Back in 2003, Brad Yaritz of White Bear Lake read a magazine article about loons dying after eating lead. From fishing tackle.

"That really stuck with me, for years," said Yaritz, who at the time had rekindled his boyhood passion for walleye fishing.

He didn't know it at the time, but he had been converted to a lead-free fisherman.

Today, Yaritz makes lead-free jigs in the basement of his home under the brand Eco-Jig. From his website,, he sells nontoxic tackle made by him and a few other local lure makers.

Lead-free fishing tackle, especially jigs and weights, can seem as rare in the aisles of many Minnesota bait shops as lead paint in hardware stores.

Brad Yaritz displays a selection of lead-free jigs he sells on his website,, in the basement of his White Bear Lake home Wednesday,
Brad Yaritz displays a selection of lead-free jigs he sells on his website,, in the basement of his White Bear Lake home Wednesday, Jan. 23, 2014. (Pioneer Press Dave Orrick)
Once seen as a model for the nation, Minnesota's state-sponsored campaign to reduce lead in fishing tackle essentially has been dead for years, and there is no chatter of a ban at the Legislature.

But the issue is resurfacing.

Lead fishing tackle -- and the related topic of lead firearms ammunition -- will take center stage early next month at the annual meeting of the Minnesota Chapter of the Wildlife Society. More than 200 wildlife biologists from throughout the state are expected to attend the gathering in Bemidji, where a half-day "plenary session" will be devoted to six speakers offering perspectives, followed by a panel discussion.

Meanwhile, nontoxic lures and sinkers are creeping into tackle boxes. Travel to any fishing show, and you likely will bump into lure makers -- some local, some from as far away as Europe -- hawking tin or tungsten lures, especially for ice fishing.

National tackle manufacturers such as White Bear Lake-based Water Gremlin have ramped up production of steel and tin split-shot sinkers to accommodate anglers in the small but growing number of states with bans on lead.

Some involved want to see lead banned in Minnesota, but many say they merely want the dialog resurrected and more options for customers. That's where the likes of Yaritz come in.


"This whole thing, I'm not making any money off it," Yaritz said. "I'm hoping to make some changes."

Yaritz's father, also named Brad, died of leukemia at age 33. Yaritz was 10. In the years they had together, they bonded -- over lead.

"My parents were divorced, but I remember when I'd see my dad, all we'd do was make lures and fish," he said. "We'd go to the junkyard and pull wheel weights off rims. Then we'd taken them home and make jigs. Then we'd go out and catch fish. That's all we'd do."

Something in the story of the loons -- and the realization that he and his father were polluting the lakes they fished -- stirred him.

"I always wanted to start my own business and, I don't know, I guess I wanted to do something to honor my father," Yaritz said.

He decided to figure out how to make his favorite walleye jigs without using lead.

At the time, many following the issue believed Minnesota was on an inevitable course toward lead-free fishing. A series of issues were converging to bring lead-free tackle to the front aisles of Minnesota fishing stores.


In the late 1990s, state air pollution regulators noticed some of the top lead emitters were lure manufacturers. The regulators pushed for alternatives to lead, which is cheap, malleable and heavy: a perfect material for molding weighted tackle, were it not also a poison.

Glass lure maker Brad Yaritz is reflected in a jig he made. Experimenting with Minneapolis glass artist Malcom Potek, Yaritz and Potek were able to make
Glass lure maker Brad Yaritz is reflected in a jig he made. Experimenting with Minneapolis glass artist Malcom Potek, Yaritz and Potek were able to make durable fishing lures with qualities not seen with painted metal. (Pioneer Press Dave Orrick)

What evolved was the Minnesota Pollution Control Agency's Get the Lead Out! program, a 10-year campaign that raised awareness, prompted some tackle makers to expand lead-free offerings and collected about 8,000 pounds of lead tackle at high-profile exchanges at major retailers.

"We made a lot of noise and garnered a lot of attention," said Kevin McDonald, the supervisor of the PCA's sustainable development unit who started the program. It cost the equivalent of one full-time position and between $25,000 and $40,000 a year in awareness events and pamphlets.

