By Mike Watts
It was dark when I left the river and began the journey back up the mountain. Finding the path was challenging with no light. I’ve been on it many times, but at night, things look entirely different. I had decided to fly fish this one particular section until dusk and then walk out before dark. It was a good plan except that I stayed too long.
My flashlight was left lying in my fishing bag in the back of the truck, and my famous last words were, “I won’t need it.” It had been a good evening standing in the river and fishing. I didn’t catch a basketful of fish. I had to work hard for the one fish I did catch, which made it more memorable.
Unfortunately, that one fish made me fish too late. Now I faced a steep walk uphill in the dark with no light. I blamed my circumstances on the fish. If only it had bitten my fly sooner, I wouldn’t have been in this predicament and on my way home.
I hoped the moon would rise over the mountain and light the path, but it didn’t. It was one of those dark nights when even the stars didn’t have their usual amount of glimmer. It‘s always strange walking in the woods when it’s so dark after fishing late. In my mind, I could picture my flashlight lying there useless. The only thing worse than not having it would have been if the batteries had died on my way out.
Fortunately, there was an old, half-rotted wooden bench near the halfway point on my dark journey back. I decided to stop and rest for a few minutes once I reached the bench. Walking uphill while wearing waders was tough. Being out here at night, trying to recall all the landmarks from the daylight walk and piecing together the puzzle felt a bit overwhelming, and self-doubt crept in. The mountain’s faint outline appeared higher from the bottom. Many intersecting paths converged with this one, which kept me alert and second-guessing my footsteps.
Finally, I remembered where the path made a sharp turn at a large oak tree with a root sticking high across the path. How could I forget that? It almost caused me to trip while walking downhill earlier. Have I passed it yet? Instead of watching where my footsteps were taking me, I kept looking uphill until I could finally see the outline of the tree. Feeling relieved, I knew the bench would be nearby.
Either the hill was a lot steeper in the dark, or I was walking slower. Finally arriving at the bench and hoping it was sturdy enough to hold me, I took a much-needed break. I was out of breath and had a racing heart that needed to slow down.
Listening carefully, I could hear the river below resonating with its melodic music as water churned over and around the many boulders. This was the perfect time to sit and think about nothing but the one fish I caught and released, rest, and quietly enjoy the evening, listening. Then, after a few minutes, I would feel refreshed and ready to finish my hike back.
Maybe I hadn’t noticed them as I was walking, but lightning bugs were flashing all around me. Concentrating on the path upwards kept me from looking around much. It seemed like hundreds of them would appear instantly, quickly lighting their lanterns and illuminating the hillside with a brief burst of yellow. Then the flashes would fade, leaving only a few lone stragglers glowing, and then it repeated. They had a captive audience with me on the bench.
Looking at my watch was no longer necessary. I was already late; what’s a few extra minutes? Sitting there, enjoying the light show brought back warm memories. Reflecting, I could vividly remember a little boy on the lawn with my younger brother and sister. Each of us carried a mason jar that Dad had punctured with nail holes on the top. We ran around the yard laughing, chasing lightning bugs, and trying to see who could catch the most. Afterwards, Dad made us empty them back out so they could continue brightening the early summer night. Those were good times.
And then I saw it, bringing me back to the present. Among all the lightning bugs with their instant burst of brilliance was a different set of flashes. Taking notice, I scoured the woods intently, looking for them again. It wasn’t a figment of my imagination. Surely I wasn’t dreaming.
These lightning bugs stayed lit much longer than the others—about 5-6 seconds—and their yellow glow had a bluish-green fluorescent tint, making them appear more iridescent and brighter. Some would light up and hold their glow indefinitely. Excited to see them, I wondered why I hadn’t noticed them here before. With their extended glow lasting so much longer, these bugs looked enormous. I could only imagine how bright a jar full of them would be.
I wasn’t about to leave the performance where I had a free, front-row seat. Watching the flickers of fireflies with their short fuses, along with the others flying among them and staying lit, was totally mesmerizing. Time stood still in my world at that moment. What appeared to be hours was probably only a few minutes, but eventually their light beams flickered more sporadically, and their numbers diminished.
After researching later, I discovered these were the “Blue Ghost” fireflies of the Appalachians. Some parts of the mountains had large populations, though this area was less crowded than most I had read about. It was a privilege to see them. I returned several evenings in a row, noticing their numbers seemed to dwindle each night.
Finally, it was time to leave the bench and finish my uphill hike. Maybe it was fate or just being in the right place at the right time, but I felt lucky to be here and glad I had left my flashlight in the truck. Otherwise, I would have walked out with it shining down the path and probably never looked up to see nature’s light show. As I grabbed my fly rod to walk the last part of my trip back to the truck, I almost forgot I had come here to fish. I was so captivated and lost in the fireflies.
Driving back down the dirt road, I felt renewed. I thought about not only the fireflies but the river and the fish I struggled to catch tonight. Despite all the efforts, the night that almost went fishless turned out to be incredible. The constant yellow flickering of summer fireflies and the yellow, bluish-green hue of the “Blue Ghost” made this a magical fishing trip to remember. Evenings like this remind me to appreciate each journey and not forget it’s more about the experience than just catching a fish.
Mike Watts, the Publisher of riversandfeathers, is also a freelance writer, and author of two books, “Riverbank Memories” and a children’s book, “Pond Fishing with Papa,” available on Amazon.
