The Blizzard Hatch

By: Issac Szeto

“Tiny bugs (think 20 and smaller) and careful presentation are the way” (Techniques and Tips Orvis Fishing Report / Taylor Creek Fly Shop, 2025). 

The riffled current tugged at my waders as a group of brown trout shamelessly fed five feet in front of me. I casted my hopper-dropper rig above the half-submerged boulder. I flicked my line for an upstream mend and kept my arm high. A little rod wiggle sent the Chernobyl skittering across the pocket. 

“Oh!”

My mind took a screenshot as the yellow-bellied trout jumped clear outta the water to MUNCH my foam indicator. Fourteen gator rolls later I pulled the barbless purple mouthful out of that dizzy fish and gave it a nice clean release. 

As I was marching upriver a Tacoma pulled up…

...gusts of wind started to whip the water…

…then particles of snow joined for the ride. 

The streambank turned white as the snowfall got heavier. 

It took about thirty minutes for this blizzard to reach its peak. 

The Tacoma driver tucked his tail and spun his car home.

A few thoughts scrolled through my head.

I should leave. 

What if I get snowed in?
My Mazda 5 doesn’t have snow tires.
I have a sleeping bag in the car. I’ll be alright.

So it was decided. 

The snow and wind refused to let up, but that must have been the key to unlocking this unreal fishing experience. 

Fish started rising recklessly at about 25-30 rises per minute. Yes, that's an average of a rise every other second. 

They would pop their spotted noggins out of the water in groups. So I’d see 2-6 fish pop up and a group of 2-6 below or above follow in unison. It was like watching Olympic synchronized swimming but with fish instead of people. 

I have a few guesses on why this happened.

Without knowing too much about the river’s bug populations I speculated this river had a certain midge that would stay dormant until the specific conditions were met. Specific conditions that must have been met by this winter storm. 

I did some research. 

Initially it sounded an awful lot like the winter midge Chaoborus americanus that exclusively hatches during blizzards. I pressed further but saw that they typically sit in fishless and boggy stillwater which is a complete opposite to the flowing river I was in.*

I did some more research.

This was more likely a normal midge hatch. It’s possible that the snow gave the fish a cue that it was safe to eat. It isn’t often a fly angler stays out during a winter storm so it is possible that the fish took it as an opportunity to feed without angling pressure. 

It could be a combination of these guesses or had no correlation at all, but with fishing it’s hard to say. 

With that said… I kept the chernobyl on and switched the nymph for an emerger. It didn’t take long before a brown swiped the hopper broadside. The trout splashed for that thing like it was the first hopper it’s seen in months! I gasped and buried that hook. I basked in the moment as I reeled that bad boy in. 

In an attempt to match the hatch (instead of hacking it with a stupid looking foamie) switched out the emerger for a pale morning dun. Then I shot a few more casts through the cascading carpet of snow. I could barely see my hopper and I totally gave up on tracking the PMD. 

Two fish surfaced exactly where my flies landed. It took me a solid moment to realize my trusty chernobyl was pulled under. 

Set. 
Fight.
Land. 

I have no idea if it was a double dry eat or not, since only one fish ended up in the net. Regardless, it was an unforgettable moment. And guess which fly was in its mouth when I netted it? Yep the chubby purple behemoth. 

I later landed another brown by skittering the PMD but it was obvious who the star fly was that day. 

Who knew dries would be so potent during a late winter blizzard? Let alone the Chubby!