Bugs thick as flakes in a winter snowsquall

Bugs thick as flakes in a winter snowsquall
                        

Last weekend my wife talked me into camping along the shore of Lake Erie with a bunch of her friends from high school. I had initially resisted based entirely on the fact that I’ve got a thousand and one things to accomplish around our place this summer and seemingly not a moment to spare.

I agreed to indulge her only when she swore she’d excuse me from any real or perceived deadlines for the rest of the summer. It turned out to be one of the better deals I’ve made. I had a wonderful time at the lake. (We’ll see if she holds up her end of the bargain.)

Camped in a grove of walnut trees at a primitive group site, a great deal of thought was given to the placement of each couple’s tents. Weather, neighbors and the downwind drift of campfire smoke were all discussed and considered until the perfect balance was struck and we each staked our claim. As it turned out, wood smoke and noisy neighbors were to be the least of our worries. The fair breeze that blew in off the lake beginning at sunset brought a complication altogether different than anything a bunch of “terrestrial” Ohioans could have conjured.

It started with the delicate brush of wings against my leg as we gathered around the campfire telling stories. Reflexively presuming a mosquito, firefly or adventurous stinkbug, I gave the unseen creature a quick brush and ended up with a spat the size of quarter on my leg! Not willing to crush the mood by drawing attention to the incident, I said nothing. Seconds later Kristin shooed away a large flying bug that had dropped right into her hair from above. Then, within the next few moments our campfire was inundated with flying insects coming from every direction. An effort to simply identify the perpetrators by flicking on a flashlight was like a scene from a horror film as hundreds of the winged creatures dove toward the light!

Kristin and I had experienced mayflies once before many years ago when we’d ventured to Port Clinton at the tail end of a hatch. The locals told us how they’d spent the past few days prior to our arrival scraping bugs from the sidewalks with snow shovels. We’d thought they were exaggerating. What we saw last weekend convinced us otherwise.

Although some may regard them as a pestilence, scourge or biblical plague, those who love the lake should embrace them as sign of a healthy environment. Clean water and a high oxygen content are must haves for the delicate, if seemingly over-abundant creatures. A relative of the dragonflies and damselflies that we find in abundance inland, the mayfly makes its mark around the globe with over 3,000 individual species. Over 700 of those species reside in North America and are an incredibly important factor strand in the food web.

Hatching by the millions, the winged adults appear on Doppler weather radar as enormous clouds, riding the wind and working to make the most of their 24 to 48 hours of full maturity. In this time they must mate on the wing then return to the water to lay eggs. Shortly thereafter the delicate insects perish from exhaustion, having used up their entire store of energy in the effort. Indeed the very name of their order, Ephemeroptera, comes from the Greek language as the term for short-lived.

With no usable mouth parts, and nothing with which to sting, the bugs are harmless, save for their tendency to pile up so thickly on sidewalks and roadways they can actually create a sliding hazard. Area power companies briefly suspend use of street lamps to prevent such problems.

As for us inland Ohio landlubbers, mayflies simply afford yet another opportunity at making memories. “Remember that year we camped in a giant swarm of mayflies? That was just crazy!”

Remember, if you have comments on this column or questions about the natural world please write The Rail Trail Naturalist, P.O. Box 170, Fredericksburg, OH 44627 or email John at jlorson@alonovus.com. You can also follow along on Instagram @railtrailnaturalist.


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