Knowing where the sturgeon go in the first place and how they behave is obviously necessary before the tracking system can be put into place, and that’s where Lickers comes in. “Native people who’ve lived in the Great Lakes knew the sturgeon very well and have a vast knowledge of their life cycle, what they eat and the type of habitat they prefer,” Lickers said, noting that he works closely with fishermen at Akwesasne. The fishermen also know “what size and type of sturgeon can be found in a certain area”: knowledge that is being shared with the scientists. He said that the community is also helping clean up spawning grounds that have been coated with zebra mussels, as well as help to identify and create new spawning areas.
While local people still fish for sturgeon, they don’t eat them due to contamination. Some individuals have been transporting the fish physically around one particularly damaging dam so they can still travel to their spawning grounds, he said. The fish, which don’t start breeding until they are 30 years old, need large areas of river to move around in. They also need deep holes, where they “just rest because it’s nice and cool.” Lickers said that, to a SCUBA diver, the resting sturgeon resemble a bunch of logs, which suddenly – and scarily – come to life. The holes are called “loafing holes.”
He added that one of the most remarkable features of the fish is the “sturgeon dance”: breaches and huge splashes made by the fish on a stormy night with snatches of brilliant moonlight. “People who don’t know the fish claim they’ve seen beluga whales,” he said.
Smoked sturgeon was considered a delicacy by the Native Americans, who used other components of the fish for medicine. The native cultures also informally set quotas on the fish, with just one or two fisherman from each village allowed to catch them. Plus, “When you got a fish 12 feet long, it doesn’t take too many to fulfill the needs of the people,” Lickers said.
The creation of the St. Lawrence Seaway in 1956 and the heavy industry that followed, which wiped out native hunting and fishing traditions, had a devastating impact on the wildlife. When Lickers, a Seneca who grew up on the Grand River in Ontario, came to Akwesasne in 1976, the ospreys and eagles were gone and the cormorants had crossed bills: a mutation caused by the chemicals that caused the birds to starve. A turtle caught in the area “was considered toxic waste, and you’d have to bury it in a toxic waste dump,” the biologist recalled.
The level of contamination started to decrease after the passage of the Clean Water Act and the industrial plants became subject to tougher environmental regulations. Recently, a large pulp and paper plant closed, so there’s less industry now. Plus, “You have an informed public,” he said.
In fact, the area is unusual for the amount of environmental oversight, which includes not just the environmental agencies in Canada and the US, but also two environmental groups representing the tribe: the US Tribal Council, which receives funding from the US government to implement the environmental regulations that it requires of reservations, and on the Canadian side, the St. Regis Tribal Council, Lickers’ employer. The two organizations are coordinated by a third tribal environmental group, and all three partner with universities and environmental not-for-profits such as the Beacon Institute. “You have a ready-made group of scientists among the people in the area,” he said. “If you call a meeting on sturgeon, you may have 40 people attend, with just one representative from each jurisdiction.”
But it’s not just this concentration of scientific expertise that’s effective; it’s also the sacred traditions, the stories and legends that bring the fish alive and create a human connection. “When I talk about the sturgeon as an Iroquois, I’m not only talking about the physical manifestation and biology, but also the spiritual connection,” said Lickers. For him, biology itself is a connection with the old ways. “My Granddad was a millwright, and when he asked me what I wanted to do, I said, ‘I like to hunt and fish and trap,’” he recalled. “I’ve found a job that lets me do that – only it’s called scientific sampling.”
At the Beacon Institute, Lickers will be talking about the importance of the fish to the people of Akwesasne, “maybe telling a couple of stories. Scientists reiterate the themes of mortality and longevity and morbidity, but when you talk about a fish so big you can only see one eye, people say, ‘Wow, that’s a big fish,’” Lickers said. “The science gives you the dance of numbers, while the stories and songs my people lived give you the spirit of the animal and how it lives. By bringing both together, you generate enthusiasm, and there’s no problem you can’t solve.”
“Sensors & the Sacred Sturgeon of the Mohawks of Akwesasne,” talk by Dr. James Bonner, & Henry Lickers, Thursday, June 19, 7 p.m., free, Beacon Institute’s Center for Environmental Innovation & Education, Denning’s Point, Beacon; (845) 765-2721, www.bire.org.
