At the Bend in the River

As I stroll through the sun-dappled campground, I notice campers sporting tall rubber boots, T-shirts featuring obscure fish, and deeply dirty fingernails. My kind of people, I think. Down at the river, several anglers stand in the mud, watching their rod tips and laughing like old friends. 

I’ve just arrived at the Root River Roundup, a springtime gathering in southeastern Minnesota where for over 20 years a unique subset of anglers has gathered at a bend where the Root River turns gently from north to south. Though this major artery through the Driftless region is known for its trout, they come to catch pretty much anything else.

These folks are known fanatics for “rough fish,” the dozens of underutilized species like suckers and bowfin that have long gone without limits or other protections afforded to the species traditionally considered game or sport fish like walleye, bass, and trout. For generations, the rough fish these anglers love have been largely ignored by fisheries management and scorned by other anglers. That’s beginning to change, however, thanks in part to these people and their potent political advocacy, which last year brought new attention and new protections to some Minnesota rough fish.

Because of their lobbying activities, I learned more about the rough fishing scene, including the Roundup, which gathers these kindred souls in one place for a weekend of food, campfires, and lots of fishing. Midday Saturday is the fishing derby, in which the winner earns possession of the traveling trophy. Roundup organizer Drew Geving described it to me as “the Stanley Cup of rough fishing.”

That sounded like a trophy even I could win someday. I couldn’t wait to cast my line into the Root.

Fish and Friendship. As I arrive at the river, all eyes fall on the newcomer. “You here to fish?” someone asks.

“Yeah, eventually,” I say, timidly.

“Well, come on down!”

Hannah, Ed, Maggie, and others introduce themselves with a smile and a wave and encourage me to grab my gear and get in the game. I run back to camp, and minutes later my own rod is propped against a forked stick. It’s not often you get the invitation to squeeze in on a crowded riverbank, after all.

Many people have found a similarly warm reception in the rough fishing community, including Hannah LaBelle, a seven-time “roundupper.” Growing up, she had a passion for nature and was a casual angler of lakes and ponds. That changed about a dozen years ago when she discovered the variety of fish and angling opportunities in rivers. Soon she met fellow angler Maggie Novak, and they fell into the rough fish crowd.

“We weren’t sure what to expect, but going to that first Roundup, everyone was so nice and welcoming,” Hannah tells me. “Everyone is so different but at the same time it’s just a bunch of fish nerds. To find a group like this is really special.”

Hannah has since gone all-in, pursuing fish of all kinds in many states. Last year she flew to the southeastern United States and added more than a dozen species to her life list.

My life list is anemic by comparison, but I manage to add two species that first night: a sleek, muscular golden redhorse, and a stonecat, a small type of catfish. After dark I stow my rod and join the campfire. The conversation ranges from fish tales to taxonomy, and I learn more about what brings folks to rough fishing. One angler recounts how a fish he accidentally caught led him to discover a new angling world through Roughfish.com, a website that ties this community together and is intimately associated with the Roundup. Another cites the sheer variety of fish species as an attracting force: “If you diversify, it’s fun.”

Time and again matters of biology and ecology crop up. Beforehand, Drew had said, “You won’t find a better batch of scientifically minded anglers.” He was not wrong. This eclectic bunch clearly is closely linked to the scientific community. In fact, ichthyologists have attended the Roundup. 

University of Minnesota Duluth assistant professor and fisheries biologist Alec Lackmann is a leading researcher of native fish species, which he recently described to me as “integral to the ecosystems we have here in Minnesota.” He’d heard that the Roundup harvests redhorse for the potluck, and he came in 2023 to obtain specimens to further understand these native species. Those specimens, as well as others collected at this Roundup, will contribute to a scientific understanding of redhorse species that is still in its early stages.

Before the campfire crew disperses, streaks of light from the northern horizon command our attention. Everyone rushes to the open field to marvel at the shifting, shimmering display that continues all night. By 3:30 a.m., the aurora saturates the entire starry dome.

