Hex Hatch 2018: Initiation

Like most stories, this one starts with a conversation. Dean and I are at the fly shop in Green Bay, resupplying and getting a fresh spool of line on my reel. I inquire of the old man behind the counter about the famous central Wisconsin hexagenia (hex for short) hatch. “Oh yeah, they’re hatching.” He says dryly, his view still fixed out of the front window. The other shop worker, a young guy with his long hair up in a man bun, yells out from the spooling room. “You better get out there man, it’s on and it won’t be on much longer.” Dean and I glance at each other, telepathically making plans on the spot. Never having fly fished for trout at night before, we start asking questions. Foremost, can we use a headlamp? “Nope’ll spook ’em.” The young guy pops his head out and adds, “Word to the wise, it can get downright scary out there man. Those huge trout start surfacing and it sounds like a deer is crashing into the stream right in front of you. Just scope it out before hand and don’t move around much.” Making an exception to my self-imposed “buy no fly” rule, I picked up a handful of the oversized mayfly patterns, rather ingenious in their construction. My favorite pattern uses a synthetic glow-in-the-dark material for the parachute post.

A bit of background for those unfamiliar with what the hex hatch is all about, this is the hatch in Wisconsin and the Great Lakes region. For roughly two weeks every summer, the giant mayflies of the genus hexagenia emerge from their nymphal shells in massive quantities around nightfall. The large amount of calories available in large numbers, brings out the largest of trout. These are trout that you quite literally will never catch at any other time of the year. I’m talking about the bruiser cannibal trout that hide in the gnarliest of log jams and might leave once a week to feast on a small to medium sized trout. Twenty plus inchers aren’t uncommon. The hex hatch releases their reclusive inhibitions, possessing them to feed with a reckless fervor. Or so I’ve been told.

It’s no secret that perhaps the most famous stream to fish the hex hatch on is the Mecan River. With dozens of access points throughout its range, Dean and I were hoping to scout out one with: a) good structure to house large trout; b) open casting lanes to avoid snagging up in the dark; and c) a spot not far from the parking lot to avoid a long hike in the dark. Pulling into and surveying the first spot and it appears that we found a winner. Rains earlier in the day left the stream flowing high and the color of chocolate milk, but the area had promise. A short hike led to two different relatively structure filled and open sections. Check. With roughly 4 hours til nightfall, we took our chance and moved on to scout more spots. Most of these required a decent hike to reach and were eliminated on principle. Others were too brushy or were already occupied with fisherman. We decided to head back to Spot One with 3 hours to go.

To our delight, we arrived back to find an empty parking area. Risking the chance of spoiling the area by pre-fishing was out of the question. We spent the remainder of the time seated on a fallen tree to the side of the car; sorting through gear, cracking dill flavored sunflower seeds and dreaming of starting a bluegrass band with a running title of Bluegrass On the Fly. (pending…) Occasionally a car would drive by slowly, some of which were unmistakably trouty. Two Amish men passed by in their horse drawn buggy with 2 hours to go.

Weather reports leading up to the day looked rather pedestrian and even ideal for a hatch. Hot and humid during the day and straddling 70’s into the evening. Dark clouds rolled in as well as a worried text from Mom with a yellow and red radar screenshot just as my phone blinked dead with 1 hour to go.

Final preparations were made and we headed into the woods to take our respective positions. Not nearly nightfall yet, but soon approaching. Realizing we may not make it to the hatch, Dean started swinging a streamer through a deep bend. I made my way upstream as a crack of thunder ruptured in the distance. Positioned, I scanned the air. As if clockwork, a mayfly the size of a hummingbird rose from the shoreline. Soon others followed. “They’re hatching!!” I scream downstream. Meanwhile, the steady drone of thunder and rainfall rolled towards us like a train; uncompromising and inevitable. The excitement of the hatch was soon followed by the orders, “Oh ****, run!” A heavy rain pelted down as I fumbled for my head lamp switch. The forest offered little shelter or comfort, our excitement was extinguished as if by a snuffer.

Eventually we arrived back at the car, using the backdoor as a shield as we stripped from our wet waders. We sped back to the cabin through the dark and heavy rain, blasting bluegrass and reminiscing on our first and only chance at the hex hatch this summer.

Hex Hatch 2019: it can only go up from here.