While the eastern U.S. is enduring snow storms and freezing temperatures, here in the Pacific Northwest we are having one of the warmest winters in memory. Signs of an early spring are everywhere. For fly fishers, who worship at the alter of aquatic insect hatches, especially mayflies, winter usually only yields a few Blue-Winged Olives popping up onto the water's surface.
Freshly hatched Blue-Winged Olive mayfly dun (body length = 8mm) resting on surface
Mayflies are not only among the oldest of the insects, but also, in my humble opinion, some of the most gracefully elegant. Now, with our early spring, we have western March Brown mayflies already getting into the act. Like all mayflies, March Browns don't really "hatch" (i.e., from an egg) as the adults that fly fishers (and students of nature) observe emerging onto the surface of the water. Rather, they live under water as juveniles ("nymphs") for typically a year, hiding and foraging among the rocks of the river bottom.
March Brown nymph (12mm) in its watery home
When they are ready to emerge from the water as adults, the nymphs swim to the water's surface in preparation for making the remarkable transition from juvenile life in the water to air-breathing adults.
March Brown nymph at water surface, thorax beginning to split
As the thorax splits wider, the winged adult folded up inside the nymphal exoskeleton begins to pull itself out. For most mayflies, this doesn't take very long, from seconds to a minute.
March Brown adult "hatching" at the water surface
Finally, the adult March Brown sits on the water surface, pumping up its wings and resting before flying off to the relative safety of the shoreline vegetation.
Freshly emerged March Brown dun adult (9-12mm) on water surface
How long the adult mayfly sits on the water is a critical issue. When it's sunny and warm, they are able to fly off quickly. If it's cold and damp--the typical spring day in the Northwest--it takes them longer. Hungry mouths below await those who tarry too long.
Last Friday was one of the unseasonal sunny warm days here, but March Browns were hatching on my home water, the McKenzie River. Using our best pointy-wired imitations of the naturals, a buddy and I let them drift through a promising riffle where we had previously encountered the river's prize denizens, rainbow trout. We were not disappointed.
Rainbow trout (locally dubbed "McKenzie Redside", for obvious reasons) rising to imitation March Brown
On one end of the line was my friend Steve, hanging on as the line left his reel at warp speed.
Bent rod
At the other end of the line was a prime example of why we love it here.
Streaking McKenzie Redside
It was touch and go for a while, but in the end it was Steve who prevailed--this time.
In the net
Relaxing on this section of the river is especially rewarding for my friends and me, because for the last few years we have spent a lot of time here enhancing the environment for wild fish, and studying the results. The population of wild trout has grown several fold, and large beautiful fish like this one are now common.
So if you are stuck somewhere that is still in the grip of winter, my condolences. I hope this little story has provided an escape for at least a few moments, and that soon enough, you will make it to your own piece of nirvana.
* No animals were harmed during the photography of this story. All were released to go on their way.
