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It really is no wonder at all that I am not a good morel hunter. There is just too much to see in the woods this time of year for me to focus on just the delicious morel. In fact, my son refers to my hunting trips for the mushroom as wandering aimlessly in the woods.
But, for instance, just consider this — I cross a tiny stream from a spring somewhere, and I immediately set about, seeing if I can find any stick bait. And, here, my naturalist friends will smile a knowing smile. That’s Okay. My uncle, Robert Nethers, told me they were stick bait, and that’s what they are! Or, as Huck Finn said, as he decided the right thing to do was to stick up for his friend Jim, a slave, “All right, then. Ill just go to hell.”
Seriously, stick bait are the natural larval form of a caddis fly or a may fly or one of those bugs that lives it larval life as an aquatic bug, then hatches into a winged creature. (That’s when all the fly fisherman try
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