And Mosquitos and Ticks There Were!
After shoots it was time to head to Itasca park, after I had fueled up on authentic German goulash at the restaurant in Park Rapids. No sooner had I took my seat in the German-themed establishment, when a round and smiling man to my left started up a conversation. He liked meteorites and had just sent in some tektites he had found for examination. We shared a little conversation on ejecta extraterrestrial geology until my food came. Soon there was another friendly conversationalist to my right. Younger, but of the same Germanic girth, this lad was a prep cook at the restaurant and was happy to tell me all about how the food was prepared and how authentic it was. Joerg, the owner, was from Germany and his parents had started this business.
I finished up my goulash and coffee and hit the road. Itasca Park is only about 30 minutes north of Park Rapids. I could have the company pay for a room, but I thought, “take advantage of circumstance and get out into the woods!”
It was just after 5pm when I pulled up to the camping headquarters and they helped me find different camps and estimate distances. I wanted a primitive camp, so I could be away from other people and alone in the woods. This would mean hiking my gear into the woods, but all the more reminiscent of what voyageurs had to endure in similar conditions, eh?
I found a nice spot, a mile in, with its own lake. Being that I sometimes think distances will be shorter than they actually are in situations such as these, I allowed myself a light initial load on this scouting expedition. Besides, I did not think it realistic to carry all that I should in one trip.
Down the trail, the width of a car path, but overgrown with fresh green grass, ankle and knee-high. It wasn't long before the inevitable swarm approached. At first I kind of thought it funny – the ridiculous amount of mosquitoes. They were thick and hungry and sought any open flesh with sudden urgency. I swung my arms, ran at times and continually brushed off my exposed flesh. “At least they are not black flies,” I thought. Those buggers get everywhere – eyes, ears, nose, mouth and hurt something awful. Remember that time my folks counted something like 140 bites on me after a trip to the BWCA? Then it was to a soccer game in 100 degree weather. So, I thought, this can’t match that.
At every other bend of the trail or rise of the path I thought I had arrived. But, I had not. Eventually, I took the path in a jutting out little peninsula and beheld my camp. It was perfect. Open to the sun, a tall red pine rose up at the termination of the spur and there was a pretty little lake all to myself! The sun helped to disperse the maddening mosquitoes and I erected my tent.
On the return trip to the car I formulated a plan of attack for the return. Wearing my blousy flannel and placing a t-shirt about my head I packed my backpack in a most practical fashion, threw my tripod over my shoulder and sunk back into the woods. I was a wee bit apprehensive about leaving the rental car, with rods and reels and a trunk full of expensive gear, alone by the side of the road. Yes, it did have an alarm, but all the same. I would be a mile away. “Distinguish such thoughts from your head,” I told myself, “best to enjoy this as much as possible.”
Sure enough, the mosquitos attacked the hands with ferocity. Thinking a portion of your hand would go unmolested would reveal quite the opposite when you turned your palm to discover four greedy squitoes, fixedly pulling blood from your hand. I did the best I could to keep them from drinking and moved on. It would be nonsense to stop for a break. Must move, must move. About you was the sounds of millions of mosquitos, very similar in sound to a million miniature Stuka dive bombers, coming in for the kill. It also has the same dissonant tone as the tense violin strings in a horror film, as the sadistic murderer’s deeds are revealed to the screen. I hungered for that clearing!
Once at the camp, I had hundreds of new friends. You’ve heard tell of this “bumper crop” of mosquitos this year? Well, there be a bumper crop of there arch nemesis too – the dragonfly. The great big blues, quad-winged dragon flies were assembled in taxi formation upon my tent. As I brought the meal in to camp, they launched into the air. To the sound of old radial prop engines, they’d attack, grab one, then go find a stopping place to eat. Sometimes it would be back on my blue tent, sometimes it would be on me. It was quite fun. I somewhat wished my eyes could be cameras! I looked down, inches from my nose and there was a great big blue beauty. You could watch the whole mosquito disappearing with a munch, munch, crunch, crunch of the dragonfly’s mandibles. “How incredibly fascinating! This is PBS Nature material!” They were also kind of cute. They would land and wait on me. I’d look at them and ask if they were hungry. They would tick their wee head back and forth in what looked like a, “What? Are you talking to me,” but assuredly was a scan around my body for the next meal. I was so glad they were hungry. After they ate one, they would attack once again.
