Have you heard the call?  As the dawn warms to morning, a few clicks provide a clue, before warming into their work – individually at first, before joining the full chorus.

For the last couple of years, I’ve been trying to crack the Cicada flyfishing riddle on the Hutt River, after seeing Andrew Harding and Peter de Boer on a Season 3 Pure Fly NZ episode.  This year, finally, I’ve had a breakthrough, with many usually spooky fish rising to the occasion.

Some of these were sight-fished, but others were fished blind, up against banks and under willows.  They seemed to surface from nowhere, such is the lure of this single, substantial meal.

At this time of year, presentation doesn’t seem to matter quite as much.  In fact, as long as you don’t drape your line across the fish’s snout, a good splash down is more like the real thing.  I found that you can present a couple of feet of more to one side of a sighted fish and still easily attract its attention.

Early in cicada season, a common tactic is to add a dropper fly on the cicada, hedging your bets.  I admit that I enjoyed the mental challenge of this – keeping two scenarios in mind – either an immediate strike should the cicada indicator (cicadacator?) dip, or a gentler “one, two, lift” for a direct terrestrial take.  In the end, as the cicadas had been about for longer, I increasingly dispensed with the dropper, enjoying less wind-driven tangles, and just as much success.

A fascinating insect

I hadn’t really thought too much about cicadas until a conversation with a non-fisher mate over a beer.  Living up against a bush reserve in a warm and sheltered spot, he and his family sometimes struggled to sleep amid mid-season cicada madness. 

Some years are noisier than others, due to the prevalence of different ‘tribes’ amongst the 46 species in New Zealand.  After hatching from eggs deposited on leaves, cicada nymphs climb down and bury themselves in the soil, feeding on the sap of roots for three years or more.  (Far less than the famous Brood X of North America, which emerges in plague proportions every 17 years!)

Nymphs shed their skins several times while growing underground, before they climb into fresh air under cover of darkness for one final moult to emerge as an adult.  These discarded nymph skins are a common sight on trees and fence posts in summer.

Here they live their final few weeks, enough time for mates to be found and eggs to be laid.

And now the songs begin, for the males at least, as it is only the males that sing – mainly to attract a mate.  The sound is produced by the rapid contraction of ‘tymbals’ on their abdomen, producing rapid pulses.  The frequency and pattern of the pulses differs between species, and some add sound by deliberately clicking their wings against their perch.

As with all insects, their short life above ground is perilous.  Noisy cicada flying overhead in the beaks of a not-much-larger sparrow can be slightly comical.  And their backstroke needs some work if they mistakenly drop into a river – only serving to alert trout keen for a big meal. 

Now, enter the flyfisher to take advantage of the trout, now accustomed to searching the surface above.

Flyfishing with a cicada fly

Here are a few things I’ve learned about fishing in cicada season:

• “Sunshine after rain” is a line in many a song, but it is also perfect cicada weather.  Damp soil enables cicadas to emerge from their soily slumber, and the sunshine increases aerial activity, with a few inevitably ending up in the water.
• Wind is not often helpful when fishing, but in this case falling insects and leaves get the trout looking up, and riffles on the water can assist not only in hiding the angler, but also giving your fly a little movement.  (This is especially the case if your fly has legs).
• In slow moving pools and drifts, an occasional twitch of the line may draw the right attention. I’ve had a trout chase a cicada across the surface when I initially struck a little early.
• The take on cicada is usually quite deliberate, but unhurried.  Enjoy the moment as the water is broken and fly is gobbled.  Initially I was a little too gentle on my strikes to match, resulting in several being lost soon after the take.  As a result I’ve gone midway – a brief wait, then a positive lift, without anything aggressive, and it seems to work.  Such a treat of course to be catching enough fish to test and improve!
• It can be tricky to find a spot where cicadas are active early in the season.  You may notice parts of the river frustratingly quiet, only to move a hundred metres to a cacophony of song.  It is worth searching for the sound, which by the end of the season is more widespread.
• On casting, keep an eagle-eye on the fly.  Their drab colours against tea-coloured local waters can make following the drift a sport, especially if the cicada fly is also an indicator.
• I don’t yet understand the role of colour.  Cicadas can range from bright greens to dull browns.  I’ve found success though fishing a green fly only to notice that the local insects are brown – it might be the glinting wings, wiggly legs, and heavy water landings that do the damage.

So, there you have it?  The season is short – sometimes all but a few weeks – but it can be a hell of a lot of fun if you time it right and get that cicada strike!

References

Pure Fly NZ– the original inspiration.  https://www.tvnz.co.nz/shows/pure-fly-nz/episodes/s3-e6

John Marris, ‘Cicadas’, Te Ara – the Encyclopedia of New Zealand, Story by John Marris, published 24 Sep 2007: https://teara.govt.nz/en/cicadas

Brood X – Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brood_X