The latest supply side shortage is not hen’s eggs, toilet paper, or computer chips, but the large or European version of the lowly earthworm. Those 600 million-years-old creatures that Aristotle declared “intestines of the earth.” Whose activities aerate soil, help move water to the roots of plants, and transport essential nutrients and minerals to the surface.

Nightcrawlers get my attention this time of year. Half a dozen showed up under my spade when I turned garden soil to plant spinach and early salad greens. Their presence also reminds of walleye fishing because walleye love nightcrawlers. When last purchased at a local mini-mart in February, the price of nightcrawlers had escalated to $4.69 a dozen.

As a youth, hunting “crawlers” before opening day of trout season was an annual ritual. I knelt on the high school baseball field, looking for subtle movement and the reflection of streetlight on their slime. Complacent worms that loitered too far outside their burrow didn’t have a chance against my deft two-fingered grab. Thumb and forefinger clamped down like vice grips, after which I pulled gently yet surely to not break them in half, their tiny bristles providing resistance.

Hunting nightcrawlers taught me about patience, stealth, and habitat association, skills equally applicable to fishing.

Back to buying worms in the mini-mart, I dropped a five-dollar bill on the counter and remarked, “It’s getting expensive to go fishing.”

The clerk winked and said, “You owe me a dime. That will be five dollars and ten cents with sales tax.”

“I thought worms counted as food,” I replied. “They are food for fish, anyway.”

She shook her head and took a dime from the cup of loose change kept on the counter for people who pretend to come up short.

I used up most of those undersized nightcrawlers on a walleye trip cut short when a cruel northwest wind chased me off the Columbia River. Those few left unmarred with barbed hooks were placed in a small cooler with topsoil and rotted leaves. According a recent scientific article, nightcrawlers are said to live up to six years. Unfortunately, mine turned into compost inside of two weeks because of inadequate ventilation.

I reflected on the high cost of fishing this past week while walking our five-month-old corgi pup.

Overnight rain and warm temperature brought out a smattering of worms on concrete sidewalks and roadways. Worms emerge from moist ground because it’s easier for them to breathe. They often gather in small groups, supposedly hoping to find a mate, although reproduction shouldn’t be a challenge because worms have both male and female sexual organs (as do snails).

Abby has an insatiable appetite. She keeps her nose to the ground like an anteater and works her jaws like a snapping turtle. Once she spotted those juicy, wriggling pieces of protein, she became distracted from eating moribund rotten crabapples. I was also attracted to the scene. At 40 cents apiece, I could make minimum wage picking up a few dozen.

I crouched next to the curb to avoid swerving commuter traffic, right hand grabbing worms, left hand on tight leash to prevent Abby from scarfing up more than her share. All this time I imagined neighbors looking out their window and wondering, “What is that old man putting in his empty doggie dooly bag?”

Sadly, most worms were wriggler-size, more appropriate for threading on a No. 10 bait hook than stretching between a double hook Smile Blade rig. Then again, with improved care and feeding I could grow them up to full size.

With walleye on my mind again, I stopped at a hardware store that sells fishing equipment. A large sign taped to their bait refrigerator read, “We are out of worms.” Desperate now, I searched for vendors on the internet. Walmart advertised 18-count Canadian nightcrawlers for $2.97 a dozen. The Canadian version is said to be larger and stay alive under water longer than the European version. As partial aside, a popular rumor among tobacco chewers is that Copenhagen smuggled from Canada gives a better “kick.” (Is there a connection here?) Improved performance aside, no store within 50 miles had nightcrawlers available for purchase.

I can’t help wonder if the lowly “dew” worm is in peril. Consider the Giant Palouse earthworm. Restricted to the Palouse Prairie region of eastern Washington, they were thought extinct following wide-scale conversion of deep, loamy soil habitat to dryland wheat and lentil at the beginning of the 20th century. A petition for listing for protection under the Endangered Species Act of 1973 was found “not warranted” by the US Fish & Wildlife Service in 2011. Said to reach three feet long and emit an odor “like a lily,” the finding of a single individual is cause for excitement.

Lurking in Midwest and Northeast soils are invasive “snake worms,” “crazy worms,” or “Alabama jumpers.” When startled, they thrash about, spring into the air, and even shed their tail to escape. Such behavior reminds of a guide who thumped nightcrawlers against the side of his boat before he hooked them through the collar. “It stimulates them,” he said. “Attracts fish.”

The book is still out on the future of nightcrawlers. Possible reasons for their decline include severe cold, drought, widespread spreading of pesticides and herbicides, and increased numbers of “working at home” anglers fishing. A word of caution: any and all Alabama jumpers that come into your possession should be killed on sight. Impaling them on a fishing hook, no matter how attractive the notion might seem, is not a condoned form of euthanasia.

“As a youth, hunting “crawlers” before opening day of trout season was an annual ritual. I knelt on the high school baseball field, looking for subtle movement and the reflection of streetlight on their slime.”