The timing could not have been better. I arrive with plenty of time to set up in sunlight. As that sun touched the tree tops it was a signal for me to begin the camp fire. Gathering wood and tinder with great assistance from the materials left by previous campers, I began to assemble my fire kit.
One of the main reasons I did this camp venture was to do a bit of on-camera time. In the nature of Les Stroud or Bear Grylls, it was time to explain a small bit about building a fire. Good thing conditions were so perfect, because it could not have gone smoother. As the fire got underway I then did a little bit on the mosquitos on the trail and then returned to camp for a closure piece.
Then it was time to myself. I was ready for a good pipe. In the process of lighting up my travel tobacco, I came across my next important task.
Ticks were everywhere! I knew they had been bad this year and I knew that I would have to deal with them, but I should have known how all-ecompassing this task would be. They were in parade up my legs, arms, and all about my clothing. Some would search for a place to nestle, whilst others would just dig right in and suck in a rocking back and forth motion that made it all the more repulsive. With my fire next to me and daylight still around, I stripped down and began the removal. So, there I was, in shoes and underwear, holding body parts and clothing over the heat of the flame. The most alarming thing for me was the amount of deer ticks. They are much smaller than the regular ‘moose’ tick and are popularly known for their transmission of the Lyme disease spyrochete. Finding one searching about you is one thing, but finding one feasting is another. I searched best I could. Cleansed in heat and smoke best I could. Just as you think you are done you look down and, “Unbelievable!,” more are marching up. I did my most and lit my pipe.
As night set and the fire produced a steady stream of smoke lakeward, I crouched by the glowing warmth and listened to the night sounds. Frogs were loud and boasting, loons were calling, great horned owls produced that wisened “Ah ha hoo,” fire flies danced around and the fire crackled.
As the last pieces of wood dissolved into embers I retired. The frogs provided a perfect ambient noise. This is good for me, because most oft, I tend to react with a “what’s that?!” to the cracks and crunches in the woods. We’ve got but raccoon and black bears (more or less a big raccoon) to be fearful of in Minnesota. I’ve done plenty of camping in grizzly country too, always placing my tent the closest (but not intrusively) to their territory. A ‘seasoning’ exercise for me and smacking somewhat of pride…but anyway. I get somewhat scared, zipped up in a tent, when I can’t see anything. I’ll take sleeping out in the open any day!
Sleep. What’s that flashing? That would be one heck of a fire fly! Oh. Thunderstorm. And then it came and it was long one. Initial wind, heavy rain and booming cloud to cloud thunder. I packed up gear weather-tight and rode out the storm in the bag. It was kinda fun, alone in my tent, flashing boom right above my head and all. But I knew I wouldn’t be getting much sleep until this passed. And in time, it did.
Rising early in the morning, I packed things up and packed well enough to make it in one trip. I’d make it to my shoot and then head back into Park Rapids to do an interview of Aunt Belle’s Candy shop. The weather had paused for me to pack out of camp, stormed, paused for me get my shoot and then I moved on.
Nevis was home to the world’s largest tiger muskie and had a decent burger at the Iron Horse Bar. Akelely was having their festival and I made time to visit good ol’ Paul Bunyan as well as listen to some banjo pickin and chatted with locals.
Storms began to roll in as I neared Sugar Point on Leech Lake. As I pulled up the curvy drive lined with sugar maples, the lake ahead looked large and forboding like Superior, especially now, with the amount of mist and wind chop.
