Toe Cozy
New member
- Joined
- Sep 1, 2004
- Messages
- 497
- Reaction score
- 102
I thought I was a bug zen master until...
Always, I scoffed at my husband's low tolerance level to spring/summer bugs. Yes, I am the tough one, I thought to myself. They are just bugs. Even if they bite me it is only a temporary inconvenience. They can only bother me as much as I allow them to. Everyone chant with me now...."Ommmmm. Ommmmm" Until....
Picture it. July 10, 2005. A sunny, summer Sunday on the Otter Creek in Vermont. A delightful 8 mile paddle down a moving body of water through bucolic farm land, arching silver maples and willows. No big roads nearby. What a riparian delight. But wait, what's that sound? Nothing more than 5 gazillion f*&$*@ deer flies. Hitting our heads, our hands, our faces, our feet. And the worst thing is that when you're paddling your hands are busy and it's really impossible to use your feet to swat the suckers away. I have never had a more miserable outdoor experience. We paddled like Satan himself was chasing us down the river Styx and every time we came around a bend I'd be breathlessly hoping to see our take-out bridge. I was hollering at the flies, throwing water up in the air with my paddle to "wash" them away, stamping my feet on the bottom of the canoe. I was slapping my neck and face like some kind of freak, cursing under my breath, cursing outloud, cursing my husband for choosing this stupid river on this stupid day with these stupid flies. Stupid canoeing. Stupid nature. I'm not kidding when I admit that I was close to tears of utter mental defeat on several occasions.
My vote is: Deer flies are the spawn of Satan!!!!!!!!
Now, about that poison ivy I got hauling the canoe through one of those bucolic fields....
Don'tcha just love the great outdoors!
Always, I scoffed at my husband's low tolerance level to spring/summer bugs. Yes, I am the tough one, I thought to myself. They are just bugs. Even if they bite me it is only a temporary inconvenience. They can only bother me as much as I allow them to. Everyone chant with me now...."Ommmmm. Ommmmm" Until....
Picture it. July 10, 2005. A sunny, summer Sunday on the Otter Creek in Vermont. A delightful 8 mile paddle down a moving body of water through bucolic farm land, arching silver maples and willows. No big roads nearby. What a riparian delight. But wait, what's that sound? Nothing more than 5 gazillion f*&$*@ deer flies. Hitting our heads, our hands, our faces, our feet. And the worst thing is that when you're paddling your hands are busy and it's really impossible to use your feet to swat the suckers away. I have never had a more miserable outdoor experience. We paddled like Satan himself was chasing us down the river Styx and every time we came around a bend I'd be breathlessly hoping to see our take-out bridge. I was hollering at the flies, throwing water up in the air with my paddle to "wash" them away, stamping my feet on the bottom of the canoe. I was slapping my neck and face like some kind of freak, cursing under my breath, cursing outloud, cursing my husband for choosing this stupid river on this stupid day with these stupid flies. Stupid canoeing. Stupid nature. I'm not kidding when I admit that I was close to tears of utter mental defeat on several occasions.
My vote is: Deer flies are the spawn of Satan!!!!!!!!
Now, about that poison ivy I got hauling the canoe through one of those bucolic fields....
Don'tcha just love the great outdoors!
