Burbot — or Lota lota in scientific terms — have almost as many names as locations in which this scrappy looking fish is found. But no matter what you call them, one thing is certain—they sure taste good.
By Troy Letherman
The burbot is a much-maligned species of sport fish, too often deemed as too ugly, too slimy, or simply too weird to be worth an angler’s time. But like its saltwater cousins, it has a superb-tasting, white flesh that makes it a prime target for anglers too hooked to lay down the rod and reel for the winter, or too smart for that matter. [emember_protected custom_msg=’This content is available for subscribers only.’]
Being the only freshwater representative of the cod family (Gadidae) in North America lends this enigmatic gamefish a distinctive status, but heritage isn’t the only thing that makes the burbot different. And as anyone who has been surprised when one of these eel-like creatures appeared at the end of their line will tell you, anglers need not be fishing for them to have one show up at the boat. Whether jigging on the bottom for lake trout or dropping bait through the ice for pike, chances are good that you’ll one day hook into a burbot, and then all those differences will take firsthand significance.
A mottled skin color that ranges from olive green to dark brown, with intermittent pale yellow blotches tossed in, is a nice place to start when explaining the irregular look of a burbot. A thin, elongated body tapers to a point near the tail, which is rounded rather than fork-shaped, and while the slimy surface may appear smooth, it’s actually covered with small, embedded scales. The burbot’s most distinguishing characteristics, though, have yet to come.
It sports a single barbel that extends from the tip of the lower jaw (looking a lot like a set of chin whiskers from afar) and a pair of barbel-like tubes that extend from each nostril. A large mouth houses numerous rows of small teeth that slant inwards toward the back of the throat. The hindmost dorsal and the anal fin are both quite long, running from the middle of the back to the tail, and are nearly equal in length. Rounding out the identifying traits of this Holarctic freshwater sport fish is a set of pelvic fins situated in the throat region in front of the large pectoral fins.
It is not uncommon to find burbot in Alaska that are over 20 years old. They are a relatively long-lived and slow-growing species, taking about six or seven years to reach 18 inches in length. This is the size at which most Alaska burbot spawn for the first time. The young burbot will join in with a group of up to twelve fish to form a writhing mass of individuals that moves across the bottom, broadcasting fertilized eggs over a wide area in the process.
Burbot are voracious predators, feeding mainly at night on fish, though aquatic insects, crustaceans, plankton, and fish eggs can make up a portion of their diet. Young burbot mostly feed on insects and other invertebrates, but by the time they reach five years of age, they feed almost entirely on other fish.
It is this ravenous appetite, along with their strong preference for cold, deep water that make the burbot such an attractive target for the aspiring ice fisherman. As layers of ice take hold of a river or lake’s surface and the oxygen is depleted from the deeper water, burbot begin to move toward the shallows to spawn. Lacking the same diet opportunities as are available in the summer, a nice chunk of bait tossed down through a hole in the ice provides an appealing diversion from the normal winter stable of invertebrates, and more often than not, your average burbot will go right after the meal.
You’d think they would make a perfect fit with many of the waters in the Last Frontier, and you’d be right. Burbot occupy most large clear and glacial rivers and many of the lakes throughout the state. And not just any burbot, but quite likely the biggest burbot in the U.S.
There are plenty of stories floating around of hidden Mat-Su Valley gems that regularly produce burbot in the 15-plus-pound range. It’s certainly not an outlandish claim. After all, the largest U.S.-caught burbot on record is George R. Howard’s 1976 lunker pulled from the depths of Lake Louise, a catch that weighed in at a whopping 24 pounds, 12 ounces. Lake Louise is currently closed to fishing for the species, but that’s hardly the end of the line. From the easily accessible and popular Big Lake to any number of smaller and lesser known Mat-Su destinations and on throughout Alaska’s Interior, burbot remain a numerous and dependable sport fish.
Whether you’re fishing the Tanana River drainage or a Mat-Su lake, the most effective tackle and techniques for taking these primordial bottom dwellers remain the same—go simple. Use large hooks (Alaska sport fish regulations require hooks that have at least a 3/4-inch gap between the point and shank) and an equally large amount of bait. If lures are your preference, there’s no end to the choices you can make. Unable to control their predatory nature, burbot will strike just about anything, though we’ve had strong success with both Cabela’s Livin’ Eye Jig and Luhr Jensen Krocodiles recently. In most cases, any setup with a lot of flash, or even better, one that glows in the dark, will rate well, especially given the burbot’s nighttime feeding practices. Setlines are allowed for burbot in some locations, and tip-ups are popular with the ice-fishermen that frequent the state’s lakes.
Burbot are most active in the evening and throughout the night when they move onto bars and shoals to feed. In fact, most are caught in less than 25 feet of water. Just set up with your weights approximately 18 to 24 inches above the hook and drop it down until you feel it rest against the bottom, then as in most fishing, and especially burbot fishing, wait. Chances are you’ll soon be dragging up one of the oddest-looking, best-tasting fish to be had.
There is one more piece of pertinent information that may be of some use in fishing for this peculiar species—it might not be a good idea to hand your freshly caught keeper off to the novice burbot fisherman (certainly not if that novice happens to be a spouse). Clutch one near the head to remove the hook and it will wrap itself around your arm and grip tight, like a slimy belt. Save that shock for one of your buddies instead . . . you can laugh harder at them.
###
Troy Letherman is the editor of Fish Alaska magazine.
[/emember_protected]
[emember_protected scope=”not_logged_in_users_only”]
- Need to subscribe? Now’s a good time! Check out our current subscription specials!
- Already a subscriber? Login below to access all of our online articles and content!