BUGS.
Believe us, the itch to head north is nothing compared with the itch of being there. If you're a veteran wilderness paddler, you know what we mean. If you're not, listen to Horace Kephart, who wrote a guidebook in 1916. "In Alaska," he says,
Believe us, the itch to head north is nothing compared with the itch of being there. If you're a veteran wilderness paddler, you know what we mean. If you're not, listen to Horace Kephart, who wrote a guidebook in 1916. "In Alaska," he says,
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all animals leave for the snow-line as soon as the mosquito pest appears, but the enemy follows them even to the mountain tops above timber-line. Deer and moose are killed by mosquitoes, which settle upon them in such amazing swarms that the unfortunate beasts succumb from literally having the blood sucked out of their bodies. Bears are driven frantic, are totally blinded, mire in the mud, and starve to death. Animals that survive have their flesh discolored all through, and even their marrow is reduced to the consistency of blood and water. The men who penetrate such regions are not the kind that would allow toil or privation to break their spirit, but they become so unstrung...that they become savage, desperate, and sometimes even weep in sheer helpless anger.
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It is a subject to be taken seriously. When we took it up, we meant to do just that—to take it seriously, logically, rationally. A lot of good it did us...
Nonetheless, you are likely to think yourself better equipped than the pioneers. And no doubt when you have gotten your outfit together, the temptation to put it all on will be irresistible. Go ahead; indulge yourself. Strut around a bit in front of the mirror, netted, gaitered, and gloved. You will feel and look impregnable. You will think that Science and the army surplus have given you a veritable safe-conduct pass through the woods. On that point, you are dead wrong.
Sure, the outfit looks good in the comfort of your back porch. But get out in the wilds and see what happens. Your campfire seems to be dying out, so you hunch down to blow some life into it. Absorbed in the task, you fail to notice the back of your shirt has come untucked. Twenty flies nudge their way in there. Or you are careless about keeping the bottom of your head net tight. Before you know it, the entire North Country is piloting a tight traffic pattern around the lee end of your nose. Now the net keeps them in, and you couldn't have done better if you had invited them to dinner personally.
Or speaking of dinner: have you ever tried to eat beef stew through a head net? Those swarms of flies may drive you to a subtle form of treachery: using one of your comrades as a fly decoy. Bugs, you see, prefer the easy mark—a standing target rather than a moving one. When you notice that one of your camping partners is sitting over by that log doing his best to finish the beef stew, you may not be able to resist the temptation of ambling over his way, leaning slightly in his direction (as unobtrusively as possible) and shagging your flies off onto him. If the other members of your party pull the same trick, it will not be long before that poor devil by the log will hardly be able to see the landscape.
Nonetheless, you are likely to think yourself better equipped than the pioneers. And no doubt when you have gotten your outfit together, the temptation to put it all on will be irresistible. Go ahead; indulge yourself. Strut around a bit in front of the mirror, netted, gaitered, and gloved. You will feel and look impregnable. You will think that Science and the army surplus have given you a veritable safe-conduct pass through the woods. On that point, you are dead wrong.
Sure, the outfit looks good in the comfort of your back porch. But get out in the wilds and see what happens. Your campfire seems to be dying out, so you hunch down to blow some life into it. Absorbed in the task, you fail to notice the back of your shirt has come untucked. Twenty flies nudge their way in there. Or you are careless about keeping the bottom of your head net tight. Before you know it, the entire North Country is piloting a tight traffic pattern around the lee end of your nose. Now the net keeps them in, and you couldn't have done better if you had invited them to dinner personally.
Or speaking of dinner: have you ever tried to eat beef stew through a head net? Those swarms of flies may drive you to a subtle form of treachery: using one of your comrades as a fly decoy. Bugs, you see, prefer the easy mark—a standing target rather than a moving one. When you notice that one of your camping partners is sitting over by that log doing his best to finish the beef stew, you may not be able to resist the temptation of ambling over his way, leaning slightly in his direction (as unobtrusively as possible) and shagging your flies off onto him. If the other members of your party pull the same trick, it will not be long before that poor devil by the log will hardly be able to see the landscape.