June 25, 2000

Mayflies make June tough for Lake Erie walleye fishermen

By Matt Markey
Outdoors columnist

Mayflies make June tough for Lake Erie walleye fishermen

As the large boat came to a gentle, bobbing stop about six miles off-shore, a look of concern was cemented on the faces of the six fishermen. In the morning mist, they could not see the shoreline on the horizon.

What they could see in every direction was cause for great trepidation. The surface of the near-calm lake was carpeted with the husks of mayfly nymphs. They swayed back and forth like a massive, interwoven blanket, seemingly sealing off the walleyes the fishermen had hoped were waiting below.

This is not the kind of greeting the fishermen had dreamed about the night before. They expected to board the stout, 26-foot hardtop Sportcraft, skim across Lake Erie's surface in the early morning haze, and then find chunky, hungry walleyes everywhere. It is the same dream walleye fishermen spin a thousand times each year the night before a Lake Erie charter boat fishing trip.

But this is June and this is 2000, and the mayflies are back. And when they hatch by the millions, they can fill an awful lot of walleye stomachs in a hurry. And that is a nightmare for fishermen.

The mayflies all but disappeared from the lake in the 1950s and 1960s, yet another victim of the pollution and monster algae bloom that turned the lake into an ugly and smelly oversized catch basin.

Fast forward to the last couple of decades after Lake Erie made a miraculous rebound and gamefish stocks had increased dramatically in a healthier, cleaner body of water. A while later, along came the mayflies, able to reach plague-like numbers once again in their dramatically improved surroundings.

The mayfly nymphs live in the mucky bottom of the lake. They breathe through gills, like fish, and feed on the minute particles of organic matter that fall to the lake's dark floor. The nymphs pop toward the surface when they reach adulthood, spring from their casings, and after a prolonged episode of clumsy gymnastics, fly off to mate and die. They live for a day without eating, and are history.

But many millions end up as gourmet snacks for fish, birds, and any other critter that is opportunistic enough to take advantage of the endless smorgasbord. And that is what worries our fishermen-if the walleyes have stuffed themselves all night on fresh mayflies, they might not be interested at all in what the fishermen have to offer.

The anglers have reason to fret. When the mayflies hatch, usually starting in late May and continuing for about six to eight weeks through a peak in mid-June, they can change the complexion of just about everything around the lake, not only the fishing.

Mayflies have emerged in such great numbers that they have blocked the ventilation on electrical transformers and caused power outages. They have covered street lights, darkening entire neighborhoods. They land in picnic lunches, splatter windshields to the point they make driving unsafe, and can make a day at the beach turn into an Alfred Hitchcock movie.

When mayflies cover the doors, windows and sidewalks of lakefront communities like Port Clinton, it looks like a "B" movie version of one of the biblical plagues of Egypt. They can make life miserable for humans, especially fishermen.

On this June day, the electronic fish finder said yes. The screen was dotted with numerous fish, most massed near the lake's bottom. The alarm on the fish finder finally had to be turned off-it was such an annoying interruption in the eerie silence of a rare calm day on the big lake. While the fish finder screamed FISH!, the reality of the situation was that these fish were not interested in eating.

But this group of anglers doggedly pursued the walleyes. They tried jigs with worm harnesses, bouncing them off the bottom right in front of the walleyes' noses. They drifted as best you could drift on this particular day, dangling weight-forward spinners tipped with worms at a variety of depths. Then the fishermen tried the tactic of last resort in the eyes of most purists-trolling.

Lines were rigged with a number of lures fashioned to imitate the small fish that make up a big part of the walleyes diet. The boat zigged and zagged across the wide expanse of Lake Erie's flat basin.

Everywhere was the same-a screen full of walleyes on the fish finder, the surface littered with mayfly debris, and a six-pack of long faces staring out of the boat at the not-too-pretty picture in front of them.

Fishermen too often take their place in the food chain for granted. They expect to catch fish every day, any place they try. They think they can jump in front of such all-natural, tasty treats like mayflies, and convince the walleyes to bite on metal and plastic and fiberglass occasionally dressed with something wormy.

This group was persistent, and they found a few fish too dumb to know when to quit. They caught a couple trolling, a couple casting, and a lone four-pounder with the jigging method. All of the fish shared one especially endearing feature-they were pigs. They were so full of mayflies they couldn't keep them all down.

Five fish after four hours does not a successful fishing trip make, but after their pessimistic start, this group was relieved it did not come back empty. The big lake, home to millions of the prized walleyes, had given up just a few, but it was enough for a meal.

Not enough for seconds, but that was the real lesson on this day. The fish that were gluttons paid with their lives. The fishermen would not have that option.

Matt Markey