Back Lake Hex Hatch Update: 6/25

We’re about half way through the annual hexagenia hatch on Back Lake and it’s been a great one so far. It has been true to form for the most part – a smattering of hexes hatching early on in the evening, but the real hatch begins as the sun sinks behind the hills to the west. That bit of darkening sky seems to bring the hexagenia out in full force, and needless to say, it does the same thing with the trout and bass.

Last night was a particularly illustrative example of the highs and lows of the hex hatch. I got out there early, 7 PM or so, and proceeded to educate a couple of bass and relax with a cigar, checking out a couple of other areas of the lake. By 8 PM, I was in my position for the remainder of the night, ready to do battle with hungry trout and angry bass (their red eyes make me think they could be of that disposition), and put my casting skills to the test.

Finally, around 8:30 there were some hexes making their appearance, and the momentum of the hatch and the fish that covet them built steadily as the sun set. A flat glassy surface (which sometimes makes things more challenging for us fly anglers) served as the canvas for the brush strokes of my casting. My casting might look more like a piece of “Modern” art, certainly not possessing the beauty of the art masters. Most nights it gets the job done however.

I landed several rainbows and a bass in that first half hour, and that’s when disaster struck. I noticed after my last fish that my fly line was in a tangle. A literal birds nest of line, loops and knots. Hopelessly tangled, but I’ve tackled things like this before and come out on the other end. This should be no problem – it’s fly line, not a leader or tippet that I’m trying to fix.

That commenced about fifteen minutes of one of the most excruciating fishing moments I’ve had. Trying to hurriedly untangle a fly line while hexes are hatching in abundance and fish are literally throwing caution to the wind in their feeding, as light fades and darkness takes over was brutal. The fish seemed to be everywhere around my boat, but I ignored them. The hoots and hollers of successful anglers in nearby boats? Disregarded. The exaltations of the numerous wading anglers fifty yards away from my boat? Cast aside.

It was all to no avail for me. Instead of the trout beating me last night, my knotty fly line did me in. Seeking refuge in the Rainbow Grille’s Tavern, I journeyed in at 9:20, defeated by my tangled line and dashed hopes. There’s always tomorrow …