The first time I met Leo Ray, owner of Fish Breeders of Idaho, Inc., he was wearing alligator shoes. When I asked about them, he told me about the gators he had raised for over 10 years in Hagerman, Idaho. In fact, the shoes he had on were from the hide of one of his own gators. At this point in the story, I had to pick my jaw up off the floor and hold it shut with both hands. “Back up a minute…alligators in Idaho?” Leo just smiled back at me. He is no stranger to jaw-dropping, out-of-the-ordinary business ventures.
Leo and his alligator shoes are standing at the bar at the Sun Valley Inn where a sampling of caviar dishes starring his White Sturgeon Caviar—the newest product from his land-locked fish business—were causing quite the culinary ruckus. He no longer raises snapping gators, but devotes his attention to trout, tilapia, catfish, tropical fish, and sturgeon. An innovator, entrepreneur, risk taker, and great storyteller, Leo is a part of what Food &Wine calls “The American Caviar Renaissance” in their July 2014 issue. One of five fisheries F&W included, Leo’s Fish Breeders of Idaho produces almost 2,000 pounds of caviar a year. After our brief encounter at the Sun Valley tasting, I lit out for Hagerman, a hotbed of fish hatcheries and aquaculture ventures, to see this caviar production in action.
Sturgeon are dinosaur fish. The oldest records of them date back over 200 million years, and it would be an understatement to say that their evolution has been slow—in fact, their morphological characteristics have remained relatively unchanged according to the first fossil records we have of them. The largest freshwater fish in North America (weighing in sometimes at a whopping 1,500 pounds), sturgeon were a main food source to Native Americans before Columbus set foot on the continent. When I arrive at Leo’s farm, Leo introduces me to his grandchildren, who are working on determining the sex of some young sturgeon. I am transfixed by the giant monsters and the ease with which these teenagers wrestle them in and out of the water, determined to finish their task. The sturgeon I am looking at are mere toddlers—they can live over a hundred years. As I look with awe at the sturgeon, Leo shares some exciting news. Over at the College of Southern Idaho (CSI) campus, there are a few brood sturgeon (lady fish) ready to spawn. After a quick tour of his facility, we hop into his pickup truck for a day of adventure.
CSI, along with the Idaho Department of Fish and Game, Idaho Power, and industry leaders like Leo, all work together to farm sturgeon. It is an Idaho fairy tale of sorts, as the organizations aimed at the conservation of these fish work alongside those selling their meat. Together, they have created a symbiotic relationship and a model sturgeon farming and reintegration program that provides an example for the future of aquaculture. By pooling resources, this team is innovating the way these fish are bred. Bobbing along in Leo’s pickup on the way to the college, he tries to explain this delicate relationship as we drive along the scenic Snake River dotted with hot springs and waterfalls. “How do you divide up the eggs?” I ask. “It isn’t scientific,” Leo explains. “Fish and Game and Idaho Power take what they need to repopulate the rivers, and then the commercial businesses divide the rest.” And with a university in the mix, they can count on research and improvements to keep pushing forward.
I have never studied fish anatomy, so the hours that followed our arrival at the CSI hatchery were full of firsts. A gestating female was brought inside, where her eggs were retrieved both naturally through her vents and also via cesarean. The first fish we saw ‘give birth’ resulted in over 80,000 eggs. After being fertilized, everyone present (including representatives from Idaho Power and Fish and Game) took a bowl of eggs and water, mixed in a little clay, and stirred them with a feather. This, they explained to me, keeps the eggs from sticking together as they do in nature. After about an hour, they are ready to be divided and incubated. So off Leo and I go with our two buckets of eggs, returning to the farm in Hagerman to incubate his take. Back and forth is the name of the game, as another sturgeon would soon be ready to spawn, and we would drive back to campus to be a part of the fun.
The car trips allowed me to hear Leo’s life story (I think there is a book there), and find out why he started producing caviar. Let’s face it, when you think of Idaho, you don’t necessarily think of the expensive egg garnish. It turns out that caviar is a big investment risk to get started because those giant sturgeon beasts have to be at least 10 before they start spawning. Furthermore, caviar is a seasonal and tricky market; most purchases are made over the holidays, and after the eggs are cured and canned, the taste can change throughout the shelf life, just like a bottle of wine. Consumers in the United States prefer the taste in the earlier stages of this process, so Leo has to time the spawning, cure the eggs in salt for two weeks, and then get them packaged and out the door to meet market demands. Though the outcome is both delicious and has the potential for major profit, after getting to know Leo, it is clear that he is doing this for one reason: the challenge. “After something works like clockwork, it is not as fun anymore. I want something that is new and exciting. As far as I am concerned, once the process is perfected, I will want to start a new adventure.”
Leo and I finish up our rounds at six, and after one day of fish farming, I am ready to drive home and pass out. I dream of sturgeon hatching and living into the next century. I wake imagining the faint smell of fish farm, and a smile spreads across my face as I remember my adventure with Leo.
Published by FOCUS Mountain Media
