Last of the Whitefish: Fishtown, Torch Lake, and the Fish That Made Northern Michigan

Whitefish dip is what a northern Michigan summer tastes like. It’s unpacked from the cooler the minute you unlock the cabin, shared around the porch before dinner and passed around pontoon boats drifting along the sandbars.

Yet the fish in that golden, wood-smoked dip — Coregonus clupeaformis, the lake whitefish — is in the middle of an ecological crisis. Between 2009 and 2024, the commercial whitefish harvest in Lakes Michigan and Huron plummeted by over 70%, dropping from 6.9 million pounds to under 2 million.

In Leland’s historic Fishtown district, the 2025 harvest limit was capped at 10,500 pounds, enough to supply just a few busy summer days of dockside sales.

To understand why the whitefish is struggling, you have to look into the unnaturally clear waters of Lake Michigan, and back through two centuries of northern Michigan history.

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Adikameg: The Deer of the Lakes

Long before diesel tugs motored out from the Leland River, the Anishinaabe (the Odawa, Ojibwe and Potawatomi nations) fished these inland seas. To them, the whitefish was known as adikameg (or atikameg), often translated as “deer of the lakes.”

It was a vital source of subsistence: clean, firm, sweet meat rich in natural fats that could be dried and smoked over the fire for the long northern freeze.

On dark nights, when whitefish moved into the shallows, fishermen worked the waters with birch-bark torches, drawing the fish toward the surface where they could be speared or netted. The Anishinaabe called the water Waaswaaganing, “the place of torches.” Settlers first called it Torch Light Lake, later shortened to Torch Lake.

Tribal fishing remains a pillar of Great Lakes culture today. Through sovereign rights recognized under the 1836 Treaty of Washington and managed through court-approved consent decrees, tribal fishers from bands including the Grand Traverse Band of Ottawa and Chippewa Indians and the Little Traverse Bay Bands of Odawa Indians continue to work their ancestral waters, balancing cultural subsistence with conservation quotas.

A Century and a Half on the Water

• 1850s–1930s: The first commercial boom, with sailing smacks and early steam tugs harvesting millions of pounds annually.
• 1940s–1950s: The first severe crash, driven by the invasion of predatory sea lamprey and heavy overfishing.
• 1970s–1990s: Recovery era following sea lamprey control and modern fisheries management.
• Late 1980s: Zebra mussels and quagga mussels arrive in transoceanic cargo ship ballast water.
• 2009–2024: Lake Michigan and Lake Huron commercial whitefish harvest falls from 6.9 million pounds to under 2 million pounds.

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The Clear Water Trap: Why the Fishery Slipped

If you walk the piers in Leland or Charlevoix today, the water looks like clear Caribbean turquoise. On a calm day you can see straight to the bottom in water well over your head.

To a fisheries biologist or commercial captain, that clarity is the color of an empty pantry.

Beginning in the late 1980s, invasive quagga and zebra mussels spread through the lakes. Today, trillions of them coat the lake bed from the shallows down to nearly 400 feet. A single adult mussel can filter a liter of water a day, stripping out microscopic phytoplankton.

Their arrival coincided with the near-disappearance of Diporeia, a tiny, nutrient-dense, burrowing amphipod that once lived in enormous numbers on the lake floor. For millennia, Diporeia was the primary food adult whitefish gorged on to build winter fat.

Deprived of Diporeia, whitefish adapted as best they could. They started eating the hard-shelled mussels themselves, plus small snails, but crushing shells provides far fewer calories. The fish grew thinner and slower, and few young survived to rebuild the schools.

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Fishtown: Keeping the Shanties and Tugs Working

Nowhere is the effort to keep this heritage alive more visible than Fishtown in Leland.

Tucked along the Leland River where it flows into Lake Michigan, Fishtown looks like a 19th-century maritime enclave: weathered wooden shanties, drying net reels, the smell of sugar-maple smoke, and two historic fish tugs tied to the docks: the gill-net tug Janice Sue (built in 1958) and the trap-net tug Joy (built in 1981).

When the Carlson family put Fishtown up for sale in the mid-2000s, locals feared the working waterfront would be sold off to private developers. The nonprofit Fishtown Preservation Society stepped in, paying $2.7 million for the shanties, docks, smokehouses, the Janice Sue and the Joy, and their commercial licenses in 2007.

The goal was to prevent Fishtown from turning into a static museum where relics sit behind ropes; it was meant to remain a working commercial harbor. To keep that heritage alive, FPS keeps both tugs patched, painted and fishing.

Yet in 2025, Fishtown’s annual quota was held to just 10,500 pounds, a fraction of the 62,000-pound whitefish quota the Joy fished in 2010. Every pound of smoked whitefish purchased at Carlson’s helps support one of the last authentic working fishing districts on the Great Lakes.

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Where to Find Smoked Great Lakes Whitefish

When local Lake Michigan and Lake Huron whitefish is scarce, many restaurants get theirs from Lake Superior, and some supplement with walleye.

If you’re looking for fresh, locally smoked Great Lakes fish, these northern Michigan smokehouses and markets have deep roots:

• Carlson’s Fishery (Leland): Generations of Carlsons smoking fish over native sugar maple in Fishtown since 1904.
• Bell’s Fishery (Mackinaw City): A Straits fixture for decades. Fresh and smoked whitefish, whitefish pâté and fish baskets.
• Big Stone Bay Fishery (Mackinaw City): A family-run fish market since 1983 on U.S. 23 across from Lake Huron, mostly a wholesaler buying from fishermen around the state, with a small retail counter.
• Gauthier & Spaulding Fishery (Rogers City): A Lake Huron fishing family with its own trap-net boats and a retail counter for fresh and smoked fish.

(Tip: The only reliable way to know where your whitefish came from is simply to ask. A reputable fish counter will gladly tell you where and when the fish was netted.)

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Cabin Classic: Smoked Whitefish Dip

Good smoked whitefish has its own natural richness and maple-smoke sweetness; the goal is simply to bind the fish without overpowering it with heavy mayonnaise.

Ingredients

• 1 pound smoked Great Lakes whitefish (skin and pin bones carefully removed, flaked into bite-sized pieces)
• 8 ounces cream cheese, softened to room temperature
• 2 tablespoons sour cream (for smooth acidity)
• 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
• 1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
• 2 tablespoons finely minced green scallions
• 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
• A pinch of smoked paprika and black pepper

Directions

1. In a mixing bowl, blend the softened cream cheese, sour cream, lemon juice, Worcestershire, garlic powder, smoked paprika and black pepper until completely smooth.
2. Add the flaked smoked whitefish and minced scallions.
3. Fold gently with a spatula. Do not blend with an electric mixer; you want distinct, tender flakes of smoked fish throughout the dip.
4. Cover and chill in the refrigerator for at least two hours before serving.
5. Serve cold with classic butter crackers (Town House or Club).

(Food safety note: Keep refrigerated and consume within three to four days. Because cold-smoked fish can carry listeria risks, public health agencies recommend that pregnant or immunocompromised individuals eat only thoroughly cooked fish.)

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