After checking into my cabin a rap came on the door and I was invited to dinner with the owners, a reserved but likeable couple. Not wanting to attend the dinner empty-handed, I shot out into the remote north woods in search for something to bring. Knowing that any large town was at least an hour away, I shot towards the nearest village that might have any establishment whatsoever. My Neverlost brought me down dirt roads, that ran the perimeter of the stormy lake. With wind blowing rain and gravel-mud beneath my wheels, I found it fun but a wee bit nerve wracking, wanting to get something and get back in time and not get lost or stuck. I found a bar with no one inside but the tender and grabbed some ice cream bars. When I presented them as dessert, the owner was impressed that I got Blue Bunny bars and wanted to know what establishment I got it from. He carried Blue Bunny for years but his distributor no longer could get them, to his disappointment!
Shoots the next day brought me into Bena. Here I sat at a café and drank coffee with the owner of the establishment. In his late 30’s, we exchanged stories and travels. He had fished for 3 years in the Aleutian islands and spent a good 10 years doing construction in Arizona. One of his workers was a self-declared ‘southern’ girl but currently looking after the family’s homestead up north. We humored over equal love of the south, whether it be Georgia or that country called Texas and shook our heads at the misperceptions people have of those generous latitudes.
After shoots saw another chat with the owner of a small bar. He was a truck driver and spoke of his recent divorce. He fried up some spectacular northern and presented it gratis. It ended very agreeably, having started with a fury upon seeing my camera. He had apparently been harassed quite a bit during the divorce precedings and thought this another ruse on the part of his ex.
Tomorrow is a very early start and a two hour jaunt to a place called Lake Shore. I’ve met only one local who has heard of the place and hope that the GPS does not guide me down yet another logging road. But I did see a black bear on such a detour and perhaps I’ll see another!
I finished up my goulash and coffee and hit the road. Itasca Park is only about 30 minutes north of Park Rapids. I could have the company pay for a room, but I thought, “take advantage of circumstance and get out into the woods!”
It was just after 5pm when I pulled up to the camping headquarters and they helped me find different camps and estimate distances. I wanted a primitive camp, so I could be away from other people and alone in the woods. This would mean hiking my gear into the woods, but all the more reminiscent of what voyageurs had to endure in similar conditions, eh?
I found a nice spot, a mile in, with its own lake. Being that I sometimes think distances will be shorter than they actually are in situations such as these, I allowed myself a light initial load on this scouting expedition. Besides, I did not think it realistic to carry all that I should in one trip.
Down the trail, the width of a car path, but overgrown with fresh green grass, ankle and knee-high. It wasn't long before the inevitable swarm approached. At first I kind of thought it funny – the ridiculous amount of mosquitoes. They were thick and hungry and sought any open flesh with sudden urgency. I swung my arms, ran at times and continually brushed off my exposed flesh. “At least they are not black flies,” I thought. Those buggers get everywhere – eyes, ears, nose, mouth and hurt something awful. Remember that time my folks counted something like 140 bites on me after a trip to the BWCA? Then it was to a soccer game in 100 degree weather. So, I thought, this can’t match that.
At every other bend of the trail or rise of the path I thought I had arrived. But, I had not. Eventually, I took the path in a jutting out little peninsula and beheld my camp. It was perfect. Open to the sun, a tall red pine rose up at the termination of the spur and there was a pretty little lake all to myself! The sun helped to disperse the maddening mosquitoes and I erected my tent.
On the return trip to the car I formulated a plan of attack for the return. Wearing my blousy flannel and placing a t-shirt about my head I packed my backpack in a most practical fashion, threw my tripod over my shoulder and sunk back into the woods. I was a wee bit apprehensive about leaving the rental car, with rods and reels and a trunk full of expensive gear, alone by the side of the road. Yes, it did have an alarm, but all the same. I would be a mile away. “Distinguish such thoughts from your head,” I told myself, “best to enjoy this as much as possible.”
Sure enough, the mosquitos attacked the hands with ferocity. Thinking a portion of your hand would go unmolested would reveal quite the opposite when you turned your palm to discover four greedy squitoes, fixedly pulling blood from your hand. I did the best I could to keep them from drinking and moved on. It would be nonsense to stop for a break. Must move, must move. About you was the sounds of millions of mosquitos, very similar in sound to a million miniature Stuka dive bombers, coming in for the kill. It also has the same dissonant tone as the tense violin strings in a horror film, as the sadistic murderer’s deeds are revealed to the screen. I hungered for that clearing!
