What are the Clearest Lakes in Wisconsin? 2019 Report

What are the clearest lakes in Wisconsin?  Every year, I consult with Wisconsin's state-wide citizen's lake monitoring group. They're a network of individuals, usually lake-front property owners who monitor and regularly take a variety of water samples from lakes all across Wisconsin.  The data they compile helps to give us a look at how our lakes are doing. 

One of the many tasks lake monitors perform is to take regular secchi disc readings. This is a universal way of assessing and comparing water clarity.  I'm always interested in knowing which Wisconsin inland lakes are the clearest.  Ordinarily, I rank the lakes that recorded the highest average water clarity for the previous year. This year, I'm looking at lakes that recorded the single highest secchi disc reading in 2019. Here are Wisconsin's clearest inland lakes and their highest single day water clarity readings taken in 2019:

1)   Pine Lake, Waukesha Co. 52 feet
2)   Lake Metonga, Forest Co. 37 feet
3)   Maiden Lake, Oconto Co. 35 feet
4)   Wazee Lake, Jackson Co. 34 feet
5)   Sugar Camp Lake, Oneida Co. 33 feet
6)   Whitefish Lake, Douglas Co. 31 feet
7)   Lake Lucerne, Forest Co. 31 feet
8)   Deer Lake, Polk Co. 30 feet
9)   Crystal Lake, Marquette Co. 29 feet
10) Stone Lake, Washburn Co. 29 feet
11) Lake Owen, Bayfield Co. 29 feet
12) Blue Lake, Oneida Co. 28 feet
13) Smoky Lake, Vilas Co. 28 feet
14) Millicent Lake, Bayfield Co. 28 feet
15) Big Portage Lake, Vilas Co. 28 feet

To see the lake list from 2018, click here. To see the lake list from 2017, click here. To see the lake list from 2016, click here.To see the lake list from 2015, click here.  To see the lake list from 2014, click here.  For the lake list from 2013, click here.  And for the 2012 list of clear lakes, click here.

Walleye 911: The Walleye & Bullhead Connection

Juvenile Walleyes in Lake Metonga (C)Engbretson Underwater Photo

How Bio-Manipulation Saved the Walleyes of Wisconsin’s Lake Metonga

by Eric Engbretson

Something was going very wrong in Lake Metonga. The 2,000-acre lake in Wisconsin’s north woods had been a successful walleye lake for decades, but by the late 1990s, natural reproduction and walleye recruitment had slowed to a trickle. To make matters worse, by 2004, the adult walleye population had sharply declined.  Spawning habitat was excellent, but young fish, either stocked or natural, were not surviving to adulthood.

 

Mike Preul, fisheries biologist for the Mole Lake Sokaogon Chippewa Community has been involved with fisheries work on Lake Metonga for twenty years.  He took a closer look at the lake to see what changes might explain why walleyes were suddenly having such a rough time. 

The fish community in Lake Metonga had always included black bullheads, but now fishermen were telling Mike how often they were catching the small catfish. “We were doing some routine electro shocking one day and when the stunned fish floated to the surface, all you could see were yellow bellies. That’s when I knew there was a problem”. The abundance of bullheads had become enormous. “We did some simple math and calculated what a bullhead eats in a year. They were taking up a lot of space in the system and stressing the available forage for walleye.”  The theory was they were outcompeting walleyes for important forage at critical times when walleyes need an abundance of specific-sized food.  “We knew stocking wasn’t working, so the idea was that if we could create a kind of void, the walleyes might rush in to fill it.”

Like many fisheries managers, Mike’s resources were limited, and he privately wondered if this was really a battle he could win. His plan was to create conditions where walleyes could thrive, and that meant doing something about how much of the lake’s biomass was tied up in bullheads.  His plan reversed the fortunes of the lake’s walleyes almost overnight. 

In the spring of 2008, Mike began the first of what would become an annual bullhead removal on Lake Metonga. The work was labor-intensive. “At first we set fyke nets, but the fish weren’t moving into them in sufficient numbers, so the decision was made to electroshock for bullheads”.  Mike’s crew worked until their arms ached, shocking and netting the whiskered fish out of the lake. By summer’s end, they had removed 13,337 pounds of bullheads. All the fish were donated to the public, to food banks and to nearby wildlife rehabilitation centers for the feeding of raptors. 

Into the newly created void, Mike stocked 5,000 large fingerling walleye.  The next spring, another 6,216 pounds of bullheads were removed and over two million walleye fry were stocked. But this time, something different happened.  Substantial numbers of young walleyes survived from the two years of stocking and began to show up and be counted in fall recruitment surveys. 

At first there seemed to be no end to the steady stream of stunned bullheads that rose to the surface every time Mike’s crew flipped on the electrodes of his shocking boat. But gradually, fewer and fewer bullheads appeared, and it took longer to fill up the tubs on the boat with fish. This process became a ritual every spring on Lake Metonga and by 2012 the total catch rate had dropped by 87%.  During the same time, the abundance of walleye fingerlings was steadily increasing.

