Sturgeon were around when dinosaurs roamed the Earth. They are among the oldest living species of fish, earning the moniker of “living fossils.”
While we associate age with wisdom, experts assure us that the extra-large sturgeon have marble-sized brains, incapable of stringing together enough eclectic pulses to mount a sophisticated attack.
That made it easier for me to excuse the sturgeon that recently tried to drown me.
Let’s back up.
The sun was still a half-hour from rising when we pushed our kayaks into the Suwannee River last Sunday morning. The air was crisp enough to create a wispy fog on the river’s glassy, dark surface. The three of us — my wife, Nicole; our friend, Steve; and I — planned to paddle upriver from Lafayette Blue Springs for about an hour and then turn around. I had covered this stretch of the Suwannee at least a dozen times, always without incident.
No one else was around. All we heard was a rooster calling from the right bank. A couple of shotgun blasts echoed in the distance; hunters out early, at least I hoped it was hunters.
I’ve always liked the Suwannee, especially on still mornings before the heat rises and the motor boats and Jet Skis arrive. The Suwannee isn’t one of those crystal clear ribbons of water where it’s easy to see the sandy bottom. No, the state’s most famous river hides its secrets under layers of tannins. The midday sun turns the river the color of molten copper. But in the early mornings, the water is a malty stout. With each stroke, our paddle blades appear to dissolve in the murk and then reappear again. Anything lurking below the surface stays well hidden — including a sturgeon.
Gulf sturgeon can reach 8 feet in length and weigh more than 200 pounds, with five rows of bony plates acting as protective armor. In the late 1800s, more sturgeon flesh and caviar was harvested in Tampa Bay than in any other fishery port in the Gulf of Mexico. The fish also populated the Suwannee and other rivers in Florida. That is, until overfishing, damming and pollution nearly pushed them into extinction. By the early 1980s, it was rare to see a sturgeon on the Suwannee. Thanks to conservation efforts, an estimated 10,000 to 15,000 adults now fill the river.
Sturgeon move from the salty waters of the Gulf to the fresh waters of the Suwannee to spawn. Once in the river, they don’t typically eat much. But they do jump — up to 9 feet into the air. They jump so much that state officials warn boaters to watch out. Leaping sturgeon have broken people’s bones, cracked teeth, severed fingers, dislocated shoulders, collapsed lungs and knocked several people unconscious. A decade ago, a young girl died when a sturgeon jumped into her family’s boat.
Sturgeon can jump more frequently at dusk and dawn, as well as when water levels fall. On Sunday morning, the Suwannee was nearly as low as I have ever seen it.
My sturgeon blasted from the depths like a slippery missile. It slammed down on my kayak inches from my legs. The force felt like it would shatter the fiberglass deck, sending me and the boat to the river bottom. Water sprayed in my eyes and mouth.
The fish trampolined off the deck, hitting my right hand and shoulder. The blow pushed me back and to the right. I was tipping over. I braced my thighs so hard against the inside of the cockpit that my left quadricep muscles cramped, momentarily locking the leg at the knee. I jerked the paddle blade into the water and somehow managed to steady the undamaged boat.
The fish disappeared into the deep.