They Shoot Fish, Don't They

Fish Shooting, Vermont's Quirky Rite of Spring, Is Endangered

May 3 (Bloomberg) -- For Mike Vanslette, the arrival of spring is heralded by the crack of his rifle firing into Vermont's Lake Champlain. If his aim is true, he'll stun a couple of amorous fish, then jump into the water and grab them.

Vermont is the only state where the shooting of game fish is legal. Now, the sport is an endangered species. Years of pitched battles in the Legislature have worn down all but the diehards, and there has been an influx of new Vermonters opposed to what they say is a savagely dangerous practice.

Vanslette, 59, a retired contractor, is one of an estimated 200 people who troll the banks of the lake once the ice melts, looking for fish to knock out with a concussive blast. All he needs are ``just my hip boots, rifle and shells in my pocket.''

``These people come from other places, and they want to make all these changes, they can't comprehend why we do this,'' said Dave Gardner, 49, a union pipefitter in South Hero, a town of 1,653 just below the Canadian border. ``My grandfather, my father and my uncles -- they all taught me to shoot fish. It's our history.''

The fish shooters prowl the lakeshore, toting rifles, shotguns and pistols, studying the shallows for the telltale flip and splash of fins as the fish mate. Others plant themselves above the seasonal breeding grounds in trees or tree stands, wooden platforms that in some cases have stood against developers and environmentalists for generations.

Shoot to Stun

On shore or in tree, the trick is to fire off a round close -- but not too close -- to the fish, knocking them out. As the fish float to the top, their white bellies often emerging first, the shooter scurries into the water and retrieves his catch before it comes to. A good shot can stun the female and up to five or six of her male suitors at once. A bad shot can leave supper pulverized.

To bag her personal best, a 9-pound northern pike, Tina Capsey used an SKS, the semiautomatic Soviet military rifle and precursor to the AK-47.

``If you want big fish,'' said Capsey, 45, the owner of Fish Tales, a restaurant in Swanton, ``you need a big gun.''

Fish-shooting season lasts from March 25 to May 25, permitted only along the 435-square-mile Champlain, in the northwest corner of Vermont's skinny rectangle. Pike, pickerel and eight other species of fish may be taken.

Virginia allows fish-shooting in remote parts of the Clinch River for six weeks in spring, but only for bottom-feeders such as carp and suckers.

Declining Numbers

No one knows how many Vermonters shoot fish, although several state biologists and local officials estimate the number to be 200 and declining. They are covered under the 80,000 hunting licenses distributed each year, at $16 for residents and $90 for non-residents.

Hunting brings in $71 million a year for Vermont, according to the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, while regular sport fishing brings in more than $110 million.

Paley Anderson, who moved from Los Angeles five years ago and runs a tile store in Middlebury, 10 miles from the lake, thinks the sport of fish-shooting is ``like, well, shooting fish in a barrel.''

``Just because you've done something for decades doesn't make it right,'' said Anderson, 36. ``Centuries of slavery? Doesn't make it right.''

The debate, said James Ehlers, 37, publisher emeritus of the Colchester-based Outdoors Magazine, is ``symbolic of a culture clash between the urban mentality of those who are coming here and longstanding rural traditions.''

Fervent Opposition

``You've got all these gentrified do-gooders coming into the state,'' he said, and because of their passionate opposition, the practice ``will probably just come to an end someday.''

U.S. Census Bureau statistics show the Green Mountain State moving toward a higher population with a higher median household income. The population in 2004 was 621,394, up 2.1 percent from 2000. In that same four-year period, median income rose to $46,543 per household from $40,856.

The Vermont Fish & Wildlife Department, while it permits fish shooting, doesn't condone it ``mainly due to public safety issues and the ethics involved,'' said Brian Chipman, a state fisheries biologist whose territory includes Lake Champlain.

The biggest concern, Chipman said, is that a stray shot ricocheting off the water could injure or kill someone. There have been no reports of death, although there are anecdotal reports of injuries, mostly hunters falling out of trees.

Bothering Birds

There is evidence, too, that the shooting disturbs habitat for nesting birds and other wildlife, and that the practice is depleting the supply of prized game fish.

The law allowing fish-shooting has been on the books since 1898. In 1969, both New York State on its side of Lake Champlain and Vermont on its side banned the practice. The outcry was so intense that Vermont reversed itself the next year, and each attempt thereafter to ban fish shooting has been thwarted.

The battle in 1987 created the most publicity and thrust into the spotlight the man who would become Vermont's best-known advocate for fish shooting: John Roy, 66, a dairy farmer and part-time town official in South Hero. The pipe-smoking Roy organized a 700-signature petition to preserve the quirky rite of spring, and has since been profiled by the New York Times, the Wall Street Journal and Sports Illustrated.

Like other natives, Roy, a regional representative on the state's wildlife board, has a hearty disdain for those who would move to Vermont and try to remake it into an idyllic fantasyland.

``They want to see the cows,'' he quipped. ``But they don't want us to spread the manure.''

Still, Roy has come to believe fish-shooting's seasons are numbered. ``I'd give it 10 more years,'' he said as he sat at his kitchen table, tamping a fresh pinch of tobacco into his pipe. ``Unfortunately, I think it's probably lived its life.''