In some parts of Northern Michigan, tens of thousands of mayflies are swarming the sky.
They’ll fly and breed for a glorious 48 hours before dying in massive hordes – coating the ground and washing up on shorelines. Some might find the annual hatch repulsive, but for fly-fishers, it’s a brief and magical time of year.
WCMU's Teresa Homsi hung out with the Anglers of the Au Sable and learned about the art of fly fishing.
At around 8 p.m., David Waymire said it’s still too early to go out on the Au Sable River, but that hasn’t stopped dozens of anglers from anxiously setting out on boats or wading into the water.
The air is “sticky” and alive with anticipation. According to Waymire, it’s going to be a warm and humid night – perfect conditions for flyfishing.
“It's so relaxing to come out here – although it's also nerve-wracking when they start going all around you, and you're trying to catch one,” Waymire said.
We watch the sun set over the river and the scenery change... A nighthawk swoops down and snatches a bug from the river... Most importantly, we listen for a quiet splash that signals a trout nabbing a floating mayfly off the river's surface.
“Did you see a fish rise right there, that little dimple?” Waymire said, pointing at the river.
At that point in the night, it was still too quiet for my recorder to pick up, but Waymire said the trout sometimes go into a feeding frenzy.
“You'll contrast those little dimples and little fish to the crashing attacks they make on the hexes when they first start coming down," Waymire said. "It's really remarkable to see.”
Waymire said the Au Sable is a special place for fly fishing. The river is home to a consistent hex hatch and the slow-moving water makes it possible for anglers to reel in – an otherwise elusive – brown, rainbow, or brook trout.
Fly-fishers have dozens of mayfly-resembling bait to choose from, and they need to know where the fish are, what they’re feeding on, and how to cast and move the line – all in a way that doesn’t alarm an unsuspecting fish.
“This is a very technical, very tricky thing to learn to do well," Waymire said. "You don't have very much time - I mean, you got a week or 10 days, every year. Then, you miss it.”
We move to an undisclosed location on the Au Sable River – anglers are wary of sharing their secrets.
"That's the nature of the game," Waymire said, chuckling with a shrug.
When we started out on the river, it was too early for the nocturnal trout. But now, the only light is from a sliver of moon and dozens of fireflies that blink intermittently in the trees.
“Fishing is the great marker of time," said Joe Hemming, president of the Anglers of the Au Sable. "Every year, you're sitting on the dock, and this parade happens.”
Hemming said there’s a series of different mayfly hatches, the first of which start in April-
“-But the grand show is the hex," Hemming said. "I mean, that's the pork chop of mayflies. When that comes out, that brings out all the big fish.”
Another angler, Bruce Pregler and Hemming waded in the water, listening for any trout that are “sipping” on hexflies.
"Joe, did you put on a big honkin' spinner?" Pregler said to Hemming. "Put the biggest one on you got.”
For the next hour or so, Hemming chased an evasive trout, struggling to catch it while Waymire and Pregler teased him.
Pregler: "Oh my god, Joe, is that the fish? Maybe I should go check it out."
Hemming: “No, you really shouldn't.”
Pregler: "Is it time for the dynamite?"
In between the occasional fish surfacing and the anglers chatting, it’s a peaceful night.
“It's so sporadic feeding right now," Pregler said. "You can float a fly over 20 times and nothing... This river never gets old, does it Dave?”
At half past midnight, after more than two hours of patient listening and wading, Pregler finally got a bite.
"You wanna pose with this, Joe?" Pregler said, taunting Hemming with an inside joke.
Pregler caught a 15-inch brown trout, showed it off briefly, and let it go into the water.
Here on the Au Sable, it’s catch-and-release fishing. Hemming said that doesn’t matter because it’s not really about the trout.
“Look at the stars, the moon just went behind the clouds, turkeys are roosting, a beaver brushes against your leg..." Hemming said. When it's midnight and I've released a fish and coyotes howling. It's like, ‘oh my god, this is incredible.’ That's why you do it.”
Hemming said he knows not everyone appreciates the mayflies, but they’re part of a cycle that feeds the trout and connects him and his friends, to the river.
“Up here, [mayflies are] magical," Hemming said. "You're head-over-heels in love with them, and it's so special. It's been a love affair with me for 20-plus years.”
A parade, ballet, and holiday are some of the phrases I heard through the night to describe the hatch. And all this poetry – it's for an insect, that's lived in the muck for a couple of years before sprouting wings, rising, and falling back into the river.
![Kevin Cox [left] and Mike McCauley [right] slice brook trout into filets as part of the state fish contaminant monitoring program April 21 at an EGLE facility in Lansing.](https://npr.brightspotcdn.com/dims4/default/a8fb223/2147483647/strip/true/crop/5603x3122+0+307/resize/560x312!/format/webp/quality/90/?url=http%3A%2F%2Fnpr-brightspot.s3.amazonaws.com%2Ffb%2F2d%2F72e0a6f44220bda9335a589e3785%2Fmicrosoftteams-image-3.png)