In 2003, Lt. Gov. Yvonne Prettner Solon, then a freshman state senator from Duluth, proposed banning lead sinkers small enough that loons would confuse them with pebbles, which they eat to aid digestion. It was premature, said some, including DNR officials who were pushing for more science and supporting only voluntary conversions to lead alternatives. Amid stiff opposition from the tackle industry, the proposal died, but the PCA's program continued, as did research.


DNR fisheries biologist Paul Radomski wanted to figure out how much lead was in popular fishing lakes. He added a question to DNR creel surveys asking anglers what tackle they lost that day from bite-offs and snags.

He learned anglers lost little as individuals. But collectively, over the years, it was another story.

"When we did the calculations, I was like, 'Holy cow!' " Radomski said. "It was metric tons."

In a study published in 2006, he concluded that between 1983 and 2004, anglers had dumped more than 2 tons each into Rainy Lake and Lake of the Woods and more than 9 tons into Lake Mille Lacs.

The DNR has never taken a position on lead tackle beyond supporting awareness of the issue. The DNR-published fishing regulations for years have contained a blurb discussing lead alternatives.

The economy tanked, money became tight, McDonald was reassigned and the Get the Lead Out! program quietly disappeared in 2009.

"I think it was a casualty of making decisions on budgeting with limited dollars," said David Benke, the PCA's director for the division that oversaw the program. "I think the discussion still needs to occur."

Only a web page remains. McDonald said the issue remains "unfinished business."

Radomski's findings prompted him to replace nearly all the lead in his tackle boxes, and he said it's time for a fresh look at the issue.

He will kick off the presentations on lead at the Wildlife Society's meeting, which will include a representative from the ammunition industry and a scientist from Sweden. Society President-elect Steve Windels said the goal is to look for common ground.

"This remains a hot topic among wildlife biologists," Windels said. "Rather than rehash the science, how do we move forward and satisfy a broad group?"


A single loon that eats a single split-shot sinker will die from lead poisoning. That's widely accepted.

But there is disagreement even among wildlife biologists on larger questions: How many loons actually are being killed by anglers' lead, how high does that rank among threats to loons, and does lead pose a risk to the stable loon population?

Radomski said there's another way to think about it, regardless of how many loons are dying: the conservation ethic.

"This is a sport, for Pete's sake," he said. "If there are (ways) we can minimize our impact to the natural ecosystem, why wouldn't we think about the use of those alternatives?"

Yaritz agrees.

"There's no reason for lead in our tackle," he said. "It's not in our gasoline; it's not in our paint; it's not in our toys. What are we doing throwing it in the water?"


Staring through stained glass at a Mexican restaurant one night, an idea hit Yaritz: glass lures.

He teamed with Minneapolis glass artist Malcom Potek, and the pair began creating lures the likes of which might never have been seen previously. Mirror-like lobes recall surfaces of architect Frank Gehry, while twisted swirls seem more like miniature Dale Chihuly works of art.

Yaritz formed Eco-Jig and three years ago began showing off his lures at fishing shows. Mention "the glass-lure guy" and regulars at the shows will know.

Lead alternatives cost more, but hand-blown glass was off the charts: from $7 to $16 for a single jig.

"Guys would tell me they wanted to hang them on their mantles," Yaritz said, "but nobody wanted to fish with them, so I didn't get any repeat customers. We couldn't keep going with glass."

Today, aside from occasional custom glass orders, Yaritz focuses on tin. It's 75 percent the weight of lead, and eight times more expensive. But tin has a lower melting point than lead, and Yaritz decided on it when he realized he could use existing lead jighead molds to make the jigs and usually fish the same way he would using lead jigs. Lures start at $2 each, several times pricier than a bargain leadhead, but Yaritz said it adds up to only a few extra dollars for most anglers.

As for whether they work: "I fish walleye competitively, and I don't use lead any more," he said. "As a lot of guys who've seen me can tell you: Yeah, they catch fish."



For more on lead-free fishing, including a list of manufacturers, go to