Posted on June 13 2005
Nat Worden completes a pilgrimage to eastern Idaho’s Henry’s Fork and enjoys the annual salmonfly spectacle. “The cattails lining the bank behind us crawled with salmonflies, averaging two inches long and named for their pinkish-orange thoraxes. The bugs had crawled out of the water the night before for the first time in their lives, having spent years as nymphs squirming along the river bottom. Here, in their final spring, the instinct to procreate had driven them above the water’s surface, where they split out of their casings by the light of a full moon, displayed their new wings, mated, laid eggs and died in a blaze of glory.” In The New York Times.