Mercer Delays Wake Boat Ban as Northwoods Lakes Face Erosion

The quiet waters of the Turtle-Flambeau Flowage—a 12,942-acre wilderness treasure that’s drawn anglers and paddlers for nearly a century—now sit at the center of a growing debate over how we balance recreation with preservation. Last week, Mercer’s town board heard from residents passionate about protecting the flowage from wake boats, those specialized vessels that create massive waves for surfing and have become increasingly controversial across Wisconsin’s fragile lake systems.

The board didn’t rush to judgment. Instead, they’re taking the smart route: coordinating with neighboring townships like Sherman to craft a unified approach. It’s a move that reflects the careful stewardship this region’s known for, where decisions about our waters aren’t made lightly.

Why Wake Boats Have Northwoods Communities Concerned

Walk along any Northwoods shoreline these days and you’ll notice something troubling: chunks of bank slumping into the water, exposed tree roots where soil used to be, and murky water where it once ran clear. Wake boats—designed to displace massive amounts of water to create surfable waves—are increasingly blamed for accelerating this erosion on lakes that simply weren’t built to handle that kind of pounding.

Randy Schubert, president of the Turtle-Flambeau Flowage and Trude Lake Property Association, laid it out plainly at Mercer’s recent town hall meeting. “Our objective and goal is just to kind of educate the town and hopefully get an ordinance passed that would restrict the actual wake boat activity on the Turtle Flambeau Flowage,” he explained to the packed room.

The concern isn’t just aesthetic. The Turtle-Flambeau Flowage, with its shallow depths reaching just 50 feet at the deepest point, features standing timber, driftwood-studded waters, and nutrient-rich wetlands that serve as critical spawning habitat for walleye, musky, bass, and the other species that make this fishery legendary. Those massive wakes don’t just churn up the surface—they scour lake bottoms and disrupt the delicate ecosystem that generations of anglers have cherished.

A Statewide Problem Landing in Local Laps

Here’s where it gets interesting: the Wisconsin DNR essentially punted this decision to local communities about a decade ago. Rather than crafting statewide regulations, they encouraged townships to make their own calls based on their specific lake characteristics. It’s a classic Wisconsin approach—let the folks who know their waters best make the rules—but it’s also left communities scrambling to respond as wake boat popularity has exploded.

The Turtle-Flambeau isn’t alone in this fight. Lakes across the Northwoods share similar vulnerabilities: fragile shorelines, shallow depths in places, and ecosystems that evolved over millennia without accounting for thousand-pound boats throwing five-foot waves every thirty seconds. What works on deeper, less ecologically sensitive waters downstate simply doesn’t translate to our neck of the woods.

Sherman’s town board heard similar passionate pleas just days before Mercer’s meeting, with residents calling strongly for wake boat restrictions. The message is consistent: folks who live on, fish, and love these waters want them protected for future generations, not turned into artificial surf parks.

The Flowage’s Special Place in Northwoods History

To understand why this debate matters so much, you need to appreciate what the Turtle-Flambeau Flowage represents. Created in 1926 when the Chippewa and Flambeau Improvement Company dammed the Flambeau and Turtle Rivers, the flowage flooded sixteen natural lakes and over 14,000 acres to serve hydroelectric needs and flood control. It was controversial even then—a 1930 protest film captured concerns about ecological changes—but the resulting body of water became something remarkable.

With 195 islands scattered across its expanse and 227 miles of shoreline (95% publicly owned), the flowage offers a wilderness paddling and fishing experience that rivals Canadian destinations, yet sits just 375 miles from Chicago and 300 miles from Milwaukee. Resorts sprouted up by the 1930s and 1940s, and the area’s reputation as a fish-rich paradise grew steadily. When the state purchased the flowage in 1990 under the Knowles-Nelson Stewardship Program and designated it the Turtle-Flambeau Scenic Waters Area, it cemented the flowage’s status as a crown jewel worth preserving.

That preservation ethic runs deep here. The flowage sits on traditional Ojibwe territory, with the Lac du Flambeau band settling the area around 1745. Treaty rights affirmed in the 1980s recognize the ongoing connection between tribal communities and these waters, including walleye spearfishing access that honors centuries of stewardship.

Balancing Tourism Dollars with Quiet Waters

Here’s the tension that makes this issue so complex: the flowage drives a significant chunk of Mercer’s economy. Fishing guides, resort owners, bait shops, and lodges like Deadhorse Lodge and Gateway Lodge depend on visitors drawn by the flowage’s reputation for excellent fishing and pristine wilderness character. Those visitors expect calm waters for casting lines, peaceful mornings in a canoe, and the kind of tranquility you can’t find in busier parts of the state.

Wake boats represent newer recreational demands—and newer money. But they fundamentally change the character of a water body. It’s tough to enjoy a quiet evening paddle when a wake boat roars past every few minutes, and even tougher for smallmouth bass to successfully spawn when their nesting beds get pummeled by waves washing sediment over carefully cleaned gravel.

The question Mercer and surrounding townships face isn’t whether recreation matters—of course it does. It’s which kinds of recreation align with the waters we’ve inherited and want to pass on. For a shallow, ecologically sensitive flowage like the Turtle-Flambeau, the answer seems increasingly clear to residents who showed up to make their voices heard.

What Happens Next for the Flowage

Mercer’s town board made the right call by postponing their decision until they can coordinate with Sherman and other affected townships. The flowage doesn’t respect municipal boundaries, after all, and a patchwork of conflicting regulations would create confusion and enforcement headaches. A unified ordinance across townships makes sense both practically and symbolically—these communities are in this together.

The next meeting is scheduled for March 12, and Randy Schubert plans to keep monitoring the situation. “Obviously there was a lot of support in favor of the ban of wake boat activity, so we’ll kind of continue to monitor the situation and hopefully at the next meeting they can pass the ordinance and get it up the ladder,” he noted after Mercer’s meeting.

Whatever the final decision, this debate reflects something valuable about Northwoods communities: we don’t take our waters for granted. From the logging era controversies of the 1920s to today’s wake boat discussions, each generation faces decisions about how to use and protect these resources. The best outcomes happen when we listen to each other, rely on local knowledge, and remember that some things—like the quiet lap of waves against a weathered dock at sunset—are worth preserving even when newer, flashier alternatives come along.

For now, the Turtle-Flambeau Flowage remains what it’s been for generations: a wilderness fishing destination where walleye still spawn in the shallows, loons still call across morning mists, and anglers still find the kind of peace that brought them up north in the first place. Whether it stays that way depends on decisions township boards are making right now, informed by residents who know these waters aren’t just recreational amenities—they’re home.