THE HILLS ARE ALIVE WITH THE SOUND. . . .

THEY HATCH, THEY FLY, THEY BREED, THEY DIE. . . For the past couple of weeks or so, the air in our part of Kentucky has been filled with the ringing, chirping, buzzing and incessant high-pitched droning of the seventeen year Cicada hatch. Those of you who have first-hand experience with these diabolic insects that emerge from the very depths of. . .well. . .from some nether regions, know how irritating these sounds can become. The area around my office is surrounded by trees and shrubbery that these little demons have seen fit to inhabit. For the past three days I have literally been besieged by these buzzing banshees. When they aren't shrieking to high heaven in some demented aria from an insect opera, they are flying around like miniature drunken kamikazes. They bounce into and then off of anything in their paths. They are incredibly stupid little buggers and surprisingly easy to catch.

Although I am not an entomologist by any stretch of the imagination, I believe that their (cicadas) sole purpose for existing is to annoy as many people in as short a time as possible and then become fish bait. For that function, they are very well suited and - I have this on good authority - tasty little morsels. (No . . . I didn't eat any. . .but fish gobble 'em up!) In the past two days I've captured over 40 of the little rascals. I could have caught many hundreds more. I took some photos for your viewing pleasure.

We are actually being plagued by two varieties of cicadas. The larger of the two is the cicada that hatches annually. The smaller, obnoxious ones patiently wait 17 years before launching into their maniacal, marauding crusade to turn us into blithering idiots with bleeding ears. . . . . actually, that's a small price to pay for those of us who love to fish! Sometimes good bait is hard to find.