Carnage on the River

The great circle of life. One generation grows and prospers, only to pass the torch to the next. Yeah, that sounds good, but if you’ll think about it, that circle of life consists partly (fifty percent, I suppose) of death. Out there in the natural world, a generation of animals will thrive only at the expense of someone or something else. I suppose that works for plants, too. Kudzu smothers everything in its path.

Keith Oakes and I saw the death side of that circle on display last May on the Clinch River. We both are fly fishermen. No, let me re-phrase that. We both fly fish. Calling ourselves “fly fisherman” somehow sounds like we should be good at it. Saying “we fly fish” sounds a bit more modest, not to mention true.

We drove up to the Clinton and Norris area and wound around a few back roads to a certain boat ramp that provides access to the river downstream from Norris Dam. This boat ramp is no great secret, but being a fisherman – I mean, being a guy who fishes – I just can’t bring myself to give too many details. I’ve rarely been accused of having too many ethics, but there is a certain code among guys who fish about giving too much information.

So we arrived at the boat ramp, put my old canoe in the water, and paddled a few minutes to a nice spot where we could get out and wade among the shoals and moving water. Fly fishing for trout usually involves wading in knee to waist deep water, looking for the occasional splash of a fish feeding on some bug on or near the surface. And on this day in early May that’s exactly what we found – rainbow trout feeding on Sulfur Mayflies.

In the five or six hours that we were on the river, there was a steady trickle of Sulfurs coming off the surface and flying away to the trees. Or, that’s what is supposed to happen. The trout and the birds do their best to interrupt that water-to-tree migration.

We’d wade around until we’d see or hear a splash of a trout nabbing a mayfly off the surface. When we’d hear a splash, we could usually find the spot by locating the ring of ripples moving downstream. We’d cast there, letting our fly float repeatedly over the spot until the fish decided to take it. Or, if you are really into watching the natural cycle unfold, you can watch that general vicinity as another Sulfur floats by and is sucked in by the fish. Occasionally, a mayfly will bounce along the surface, trying to fly away on tender, new wings, when a trout will jump out of the water and take it in mid-air. The poor mayflies have no defense against this attack from below. In fact, the only thing that guarantees their species’ survival is their massive numbers. Like an army, individuals are expendable; it’s the species that must survive. And it does.

And the death-scene got even worse. An army of insect-eating birds – tree swallows and cliff swallows – moved in as reinforcements. I’d often find myself watching a mayfly who had escaped the fish’s jaws flying away, only to be picked out of mid-air be a speeding swallow. These birds are so fast and sleek that it sometimes looks like the bug just disappears in mid-air, right before your eyes.

Death from below and death from above. It was pure carnage; death was everywhere. It was pretty cool… but also a bit sobering. Every moment of every day, we are surrounded by death on a massive scale. Invisible, relentless slaughter. It happens in the dirt, in the air, on TVA lakes and rivers, in front yards, and on mountain peaks.

We live in a fallen world where death not only happens, it happens often, and everywhere. It’s the rule, not the exception. And yet, from death, life comes. In fact, because of death, life comes. I think I see some religious symbolism here. The death of One brings life to another. Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’ve heard that before, somewhere.

The only ones not involved in the killing were Keith and me. We were catching fish (a lot of them, actually), but we always threw them back. Nevertheless, by the end of the day, even I got in on the killing: I had a tuna sub at Subway. A fish and a tomato died that I might eat. I know, not very dramatic. But like I said, the great circle of life and death happens everywhere, even indoors under fluorescent lights.