River Magic

Our last action on magicicada dry flies came in late June on a local river. It came after a long sibling biking trip when I was able to survey a large portion of the watershed. While my brother and sister were enjoying the scenery, I constantly had my neck turned towards the river and my ears perked towards the trees. I was able to pinpoint exact locations of cicada gatherings. A few days later, I got my chance to check out the water and its resident trout. 

My brother accompanied me on the first day while my buddy Ryan came on the next. We worked an inside/outside game where one angler focused on the inside portion of the river with a single hand rod. The other focused on the more difficult to reach outside seams using a switch rod. The switch rod was a game changer, especially in the narrow confines of a gorge, with deep water, and limited back cast room. Over-lined with sharkskin fly line, the switch rod was absolutely deadly fishing a large cicada along the opposite banks, eddies, and seams. I felt under-gunned whenever I had a single hander in my hand. The largest fish all came on the opposite side of the river on the switch rod. 

The highlight of our river fishing came on a beautiful riffle/pool flanked by large boulders. On the opposite bank was a large rock flanked by some serious flowing water. Behind the rock was a foam eddy. After helping to fix my brothers two handed switch casting and also how best to get a short dead drift in the zone, he launched a good cast across river. The fly plopped down at the base of the boulder and after a big mend ran along that seam and foam line. A large brown slowly rose and opened wide, taking in the cicada. Atop my perch, I saw the entire cast, mend, take, set, and fight as my brother landed his largest resident brown trout ever. I was as happy for him as he was for himself. Frankly, the pictures did not do this fish justice, she was a pig. 

Overall, the fishing was slow but the moments more than made up for it. After an extended lull in the action a missed hook set or lost fish (there were a lot) could be heartbreaking, if only for a second or two. We had the river and its fish to ourselves and the scenery was phenomenal. Besides, there are few moments in fly fishing that can beat a slow rise to a size 4 dry fly. I am glad that I was able to witness and take advantage of the 17-year cycle of brood II. It's easy to dismiss their presence and continue your normal fishing routine but a 17-year hatch is a moment that doesn't come around often. I am already thinking about the possibilities for myself in 2030 at the ripe age of 43. That is a long way away. 

Arrival

One Happy Dude

I thought I had a large smallmouth...

A potential wild brook trout caught near a cold tributary...he missed. 

Even the chubs got in on the action...the smallmouth did not.

Naturals collected in eddies and foam lines...

Finding Brood II

When I arrived stream side for my first time fishing magicicadas, I could hear them in the trees. The noise was unmistakable and resonated from a hill covered in pines. The sci-fi sound came and went hourly throughout the day. Interestingly enough, the hill was the only section in the area where the sound was coming from. It was also where cicadas could be found in bushes, leaves, and littering the ground. Occasionally, you could even find a live cicada struggling as it floated downstream. Elsewhere,  you wouldn't even know that there were cicadas in the area. A half-mile downstream, I found another grouping of cicadas at the base of the mountain. In between those two areas is where I decided to concentrate my fishing efforts.

After my first cast into the stream, I knew I was in for a good day of fly fishing. A 17 inch wild brown gently sipped my size 6 cicada and the battle was on. As the day progressed, I had vicious attacks on my dry fly in every single good looking lie. On several occasions, fish would miss on their 1st, 2nd, and sometimes 3rd attempts before wising up to the folly at the end of my line. It was phenomenal fishing, and I was clearly the first person to toss a cicada on the stream. My brother finally got his act together and met me on the stream to catch a few beautiful browns of his own. Thunderstorms finally drove us off the water, but not before we were both satisfied with the action. We found out later that we weren't alone. Other anglers had keyed in on the insects as well and found success upstream of us.

When I fished the cicadas for the first time, I couldn't help but think about western hopper fishing. In Pennsylvania, terrestrial fishing can be good, but it never approaches the level of intensity of a western stream where trout hammer large hoppers along grassy banks every summer. It was nice to be able to experience something similar on my home waters and have some good sized wild browns willing to play in the middle of the day. Normally, summer days on streams like this are mostly hatch-less and the big trout don't show themselves too often. It was great to be able to experience it first hand.

Subsequent outings proved to be much less successful. Although eager to devour our large dry flies one day, future trips produced slow outings with the occasional nice fish. Waters nearby provided some action but everything failed to live up to that one afternoon. Myself and a few other anglers just timed it right and reaped the rewards. As the days went by, I began looking for other waters that held cicadas so I could replicate that experience of being the first to cast a cicada dry fly into a body of water.

Targeting areas of shade and structure proved to be highly effective...

Good male brown...

Fish also struck at the end of the drift as the cicada swung in the current...

Popping was effective too...