A small miracle

“Oh Lord, why did

you make so many cedar waxwings?”

— The old grouch

While attending a meeting of the “bamboo gang” up on the East Branch of the Delaware, I made a poor decision. Despite being told the water above their campground was devoid of trout, I went to the area to see for myself. Their camp sits at the middle of a long island that braids the flow of the East Branch. I very slowly made my way upstream to the tip of the island, (at my age low gear is the only speed still functioning), and then waded about 500 yards down the far side of the island to its lower tip. My trip was in vain. Despite a steady hatch of small sulphur duns and very trouty looking water, not one trout rose to feed. Twice I took a comfortable seat on the bank and watched and waited. I hoped that as the early evening light merged toward dusk magical rings would appear on the surface of the current. They did not.

While seated, I watched the cedar waxwings obtaining their evening meal. The little duns had to run a deadly gauntlet, as they flew from the water toward the safety of the trees that grew on the bank. It is a miracle that there will be any of these flies hatching next year.

Keep in mind that for roughly 363 days, from egg to mature nymph, they live a precarious life on the rubble bottom of the stream. They must avoid the predatory nymphs of stone, dobson and dragonflies, plus the ever-present trout.

Toward the end of their 12th month of underwater life, a little understood signal causes the nymphs to rise to the surface and hatch. Many nymphs are eaten by the trout as they rise to the surface. Once they are floating in the surface tension, the back of the nymph’s exoskeleton splits and the mayfly “dun” struggles to emerge as it is carried along by the current. After emerging, most species float along with their wings up, looking like little sailboats, till their wing muscles are ready for flight. Their first attempt to fly often fails, as their wing muscles are not quite ready. A second takeoff attempt is usually successful. The fly is now known as a “dun,” and its flight is slow and lumbering. At this moment, the cedar waxwings begin to fly from their perches with lethal precision. I noticed these birds prefer not to perch on tree limbs with leaves but rather on dead twigs dangling from a live limb. Thus, there is nothing to obscure their vision as they watch for a rising dun. Once they spot a dun flying slowly toward the safety of the trees, the fate of that fly is sealed. The waxwings never miss.

Those few duns that reach the trees will shelter there for a day before once again undergoing a striking change. The dun will split its skin just like the nymph. The fly that emerges is now sexually mature and is known as a “spinner.” The light or dark gray color of the dun’s wings is now changed to glistening clear wings. Unlike the dun, the spinner is capable of rapid and acrobatic flight, which can allow it to dodge a hungry bird. Come evening, the males will gather in a swarm over the river. The females arrive later and fly into the male swarm. The males seize a female and mate in mid air. Well, I did mention that they were acrobatic.

After mating, the male falls exhausted to the water. The female flies off to deposit her fertilized eggs into the river. Having accomplished this, she grows weary and slowly descends to the water to be swept away. The trout feed on both the male and female spinners that have fallen to the water trapped by the surface tension. The miracle of another life cycle has begun.