During 2011 there was a large year class consisting of purely naturally reproduced fish. With the resurgence of naturally reproduced walleye, stocking was no longer needed after 2012. With bullhead numbers reduced and in better balance with other fish, walleye production in Lake Metonga boomed. Eventually, both natural recruitment and adult walleye density reached historic highs. For Mike Preul, this felt like the kind of victory that fisheries managers too rarely experience.  “I won’t lie to you, it was a lot of hard work some days, but the results have been so amazing.”

Today Mike Preul spends only a few days each spring shocking for bullheads. It’s become pure maintenance now, like mowing his lawn. “As long as they don’t get out of control, I think we’re good”, smiles Mike.  Walleye production has it’s up and down years but has remained reliable overall.  What Mike learned on Lake Metonga could fill a book. His bio-manipulation method of removing bullheads to rebuild embattled walleye populations was successfully employed on Patten Lake in nearby Florence County and worked like pure magic. When that lake’s over-abundant population of bullheads were severely reduced, the walleyes quickly came back in record-setting density.

Keeping walleye lakes healthy and productive is an ongoing issue, and all lakes face their own unique challenges. Overall, there likely aren’t a great number of walleye lakes affected by bullhead populations, but where such lakes exist, Mike Preul’s pioneering work is one silver bullet that fisheries managers can now add to their arsenal. 

(For further information, questions or comments about his work, Mike Preul can be contacted at mike.preul@scc-nsn.gov)

Need B-Roll Footage for your Media Projects?

We're always interested in partnering with producers of outdoors related content who are looking for excellent high-quality underwater b-roll video footage of freshwater game fish to include in their programs and films. To view samples of the kind of content available for use, please check out our Vimeo page.  For further information on licensing our video clips for your project contact us.

Getting Close to Fish: How's That Done Exactly?

How Do You Get So Close to The Fish? Why Don't They Spook?

That's a question I get asked frequently by many people. To photograph fish well underwater, it's necessary to get very close to them. So how do I do that? One thing I've done is to develop a series of techniques that communicate to the fish my lack of hostility, and my general inability to compete with them as creatures perfectly designed for life underwater. One way I do that is to present myself as obviously as possible. I don't try to ambush or deceive them. I don't wear a camouflage wet suit. I don't sneak around or hide behind boulders or timber. I don't try to advance toward a fish when he can't see me. I don't even try to be particularly quiet.

In fact I do the opposite of all those things. I make sure the fish see me coming from a long way away. I try to show myself out in the open and demonstrate what my limitations are. Ideally, you want to convey to the fish how slow and incompetent you are in it's environment; how clumsy you are; how incredibly un-stealthy you are; This is so opposite of what a predator would do that many fish are able to detect that you're not a threat to them, based on your complete lack of cunning or covertness. You want them to see you and think that you're completely ridiculous (which you are of course). The faster you can get them to understand this, the faster their fear will disappear. 

What I'm mainly trying to do with this approach is to begin a relationship with a specific fish or fishes that I expect to see many more times in the future. However, if you have one chance on one day with a fish you know you'll never see again, I'd recommend a more stealth approach. 

Ordinarily though, I'm just trying to get fish used to seeing me. Over many visits to the same lake, the same fish will see me time and time again. Eventually, as bizarre and strange as my appearance may be to them, I won't be considered "an unknown scary thing" to avoid. Fish will come to regard me as that "big funny looking turtle-like thing" they sometimes encounter. Nothing to worry about. Once I can establish this kind of confidence level in the fish, they give me permission to approach closely to get the kind of pictures I want without causing them to flee.

As many who work regularly with wildlife will tell you, it's all about body language. It's the way animals communicate with each other and the only way for inter-species dialogue to occur. Learning how to eliminate unintentional signals of hostility or threats to animals is something we can learn to do and employ effectively in our encounters with them.

Best Fish Photographers to Follow on Instagram

If you're like me and enjoy seeing the work of some of the world's best underwater fish photographers, here are five Instagram accounts you need to follow in 2020.  All five of these photographers work in freshwater environments and their talent is truly exceptional. They continually awe and inspire me and just seeing their pictures make me want to grab my mask and wet-suit and head to the nearest lake. I think you'll agree that their work is simply breathtaking.  While freshwater underwater photographers never get the recognition that marine photographers get, I hope you'll support these brilliant individuals by following them on Instagram.

• Dr. Paul Vecsei has a M.Sc. in ichthyology and a Ph.D. in fisheries and his underwater photos of cold water fish are exceptional. His pictures of Lake Whitefish, lake trout and cisco are without a doubt the finest images ever made of these species in their natural habitat.

