Publisher Note: The 2026 Lake Winnebago system sturgeon season begins February 14th and will run for a maximum of 16 days or until harvest caps are met.
4:30 a.m.: Opening morning. Heading north on Highway 45 toward Winnebago with just the stars as my companions. Mentally sharp. Ready. Enthusiastic. I haven’t seen a sturgeon in eight years of sturgeon spearing. Today’s the day.
6:30 a.m.: Met my guide, Bill Jenkins in Pipe, Wisconsin on the east side of Winnebago. Every year I give Bill $50.00. He lets me stare down into a hole. Show me a better bargain.
7:00 a.m.: All settled in now, in my six-foot by eight-foot shack. The trap door in the floor has been lifted back and I can sit on this folding chair and stare down at a refrigerator sized hole. Above the hole hanging down from a nail is a heavy, iron, five-pronged spear, with a rope attached poised to drop when the monster appears.
7:15 a.m.: Fire’s out. It’s freezing.
7:20 a.m.: It’s quiet now, and black. I can see about 12 feet down into the swirling green hues of Winnebago. At about eight feet my guide has suspended my decoy, a two-foot-long white piece of plastic pipe. What a stupid fish to rise to a piece of PCV pipe I think as I stare down at a piece of PCV pipe.
8:35 a.m.: John Jenkins, Bill’s son and veteran spearer, just showed up. He gives me his secret weapon decoy. It’s a plastic pail. John tells me that Paul Wargowsky is on his first sturgeon hunt, his shack just 100 yards from mine. Old Paul flipped back the lid this morning and there was a 58-inch sturgeon. Just three minutes into his first season, and his tag is filled.
8:36 a.m.: John just left. I don’t like Paul Wargowski of Whitewater.
9:45 a.m.: Twirrlly, twiiirrrllyyy, twwwwiiirrrrllly. Still mentally sharp. But I think there may be someone in here.
11 a.m.: Discussing things with myself for an hour now. Made unsettling self-discovery. I’m pretty boring. Not good. This shatters my whole self-image.
11:45 a.m.: It is indeed toasty warm in here. Should have worn Lori’s skirt. That short, black leather number.
NOON: Just smashed the fly with the spear. I knew they were watching. A siren just went off.
12:30 p.m.: Bill Jenkins is here. Spearing’s over for the day. Bill wants to know why I look so flushed. He pries my fingers off the spear handle. “Dick…Dick…Are you alright?” I hear his distant voice.
“Am I alright?” I hear my answer. “Am I alright? I will be just as soon as you sign me up for next year.”
