​Note: The photograph at the end of this article is from totallycoolpix.com.

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     On the Moose River in Rockwood, Maine is a hydroelectric dam, and below the dam is about one mile of wadeable pools and riffles.  This is an excellent fishery with varying numbers of Brook Trout, Landlocked Salmon and the occasional Togue (Lake Trout).  At times, there are many fish in this stretch of river, and late May usually marks the beginning of the influx of fish from Moosehead lake- the largest lake in Maine at 80,000 acres.  It is one of my favorite places to fish in May and June when the mayflies are hatching.           

         

     I was fishing there with Max one afternoon when the fish began rising to largely invisible flies.  I could not see the flies, so I could only assume that the fish were taking emergers before they made it to the surface.  These were mayflies.  As nymphs, they crawl out of their hiding places amongst the rocks and debris on the bottom of the river.  Then they float to the surface, break out of their nymphal shucks, dry their wings, and within seconds, fly off to the relative safety of the alders and brush lining the bank of the river.  

 

     It was in the transition from nymph to dun (Their first adult stage where they flew off on their newly dried wings) just beneath the surface of the river, where the fish were eating the mayflies.  I knew this because the fish were swirling and lunging at the flies near the surface of the water, but not on the surface where we would be able to actually see the flies.  ​ 

         

     The fish had probably been gulping them down under the surface for some time before I became aware of the developing hatch.  As it progressed some of the flies began to pop to the surface, dry their wings and fly off.  As time passed more of the flies were becoming duns and the fish began to thrash and chase the duns, instead of the emergers, before the flies could take to the air and escape the ravenous, boiling fish.  It was very exciting to see flies struggling to escape the rising fish and to see the fish boisterously chasing the escaping flies.

           

     It is a marvel that most people never see.  Many people would not see the fleeing flies and chasing fish in this natural drama if they were standing where we were, waist deep in the river, surrounded by the frenzy unfolding right before their eyes.  Curiously, it is natural to see what one is looking for and to filter out that which is not understood or is not familiar. 

 

     I often take friends fishing and they are not even aware of what is going on around them- and on this day, Max was one of the people not seeing it.  His fishing heritage is worm dunking- meat fishing.  It never occurred to him that he should be watching the surface of the river for clues about what was going on around him. 

 

     He could see the rocks and trees under the water in the pools and runs of the river.  He was looking right through the hubbub on the surface, into the dark depths of the water for clues as to what was happening.  It stunned me that he could miss the action right in front of his eyes, but as I said before; one sees what one is looking for.    

 

     “How can you not see them Max?” I asked, “They’re everywhere!”  It took Max half and hour to begin seeing what I was seeing, and that was because I was pointing, talking and gesturing like a madman.          

           All that Max could say was, “I see a few bugs flying around, but for the life of me I can’t see where they’re coming from.”

 ​          I thought to myself, “This is too weird!  He’ll see them when he figures out what to look for.”  I continued talking and gesturing, just trying to get him to see the spectacle right there in front of him, next to him and behind him.  As the minutes passed, Max saw more and more of the flies and the fish chasing them at the surface.  It was a revelation, he had never looked at the water that way, and it was like seeing for the first time. 

 

     The human mind filters out so much of what goes on around us as a way of reducing clutter and preventing sensory overload.  Sometimes it is more important to deal with whatever seems most critical to our survival or existence than it is to see what is right in front of us.  The rest is just glossed over, blotted out, deleted. Why is it so difficult to exist here and now?

         

     It was beginning to get late; the shadows were stretching out and the sun was nearing the horizon.  I looked up to gauge how much light was left when I saw one of the most amazing sights I have ever seen.  In looking at the water, the flies and the fish- I had not even looked up.  I had almost missed the most spectacular part of the show.  I was not looking for it and, consequently, I was not seeing it. 

          

     About ten feet above the water in a cloud so thick that it blotted out a good part of the remaining light were millions of mayflies.  Not to exaggerate, they were in a dense cloud all the way to the dam upstream, and as far as we could see to a bend in the river, a quarter of a mile downstream.  As we faced toward the bend in the river, we could see the thick mat of insects filling the entire riverbed all the way to the tops of the trees in an undulating ribbon.  It moved in waves as the gentle breeze drifted downstream through the teeming millions of individual flies locked in the dance of procreation.

 

     We were awestruck by the display of verdant life.  I felt foolish having chided Max about missing what was so obvious to me when I was oblivious to nature’s grand display but a few feet above our heads.   My filters work too, and I bet you thought this was just another fishing story!