• Isaac Szabo is a very talented and patient shooter who beautifully photographs native fish and other aquatic life of the Ozarks region and the springs of Florida.

• Jennifer Idol is the first woman to dive all 50 states and is the author of An American Immersion. As an underwater conservation photographer, her pictures and articles are widely published.

• Dr. Sean Landsman, PhD is a professional fisheries scientist who has beautifully captured many difficult-to-photograph coastal species like American Eel, Alewife, Eastern Brook Trout and Rainbow Smelt.

• Patrick Clayton is the USA's premier photographer of wild trout from the streams of the American West.

• Finally, here’s my own Instagram account.  Evidence that I can occasionally take a picture that's actually in focus.

Swimming With Muskies

The first time I came face to face with a muskie underwater in its environment, I thought I was going to have a stroke. I was scuba diving in a small northern Wisconsin Lake known primarily for bass and bluegills, when I turned and found myself face to face with a monster that looked more like an alligator than anything else. To say I was startled would be an understatement. I remember screaming into my regulator as an eruption of air bubbles exploded from my lungs and raced towards the surface. My arms and legs flapped involuntarily in panic and I stirred up a cloud of silt that quickly enveloped both the beast and me. After a few seconds, when I had recovered from the start and regained my composure, I was amazed to see that the giant fish hadn’t moved an inch. It was still there, just three feet away hanging motionless in the slowly clearing water. In stark contrast to my initial panicked surprise its reaction was just the opposite. Its demeanor was calm, and its steely-eyed gaze remained fixed on me the entire time like a gunslinger in a Clint Eastwood western. This was a fish filled with confidence, instead of fear. He was the ruler of this underwater kingdom, and seemed to regard me with the same sense of apathy and disinterest that’s normally reserved only for telemarketers and late night TV pitchmen. Finally, he slowly finned away into the depths and I was left with a feeling of awe and admiration for these magnificent fish that has only grown over the years.

I’m very lucky that I just happen to live in an area that’s home to some of the most legendary muskie lakes in the country. Over the years, I’ve had a chance to swim in some of these famed waters and encounter muskies up close in their own environment. There’s nothing quite like seeing a large muskie underwater. They glide effortlessly through the water with the supreme confidence reserved for members at the top of their food chain. Because of this, they’re not afraid of divers and I’m able to approach them usually fairly easily. They are surely aware of all the other fish and animals that populate their world and because divers are an anomaly, they will routinely approach me with what I can only characterize as curiosity. They often make a complete circle around me as if to inspect this ‘strange creature” from every angle. They also display keen awareness. When I enter a lake, I don’t have to search for the muskies. I’ve discovered that if I’m patient, they will find me. Drawn, I’m sure by acute imperceptible sensory abilities and also probably just by the noise of my air bubbles too.

One of the attributes of water is that when viewed through a prism of air, objects appear to be larger than they really are.  So when I’m underwater looking through my diver’s mask, a 45-inch musky appears to me to be a 60-inch fish!  Fish and anything else viewed underwater are only ¾ of their actual size.  Fisherman often ask me how big the fish are that I see.  I do my best to adjust for the optics of underwater viewing, but the fact is, I just don’t know.  Fish look really big underwater, and big fish look positively huge when viewed underwater.  For the first few years, I got really excited whenever I saw muskies.  “Wow!  That’s got to be a world record!” I would say to myself.  But over the years, I’ve come to better understand this illusion and now I don’t pee my wetsuit quite as often when I see what looks like Moby Dick.  What this means sadly, is that all those reports you hear of 6 foot long monsters swimming next to the boat, or huge fish that got off before they could be netted are really just ordinary sized muskies.  Some may argue that the fish lined up exactly with something on the boat that’s of known size and therefore, that’s evidence that the fish was really a whopper.  This of course is nonsense. Since you would still be viewing the fish in water through a space of air, the magnification illusion is still in play.  Your boat is a poor yardstick since it’s in air, and the fish is underwater. 

I remember a particular encounter one spring a few years ago. I was taking pictures in Lake Tomahawk in Vilas County Wisconsin.  I came across 2 muskies engaged in spawning activity.  It was a very dark rainy morning. The light was terrible and I wasn’t able to get any pictures, but the fish I saw that day was truly impressive. The size of the spawning male was not remarkable.  In fact, he was simply dwarfed by the female he was swimming with.  She was a real beauty.  She was enormous, and had a girth like those big watermelons that win ribbons at the county fair.  She swam along side of me and I took a good long look.  I’m five foot, eight inches tall, and the fish lined up next to me was longer than I was!  Was this a 6-foot long muskie? I did the quick arithmetic: Since it appeared to be 70 inches or more, its real and actual size would have been a little over 50 inches.  Possibly 52 inches. While not a world record, she was still a spectacular fish in anyone’s book.