New Name, New Protections. Rough fishers’ affinity for unloved species has translated into political advocacy and spawned what many now call the native fish movement. A few years ago, several Roundup regulars founded the organization Native Fish for Tomorrow to promote conservation of native fish species and healthy ecosystems. Working with other groups like the Izaak Walton League, they raised awareness and lobbied state legislators to pass the No Junk Fish bill in 2023 and the Native Fish bill in 2024.

The most visible resulting change is the new classification “native rough fish.” Legally speaking, 26 species native to Minnesota (see sidebar) are now separated from introduced and invasive species like carp.

“By changing the rough fish definition, it really elevated the native rough fish by giving them some additional recognition for what they are, which is an important part of our state’s natural heritage,” says Shannon Fisher, fisheries population and regulations manager at the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources.

For its part, the DNR had been working to gather data about our little-understood native rough fish species since at least 2013, funded by a grant from the Legislative-Citizen Commission on Minnesota Resources. According to Fisheries Section Manager Brad Parsons, the agency intended to react to what was thought to be an imminent invasion of bighead and silver carp by studying their effects on native fish including rough fish. “As much as people think invasive carp might be a threat to our sport fishes, they’re much more threatening to our other native fish that have much more similar life histories,” he says.

Invasive carp have not yet exploded in numbers, but the need to understand all native fish species has only grown, says Parsons. DNR staff have worked for the past decade to gather baseline data such as habitat use, spawning habits, and relative abundance of native fish. “My counterparts in other states really wish they had information on their native fish before they ended up dealing with high populations of silver and bighead carp,” he explains. Through methods like electrofishing and radio telemetry, the department has learned much that will ultimately help protect and manage native rough fish species, especially blue suckers, drum, and buffalo.

Parsons acknowledges that our new native fish laws represent a big leap toward that goal.

“I’m very happy with where we are,” he says.

Grassroots support from native fish advocates, says Fisher, was “critically important” for getting legislation passed—and quickly.

In addition to fish reclassifications, the first of those laws directed the DNR to produce a report, published in December 2023, outlining possible conservation actions and research needs. Such research was long in a state of neglect. Working to fulfill those needs are those like Alec Lackmann, who says we’ve learned a lot in the past five years, but current understanding and appreciation of native fish species amounts to “the tip of the iceberg.”

Recent discoveries concerning bigmouth buffalo show the need for research. When Lackmann began his 2019 study, their maximum lifespan was thought to be 20–30 years. After aging bigmouth buffalo from northwestern Minnesota, he found fish much older—up to 112 years. More recently, two bigmouth buffalo from southern Canada exceeded 125 years in age. That is, they hatched in the 1890s.

Age analysis by Lackmann’s research team also revealed that bigmouth buffalo routinely have large gaps between generations. In several current populations in Minnesota, the vast majority hatched before 1950. After that, the next successful year classes are extremely rare and in some cases the gaps span decades. The incredible longevity of bigmouth buffalo is an adaptation that allows them to bridge those gaps, says Lackmann, and overexploitation of the species is therefore a concern.

Lackmann’s team has also studied other Minnesota native fish species including bowfin, the six species of redhorse, quillback, and river carpsucker, work that has helped to redefine our understanding of these species and the way fisheries biologists study them.

Emerging research, along with public input, could help back up new harvest limits for many species, Fisher says. This would be of great interest to fisheries professionals all over the United States.

“One of the things we are hearing is that other states are watching to see what Minnesota is going to ultimately end up doing. They’re curious, but they’re not necessarily moving in the same direction or nearly at the same speed that we are,” says Fisher. “I’m hoping that we can be a leader in this management and that we can get some real positive impact here for these species.”

Community and Competition. Saturday at noon sharp, the derby commences. The angler who catches the most species in the next three hours will be the champ. Contestants stampede from the middle of camp. Some dash upstream, others down. First catches come in mere moments. Anglers up- and downriver conjure redhorse, suckers, and trout from the gurgling current, while their neighbors help them net and photograph their catches. Initial nibbles telegraph up my own line around 12:15, buoying my hopes. However, that only signals the first of many night crawlers to disappear from the hook.

