Day of the Fly

Northern Minnesota is a place of many lakes, a few casinos, the Canadian border, and the northern shore of Lake Superior -- a great place to camp on the weekend if you've made reservations 90 days in advace. No reservation? Then you'll have to make due with a middle-of-the-week getaway. Before you go, do extensive research on biting flies and what keeps them away from you, or be doomed to a day of absolute madness.

Deep in the woods and one block's walk to the rocky shore of Lake Superior, the campsite was well worth it. I arrived in the morning, set up the pointy-nosed, tropical-fish-looking tent, smoked cigarette after cigarette, and finally put the headphones on and went for a walk. The giant rocks and occasionally crashing waves made the day seem as if it couldn't get much better -- then it got really hot, and little by little the flys began to start their own party.

I started to think, okay, I'm sweating a bit; maybe that's what is attracting them, while noticing in the distance that other people didn't seem to be swatting anything or giving any indication that there were bugs around -- prior to this, it was a relatively clear and cool day. That was about to change.

So, go back to camp, get bug spray, put pants on, go back to the lake. Oh, wait, I can't go back to the lake because doing so would involve being devoured alive by goddamn swarms of horse flies that bite through two layers of clothing and nip at my ankles. So, stay at camp, sit down, chill, read a book, drink some ginger ale, eat some reeses-pieces. Oh, wait, I can't sit down because every time I look at the chair I'm am moved to thinking about how there are one-hundred or so little Jeff Goldblums throwing up all over it, having a gay old time. I can't stand and read because there is a need for constant back-and-forth pacing. The bug spray does absolutely nothing to fend them off, biting at the ankles. These goddamned things were invincible, and for every three that I killed there were twenty more to take their spot.

I'm sure that this is the closest I've ever been to simply going mad. I thought for some time that they were bothering only me, as if something about my skin attracted them, or maybe I was letting off some kind of strange fly pheremone. I searched for Zen-moments, only to grasp miniscule and quickly fleeting fragments of relative calm. Neither of the two bug repellents I had were doing anything substantial enough to notice; there was a sense that the repellent I had was attracting them instead of repelling them. Deciding to go for a drive, I walked through the parking lot with a cloud of flies at my feet. Getting into the car, I heard a girl mumble, "Oh my... look at all those flies".

Drive to the gas station, flies biting at the ankles, in search of better bug spray, ready to bathe myself in DEET. I managed to find some special formula for biting flies that did little more to help the situation. With no other resources at my disposal, there was no choice but to sit at the campsite until the sun went down (when, suddenly, they all dissapeared). I started a fire and stood by the smoke roasting fucking marshmallows -- this seemed to help more than anything else.

As the day progressed, my personal hell was slightly alleviated at the sight of people walking down to the lake, and running back up after realizing that they too were victims. Not that I wanted other people to experience this, but I felt better knowing that I wasn't the only one. It almost became comical as I began timing how long it would take each person to return back up the trail cursing and/or running to their cars in desperation. I offered repellent to passing wanderers (most of which already had some) -- to no avail, this place was infested. Most people made it at least 10 minutes, some never came back and left me wondering if they had been defeated as warriors -- victims of the fly. The only fool-proof cure I could think of was a full body bug screen... and a flamethrower. I could have sat in my hot and humid car with the windows rolled up, but this didn't seem any less torturous.

The sun went down, the flies dissapeared, it was a good night. I woke up to flies biting me at seven in the morning. I packed up and left. This was a traumatic experience. Back to regular posting...