The hex was on...the large but ephemeral mayflies written through the ages, rise quickly to the surface, popping above the water in an instant. Ephemeral in their one day as an adult, spending a year in an underwater stage only to shed that existance for one day to live, fly, and die, in the beauty of another world. Drying angel wings and stumbling off the water was evidence enough to the perils of this last day. Flowing with the current in this ancient struggle of procreation as they dry those wings that lift off into the clouds of mating above the riffles only to drop dying, spent with wings flat on the water. By the thousands they perform this mating dance. Some to completion...most to be dismissed by the trout or a thousand other dangers to this ritual of the ancients. Evolved with a mouth not able to eat is symbolic of the adult mafly. Its sole purpose to mate and carry on the de-evolution of its species back to another life in mother water.
Her name was Angela and she was fully alive with her life ahead...living in a beauty that is hers alone. I had crossed her path without knowing...and only later recognized the connection to these mayflies. Ephemeral too, in her life cut short. Ever the witness, the angler. I wish I wasn't...but, am glad I was. Somebody had to be that witness. Even though the writing was clear I could not see it at first. But, I had heard the shots that night. And I did remember the night of the mayflies.
It was a night of chasing the hex hatch like many others...not spectacular like the night of the fireworks and the big hexagenia nymphs rising from their burrows in the silt along the banks of Black Earth Creek. That night they had performed their dance under the brilliant fireworks of the home revelers across the river from me who had lit the sky for the entire hatch...performing their ritual to perfection in a mirror of reds, yellows, blues, and whites on the smooth water. The trout obliged and I obliged the trout...catching big browns as long as my arm, rising in the reflections, under this once in a lifetime light show. Perfection for an angler to behold that night. But, not so this next evening.
It was more about my friends wanting to go fishing with me. The story of the mirrored reflections was just too great...but, the hatch too is short lived, lasting only a week or ten days by my journals. My friends didn't know this...they just wanted the trout. I wanted the mayflies...the trout would follow. As did the predators this night...I was a witness. Not as the angler...but, the guide. Even more the witness to be a guide, unlike the angler the guide must always speak truth. Because of truth I could no longer be one after this evening. The wings of an angel wouldn't let me. I had experienced that light show knowing it could never happen again, but, my friends had me trapped by my own words. I had to take them. It was a good thing they did. I was about to enter another world of life under the surface...in fear and questioning my own courage. But I had that image of the guide to protect. Just a night like any other night...of the hex. Or so I thought. My own life would catch up to me.
The fishing was poor that dusk to dark evening...we had each caught some trout but my stories had raised expectations and I felt obligated to visit with my friends afterwords at the Black Earth bowling alley over a martini and a beer. Just enough to have me streaking home at 100 mph along the back country roads next to Blackhawk ridge to Sauk city and the bridge over the Wisconsin river. Crowds spilled out of the small bar on the corner as I sat at the stoplight on the bridge in the now silent BMW. Amazing to me later that silence. For all the excitement of a Saturday night in small town America I was unaware. But, still at this moment our paths crossed, the unintended consequences began.
She was eighteen having just graduated from high school. The parties and life of the recent high school graduate is not unusual. Forward is the motto...or as I like to tell graduates, timing in life is everything. Remember that...timing is critical to this story. That first week in June is perilous to high school graduates. Common knowledge...for survivors. Like the mayfly, living life on the edge before knowing that is where they are. Indulging a new found freedom...to emerge with an instinctual relationship to the future dance. Not to be criticized...remember that, too. After the graduation party this dance began with another party...with her family and friends. The party was innocent enough...especially for high school students. A band and friends. But, that night she looked to emerge from her cap and gown and it was only a short drive along the Wisconsin river to Hondos in Sauk City. The crowd spilled out into the street as I sat at the stop light on the bridge crossing her path along highway 60 with mine on highway 78. Its that number eighteen again...like I tell other 18 year old graduates. Be a survivor....
The adult youths all looked the same to me...I had my own problems. It was a warm night and I envied their health and abiltiy to still have a good time on a night out. Age was beginning to set in and by my later 30's I could tell its affects. Possibly resentment as I drove off when the light turned green...but, I did turn my head to see as much of the dance as I could. I imagine the youth of a young boy or girl turning to adulthood in such an atmosphere and remember those I knew that didn't survive. An age old part of the dance I know the effects of too well. A scar for survivors that never heals and will always show. This hot summer night was ripe for those scars of the heat.
I raced the last six miles home in the BMW trying to make up for going in the first place. I knew it wasn't good for my marriage. But, also knowing it was over and had been for a long time. Still...I pounded the coupe through the driftless hills and valleys for the kids to see me in the morning. It was after 2:00 am and a Saturday night...what would she think. The same thing she always did...my past was my future. I wasn't looking forward to it...sliding into the driveway as silently as I could and treading lightly up the porch stairs into the house. All was quiet. Too quiet...
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