By David Webb

In my life, I have seen change. I have seen the Alberta grizzly hunt go from 1,050 licences issued per year to zero.  I have seen walleye lakes that once gave every angler a stringer full to take home, go to zero retention. I have seen a fisherman stand with pride next to a dead white sturgeon on the banks of BC’s Fraser River, and I have seen those attitudes change.  I have seen rivers brutalized by toxic spills, and I have seen lakes begin to die a natural death. I am old enough to remember Andy Russell, and young enough to have never shaken his hand. In my life, I have seen change. And I am still young.

In this issue, writer Michael Snook speaks of change — the eutrophication, or death, of Canada’s walleye lakes. It’s not a wonderful, feel-good topic. Lakes change, and the fish species they hold change too. However, the article’s purpose is not to discourage anglers with doom and gloom, but rather to illustrate what we can do now to limit the acceleration of this process. Selective harvesting, limiting usage of fertilizers near lakes, ensuring septic systems are functioning properly and maintaining proper setbacks — even reducing greenhouse gas emissions; these are some of the ways we can help.
It’s human nature, though, to only look for a solution when the situation is dire. It’s like a pack-a-day smoker undergoing cancer treatment as an octogenarian rather than quitting at 40.
Beyond the inevitable changes in the   natural world, there are many other forces of change afoot. Alberta’s grizzly hunt moratorium, for example, was a change forced by the hand of dubious science and political game-play. The implementation of a catch-and-release fishery for white sturgeon on BC’s Fraser River in 1994 was a change that reflected new and improved attitudes towards conservation. Sometimes, like the passing of a legend, change is simply change.
Of course, often change is difficult and slow. From the moment I began running motorboats, two-stroke engines ruled the water; the smell of blue-burning 50:1 boat gas instills a sense of nostalgia to this day. We now know these old engines cough out up to 50 per cent of their unburned oil/gas mixture into our waterways. In fact, Environment Canada claims an older 70-horsepower two-stroke engine puts out as much hydrocarbon pollution in one hour as the average new car does in 8,000 hours. Today’s two-strokes may put out a fraction of the pollution as those of yesteryear, but on many Canadian waterways, yesteryear is as good as it gets. We didn’t know back then how much we were damaging our precious resource, but we sure know now. The more knowledge you gain, the more responsibility comes with it. Ignorance is bliss, but it gets you nowhere.
Attitudes change. This change extends to making choices to protect the land, water and air beyond simplistic measures like picking up garbage or catch-and-release fishing. It extends to standing up against oppressive and unfounded limitations put on sportsmen; lest we all end up like the citizens of BC’s Bella Coola Valley, where grizzlies have all but overrun the region after hunting was restricted. (These animals are now ironically facing “problem bear” culls from conservation officers.) It extends to taking the initiative to locate and solve problems, like malfunctioning lakeside septic tanks or irresponsible agricultural practices, before they become problems. It extends to making responsible choices when it comes to your usage of our natural resources. The money you save by not upgrading to a new, CARB-rated outboard motor may put more gas in your tank, but in the decades to come when your local lake is polluted to the point of piscatorial extinction, there won’t be a reason to head out on the water.
It extends to each and every one of us, the stewards of our land. It is not always an easy role, but it’s the role we, as sportsmen, have chosen.

By David Webb