Between worm-stealing fish and my botched hooksets, it gets to be a long afternoon on the grassy bank. As minutes tick by, it becomes evident my skills would need to develop mightily to be derby champion. Heroic aspirations wither to a modest goal: any one fish.

With half an hour to go, a new strategy seems appropriate. I march a couple hundred yards upstream with my last few worms. A solid bite at 2:58 leads me to believe I could keep from being skunked, but it is not to be.

Anticipation electrifies the camp while anglers trickle in to register their catches. Word is, many contestants stand tied at four species. Roundup cofounder Corey Geving addresses the assembly. “We have the largest sudden death fish-off, I think, in Roundup history,” he announces to cheers. “The way it works is whoever catches the first fish of any kind is the champion.”

At 3:40, Hannah and the other finalists cast once again into the cold, steady Root. In less than four minutes, Devin Lamm hoists a small shorthead redhorse in victory. It is all he needs to claim the trophy for the second year in a row, and first pick of the prizes donated by contestants.

Original fish artwork and most other highly coveted prizes are claimed by the time I and the rest of the “zeros” get our turn at the prize table. A certificate for a personal brewery tour remains, so I snatch it. Hopefully that will prove enough to send the memory of today’s defeat downstream for good.

A Celebration. A short while later, the picnic table overflows with a potluck bounty. Contributions are as interesting as the derby prizes.

The star of the show is fresh redhorse, carefully prepared by the hands of many. “Sucker balls”—a variation on fish patties—are a specialty of the Roundup, for which enthusiasm runs high.

Eating fish is Roundup tradition and supports a key component in rough fishing’s ethos: changing hearts and minds. “People associate value with fish that are tasty, right? So responsibly harvesting fish is important to making these undervalued species have more value in the public’s opinion,” explains Drew Geving. I don’t need sucker balls to feel that way, but his point is hammered home at first taste.

The mood around the campfire that evening is jovial and inevitably turns to native fish conservation. Whether for food or life list, or out of an affinity for underdogs, everyone here has come to love these species in their own way.

Unable to sleep, I lie awake in bed well past midnight, warmed by a kinship with folks who love to live close to their environment: wading barefoot in the muck, feasting on fish, camping where the river literally wraps around them. New friends who find wonder in everything from northern lights to native lampreys and spread their love of the natural world with an infectious spirit.

The next morning, as I prepare to leave, Drew sums up the essence of the event: “It’s a celebration of these fish.”

Minnesota's Native Rough Fish

Black bullhead (Ameiurus melas)
Yellow bullhead (Ameiurus natalis)
Brown bullhead (Ameiurus nebulosus)

Eyespot bowfin (Amia ocellicauda)

Freshwater drum (Aplodinotus grunniens)

Quillback (Carpiodes cyprinus)
River carpsucker (Carpiodes carpio)
Highfin carpsucker (Carpiodes velifer)

Longnose sucker (Catostomus catostomus)
White sucker (Catostomus commersonii)
Blue sucker (Cycleptus elongatus)
Spotted sucker (Minytrema melanops)
Northern hogsucker (Hypentelium nigricans)

Goldeye (Hiodon alosoides)
Mooneye (Hiodon tergisus)

Bigmouth buffalo (Ictiobus cyprinellus)
Smallmouth buffalo (Ictiobus bubalus)
Black buffalo (Ictiobus niger)

Longnose gar (Lepisosteus osseus)
Shortnose gar (Lepisosteus platostomus)

Silver redhorse (Moxostoma anisurum)
River redhorse (Moxostoma carinatum)
Black redhorse (Moxostoma duquesnei)
Golden redhorse (Moxostoma erythrurum)
Shorthead redhorse (Moxostoma macrolepidotum)
Greater redhorse (Moxostoma valenciennesi)