive. If you’re considering your first white sturgeon fishing experience, booking a trip with a reputable guide would be your best bet. They will ensure you get to the place at the time when and where we may be abundant. BaitYourHook.com is a great place to find such a guide; in any case, research will reduce frustration and increase the chances of success. 

We feed throughout the year, but our activity peaks in spring and fall. We are mostly low-light feeders, and mostly active at night, but early morning and late evening can also work well. In a river we will usually not be found in strong currents, but on the edges, eddies and behind “drop-offs”. We like deep, dark pools, especially in strong daylight. Many of our rivers are very rocky and we tend to be found over silty or muddy areas where currents are slow, and thus sediments are deposited. 

When fishing for sturgeon, choosing the right tackle is all-important. The last thing you want is to hook a large sturgeon and lose it through gear failure. Most sport anglers use a medium or heavy spinning rod with a good, strong, reliable fixed-spool reel with enough strong braid for a long, hard fight. 

We are not a top, voracious predator and rarely take fast-moving prey. We slowly cruise the pool or sit near the bottom, waiting patiently for something juicy to flow by, relying on our barbels, not our eyes, to find food. Therefore, although lures may work, and some dedicated anglers even managed to hook a sturgeon with a fly rod, it’s bottom fishing with live or dead bait that is your best bet. 

The most effective baits are crayfish, worms, small fish, fillets or salmon roe. Small to medium-sized baits on a single hook work best. As we often nibble a bait before swallowing it, a small circle hook can be effective. Try not to strike too early, but let the fish pull the line and then lift the rod and set the hook. 

From Exploitation to Coexistence

Humans caused the decline of many species of my family, after a long history of one-sided exploitation. Recently, however, things have improved, humans started to try and rebuild what they had destroyed, and the first results of these activities are already felt. My species can live alongside human development and activities, and even survive some exploitation, if it’s carefully measured. If this improvement continues, then each of our species can benefit from the other. 

Catch and release fishing can provide excitement and pleasure to many people while not being fatal to us. I would like, however, to request anglers to show some respect to us. After all, the chances are, the sturgeon you just caught may be older than you!

Ready to Catch a Living Dinosaur?

If you’re up for the challenge of catching one of the world’s oldest and most powerful freshwater fish, we’re waiting.

Next in ‘Life History of a Fish’

Life History of a Fish: Atlantic Halibut

By Scotty Kyle

I am not just any fish. I am massive, mysterious, and misunderstood. Many people know little of me or my kin—except, perhaps, that we taste quite good on a plate. But the truth runs much deeper (pun intended). My species is essential to mankind, serving as a prized food source, a pillar of coastal economies, and increasingly, the ultimate challenge for a growing legion of serious, well-equipped sport anglers in pursuit of something truly exceptional. I am the Atlantic halibut. CONTINUE READING