Brood X: Big Trout Cicada Chaos

 I almost didn't even try. My familiarity with the extent and distribution of Brood X as well as my complete lack of experience fishing the trout waters of Western Maryland added up to a big uncertainty. But my second day looking for carp and cats was slow... I got shots of rising carp and I caught some smallmouth, and the photos from that day will at least end up on my Patreon page, but the fishing was brutally frustrating. So on my final day, and at the very end, I headed the opposite direction from home. I'd heard good things from Western Maryland, and I hoped I'd find both cicadas and wild trout feeding on them. 

I went through a couple of areas on the highway on my way west where I was splattering enough cicadas to worry about my windshield. Then, when I got off the main drag onto some lovely winding back roads I left my windows open. Often enough, I passed through an area where the bugs were deafening. I was starting to get pretty confident when I found myself parked next to a gorgeous stretch of pocket water with loads of cicadas around. Maybe it would happen after all! 

An hour later I was starting to have my doubts. The water was gorgeous and there were plenty of the periodical cicadas around, but I just wasn't getting reactions. That was precisely when a 16 inch brown torpedoed my fly and made me a believer. I missed him, but at least I knew it could work.

Not that long later, I got the first of a pair of football shaped stocker rainbows to hand on the Cicada. They certainly weren't what I was looking for but at least lifted my spirits.

I quickened my pace, sensing that the sun was on its way down. Rounding the next bend I took a spill, whacking my hand as well as my knee and shin on rocks. I got up feeling that sense that I'd be very sore in the morning, and that the river now owed me something. That is never a good thing to feel. If you feel owed a fish, you will not get it. 

That came back to bite me a short time later when an 18 inch wild brown came up and smoked my big foam cicada. I set the hook pretty well, I though. The fish tore downstream before doing some serious, powerful, deep digs. Then it just came off, leaving me standing there, slumped and dejected. There was another angler just downstream, so I opted to leave that stretch and go elsewhere. So began a short time of driving semi-aimlessly, wasting daylight, wishing I'd gotten there earlier. 

Finally I settled on an entirely different and much larger river. There I struggled to find fishy water for a little while. When I did, I missed the first fish that ate then broke of the next. Both were browns and clearly very nice ones. I was really starting to hurt now, both physically and mentally. 

But the day is always darkest right before the dawn. In this case, it was darkest for me right before the sun set. Then a football shaped male brown took my cicada, fought like a demon, and actually let me touch and photograph it. Yup, he wasn't the biggest, but I felt I'd actually earned that one. And he was gorgeous. 

Then, just 30 feet away, another good fish ate. I stuck her and like her smaller male friend she fought like an absolute psycho. This one was particularly nice. Again, not huge, but impressive in stature. It was pretty clear how full of cicadas these trout were. 

That was that, mostly. I did catch a tiny wild rainbow towards the end but those two browns, caught in quick succession, were the beginning and end of my Brood X trout success. I was happy with that. I'd gotten a couple fantastic fish from water I didn't know at all with very minimal research. All I had was prior experience in similar fisheries to go off of. Until you really know the fish in your neighborhood, you can't expect to know how to catch the same fish anywhere else they exist. 

I started heading home that night. My periodical cicada pilgrimage had ended. It was a hell of an experience. Not long after I'd return home, these bugs would finish their breeding and die. The woods would be quiet again, but the eggs of the next generation would be hidden away in dark places. I hope to encounter I get to encounter the next generation when the emerge in 17 years. I don't know where I'll be though, so I'm glad I got to experience it this time. But for now, our story ends in a cold river in Western Maryland, where a beaten and bruised angler stood smiling, looking at a sunset and woods full of cicadas that had gone quiet for the night.

Until next time, 

Fish for the love of fish.

Fish for the love of places fish live.

Fish for you.

And stay safe and healthy.

Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Leo, C, Franky, Geof, Luke, and Noah for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version. I truly would not be able to keep this going without you wonderful folks!