On Swatting Mosquitos

                Unless you just weren’t paying attention, you know that the north woods have 4 seasons.  Black fly season, mosquito season, horsefly-deerfly-biting fly season, and winter.  They have only a short season to do their thing, so they are generally pretty aggressive when it is their time.  I don’t think they are aware that they have a short season, however, my rudimentary understanding of genetics and evolution tells me that those who don’t bite early and often don’t pass on nearly as many genes to the next generation.  It is clear we have arrived in mosquito season. 

                To be fair, I don’t like being bitten by any insect, but I seem to have a special hatred for mosquitos.  Their bites don’t make me itch or swell.  I have only known one person who ever contracted any of the dread diseases carried by them.  All I know is that when I am in their presence, I am compelled to seek them out, stalk them and kill them.  It becomes something of an obsession.

                After arriving late at the Rabbit Blanket campground in the Lake Superior Provincial Park, we awoke the next morning to discover 2 things:

1.        Stefani was threatening to jump ship if we couldn’t get a better campsite.

2.       Our RV was besieged by hordes of hungry anopheles. 

Number 1 was easily fixed.  We quickly found one of the prettiest campsites we have ever had.  (privacy, space and a lovely view of Rabbit Blanket Lake).  No, I don’t know why they call it Rabbit Blanket Lake and no one we asked seemed to know. 

At first we thought Number 2 might not be a bad problem as we sat on a log with a fresh breeze coming off of the lake.         However, they were on the leeward side of the land yacht, plotting their ambushes.  Unfortunately, this was where the door to the RV is.  No matter how quickly we clambered in or out of the door, some number always made their way in.  Thus, the battle raged both in and outside. 

About the buzz.  At first I thought the buzzing about the ear could not be a good adaptation.  Being forewarned, it gave me an advantage.  After a few days now, I understand that the buzz is a sort of psychological warfare.  I lie awake at night anticipating the inevitable approach.  I swat blindly at the invisible marauder.  After about the third time, the light goes on and the game is afoot.  Stefani doesn’t mind too much about this, as she suffers from itching and swelling from the bites.  I am relentless in my efforts to search and destroy the offending creature. 

It may come as a surprise to you that I don’t particularly like to use insect repellent – I wear long clothing and a hat instead.  If pushed, I might spray my hat.  The only explanation is that the repellent keeps them out of my kill zone, where my slaps and claps are lethal blows.  Many of those slaps and claps are painful to me, but this does not dampen my zeal.  I have nearly ruined a pair of sunglasses and a pair of reading glasses on this trip from a too vigorous pursuit.  Maybe they will win in the long run as I slowly beat myself to death.  The walls and ceiling of the RV are also being tested. 

I don’t know why I am so fixated on killing these creatures, who have done nothing all that offensive to me personally.  Perhaps it is a hard-wired genetic behavior.  If so, I don’t think it gives me any particular advantage over my fellow campers, who don’t seem to be nearly so bothered or fixated by the mosquitos.  They have apparently evolved to apply insect repellent and enjoy being in the beautiful outdoors in temperature appropriate clothing.   They have successfully passed on their genes to their beautiful children.  I suspect that I, like the mosquito, am guided by my genetics and evolution in this regard.  Most certainly, those in the past who swatted mosquitos are more likely to be my ancestors than those who didn’t.  Given the fact that man only became aware of the role of mosquitos as a vector of dread diseases within the last 200 years or so, it stands to reason that this is not our intellectual and learned response to the relentless swatting of them.  It is surely much more primeval.   

I decided to apply repellent when conditions merited it.  I immediately relaxed and started enjoying myself more.  The buzzing of ears in bed thing is still a problem, though – I will not be wearing long clothing, hats or insect repellent to bed.  Where’s the sport in that? 

The Sleeping Giant Experience.  Months ago, I reserved a campsite at Sleeping Giant, a park located on a peninsula jutting out into Lake Superior.  The map showed that it was at the end of the loop, that it was far away from the next campsite, and it appeared to be near the water.  It was private to be sure – it was surrounded by thick stands of firs that blocked off the fresh breezes that refreshed other areas of the campground.  It was close to the water, but afforded no view.  There was a trail to our very own private beach, provided you survived the bogs and skeeter breeders that lined the path.  It was like something out of the Lord of the Rings.  As you might imagine, the mosquitos were aggressive and smart.  They seemed to have proven strategies for getting into the RV, such as sweeping in as you opened the door.  The net result was that seemingly 100s of them were inside the RV.  A pitched battle rage as Stefani and I attempted to fight them off.  She awoke the next morning with her wrists, hands and forearms covered in swollen, itching bites.  We were playing Tippie Hedron to their birds.  We began to imagine they were getting into the RV in clever ways, perhaps burrowing through weatherstripping, seals and previously unrealized breaches in the windows and doors.  We searched and investigated, we slapped, we smacked and generally walloped them every waking moment.  Just as we began to think that we had finally rid ourselves of them, more would show up.  The only thing that helped was a change of campsite.  Not nearly so private, it was wide open to the fresh breeze off of Lake Marie Louise.  It also had a fine view of the Sleeping Giant.  However, it took many more hours for us to defeat the ones who remained in hiding. 

In a lighter moment, I wondered how many Weightwatcher activity points one might earn for an hour of “Skeetercise”.  My pants are getting loose.