
All of the children came rushing into the kitchen. They were abuzz about the the bug they had found. It was big. It looked like an alien. It was dead. Quickly my wife corrected them. It is just the husk. The cicada got rid of this, shook it’s new wings, and flew away. Now there is a cicada shell on the window sill directly above the kitchen sink.
Washing dishes tonight, I started thinking about cicadas and the fish that love them. Giant trout that throw caution to the wind for these big, buzzing mouthfuls. Fish I’ve caught.
My first cicada “hatch” came the year after I moved to Pennsylvania. The fledgling fly fishing internet message boards tracked the bugs as their historic emergence happened across the commonwealth. Valley after valley, creek after creek, the cicadas would appear. Fisheries that usually required midges and tiny cress bugs were now tolerating 3X and size 2 foam flies. Most importantly, big fish were feeding with reckless abandon. The cicadas brought everyone out.









