Don't Fear the Reaper...

Dead mayflies, July 2nd, 2006 - Trempeleau, Wisconsin

On June 30^th, 2006, I was en route to an artists’ retreat outside of Duluth, Minnesota.  On the way, I had planned to spend a couple nights in a very unique 19^th century hostelry, the Trempeleau Hotel, on the Mississippi River (north of La Crosse) in Trempeleau, Wisconsin.

That evening, as I was getting ready for bed, I noticed lots of bugs flying against my window screen. The next morning, the sidewalk was covered with dead, winged insects.  I asked a local in the laundromat around the corner what they were, and the elderly gentleman told me all about the annual Mayfly Hatch.

The nymphs (larvae) of the Mayfly live and develop underwater, in the muddy bottoms of rivers and streams. For a couple days in the summer, they leave the river and become adults, which mate in dancing swarms of winged frenzy after the sun goes down.  They only live a couple days, at most, during which time they lay their eggs over water and die.

They’re harmless, but sometimes the bridges across the river have to be shut down when the layer of smashed, dead bugs become too slippery for safe travel. This particular year the hatch was so huge it showed up on the National Weather Service’s Doppler radar.

On July 1^st, the Trempeleau Hotel hosted a small rock concert at their outdoor stage featuring Blue Oyster Cult.  The concert started well before dark and the hotel grounds were packed with people sitting on blankets or in lawn chairs. 

The music was great, but long about dark, the second night's swarm of mayflies arrived.  I’ll never forget the surreal sight of thousands of flying insects dancing (and mating) to Don’t Fear the Reeper in the sky overhead. That song was absolutely perfect for the natural phenomenon of the brief and frantic “love story” taking place above and around us. The crowd became a sea of flailing arms as people tried in vain to keep the annoying bugs out of their hair. The band played a few more songs after that, and it was the first time I was ever glad for a concert to be over.

The next morning I went out in the street and took pictures (above) of the mounds and drifts of dead mayflies, especially thick under the light poles. They smelled like dead fish.

Many months later, I was surprised to see a short article about the unusually large Mayfly Hatch of 2006 in the National Geographic.  It’s a travel memory I’ll never forget… a bit of serendipity, being in the right place at the right time to witness Nature Living Large.