Wading for Bugs: Exploring Streams with the Experts

2. Emergence of a Mayfly: Nuisance or Blessing?

11 2 Emergence of a Mayfly: Nuisance or Blessing? Michael T. Barbour It was a full moon, and the summer night was hot and sticky. I listened to the night noises as we drove along the gravel road, the warm breeze coming in from the open window. My dad was humming a Gene Autry tune that was playing on the radio. The static sound coming from the dash didn’t seem to bother Dad. He knew the words and filled in where the song was undecipherable otherwise. The old truck bounced along on the rough surface, jostling us constantly. My thoughts turned to my upcoming birthday. In just six days, on July 21, 1954, I would be seven years old. I couldn’t wait. When I turned seven, I would be as old as my best friend, Jake, who had turned seven two months ago. I hated being one of the youngest in my class, but I couldn’t change that. I wondered what presents I would get. I was hoping I would get that Red Ranger BB gun I had seen in old man George’s hardware store. But I knew that my Dad was not likely to be able to pay the high price of ten dollars to get me that gun. Maybe he would make me a slingshot instead. I had seen him putting an old bicycle tire tube in the shed just last week. 12 Mayflies in the Mist Dad brought me out of my revelry, exclaiming “Oh, my.” I glanced over and saw him staring ahead with a frown on his face. I looked out the dirty windshield and couldn’t see anything —I mean anything! The moon was gone, the forest was gone, and the light from the truck was dimmed to almost no light at all. All of a sudden, the windshield was being pelted with some unknown thing, or many things. Splat! Splat! “Quick, roll up the window!” yelled my Dad. I cranked the window knob as fast as I could, but many bugs flew in before I could get it closed. “Dad, what are these bugs?” I cried. “Will they bite?” “No, they are harmless. But they sure are pests.” “Why are there so many of them?” “I don’t know, son. This happens sometimes, and always in the summer. I’ve heard they come from the river. They come out all at once and fly around, getting in everyone’s way. What a mess.” Dad stopped the car, then reached over and slapped at the bugs flying around inside the cab. I watched him swat at them until they were all dead. We sat there for a long time, watching the dense cloud of winged insects attacking the truck. My eyes were wide with fear. I had never seen so many insects. I thought back to a bible story from ancient times when a swarm of locusts descended upon Egypt. These weren’t locusts, were they? Eventually, the swarming ended, and we heard no more bugs hitting the windshield and sides of the truck. Dad opened the door and stepped out. I hesitated only a minute before following him. As I stepped onto the running board, I heard a crunch and felt a gritty sensation through my sneakers. “Oooh,” I exclaimed. Dad ignored me and was standing in the front of the truck, where I joined him. He and I just stared at the grille of the truck, which was covered with insects. In fact, the whole front of the truck was outlined in insects. Some were crawling in a haphazard manner, but most were dead, or appeared so. “I think these bugs are called shadflies or mayflies.” Dad brushed the insects from the headlights, releasing the light Emergence of a Mayfly 13 that had been dimmed by the swarming. “They are good fish food. Your Uncle Frank and I will try to go fishing tomorrow. We should get a lot from the river—the fish will be biting.” I looked around at the layers of insects on the truck, on the ground, all over the road. All I could think of was to wonder where they all came from, and why there were so many of them. Dad finally got the windshield cleaned up, and we went on our way. We both were silent after that. The moon was back. The heat of the summer night was...