Once at the camp, I had hundreds of new friends. You’ve heard tell of this “bumper crop” of mosquitos this year? Well, there be a bumper crop of there arch nemesis too – the dragonfly. The great big blues, quad-winged dragon flies were assembled in taxi formation upon my tent. As I brought the meal in to camp, they launched into the air. To the sound of old radial prop engines, they’d attack, grab one, then go find a stopping place to eat. Sometimes it would be back on my blue tent, sometimes it would be on me. It was quite fun. I somewhat wished my eyes could be cameras! I looked down, inches from my nose and there was a great big blue beauty. You could watch the whole mosquito disappearing with a munch, munch, crunch, crunch of the dragonfly’s mandibles. “How incredibly fascinating! This is PBS Nature material!” They were also kind of cute. They would land and wait on me. I’d look at them and ask if they were hungry. They would tick their wee head back and forth in what looked like a, “What? Are you talking to me,” but assuredly was a scan around my body for the next meal. I was so glad they were hungry. After they ate one, they would attack once again.
The timing could not have been better. I arrive with plenty of time to set up in sunlight. As that sun touched the tree tops it was a signal for me to begin the camp fire. Gathering wood and tinder with great assistance from the materials left by previous campers, I began to assemble my fire kit.
One of the main reasons I did this camp venture was to do a bit of on-camera time. In the nature of Les Stroud or Bear Grylls, it was time to explain a small bit about building a fire. Good thing conditions were so perfect, because it could not have gone smoother. As the fire got underway I then did a little bit on the mosquitos on the trail and then returned to camp for a closure piece.
Then it was time to myself. I was ready for a good pipe. In the process of lighting up my travel tobacco, I came across my next important task.
Ticks were everywhere! I knew they had been bad this year and I knew that I would have to deal with them, but I should have known how all-ecompassing this task would be. They were in parade up my legs, arms, and all about my clothing. Some would search for a place to nestle, whilst others would just dig right in and suck in a rocking back and forth motion that made it all the more repulsive. With my fire next to me and daylight still around, I stripped down and began the removal. So, there I was, in shoes and underwear, holding body parts and clothing over the heat of the flame. The most alarming thing for me was the amount of deer ticks. They are much smaller than the regular ‘moose’ tick and are popularly known for their transmission of the Lyme disease spyrochete. Finding one searching about you is one thing, but finding one feasting is another. I searched best I could. Cleansed in heat and smoke best I could. Just as you think you are done you look down and, “Unbelievable!,” more are marching up. I did my most and lit my pipe.
As night set and the fire produced a steady stream of smoke lakeward, I crouched by the glowing warmth and listened to the night sounds. Frogs were loud and boasting, loons were calling, great horned owls produced that wisened “Ah ha hoo,” fire flies danced around and the fire crackled.
As the last pieces of wood dissolved into embers I retired. The frogs provided a perfect ambient noise. This is good for me, because most oft, I tend to react with a “what’s that?!” to the cracks and crunches in the woods. We’ve got but raccoon and black bears (more or less a big raccoon) to be fearful of in Minnesota. I’ve done plenty of camping in grizzly country too, always placing my tent the closest (but not intrusively) to their territory. A ‘seasoning’ exercise for me and smacking somewhat of pride…but anyway. I get somewhat scared, zipped up in a tent, when I can’t see anything. I’ll take sleeping out in the open any day!
Sleep. What’s that flashing? That would be one heck of a fire fly! Oh. Thunderstorm. And then it came and it was long one. Initial wind, heavy rain and booming cloud to cloud thunder. I packed up gear weather-tight and rode out the storm in the bag. It was kinda fun, alone in my tent, flashing boom right above my head and all. But I knew I wouldn’t be getting much sleep until this passed. And in time, it did.
Rising early in the morning, I packed things up and packed well enough to make it in one trip. I’d make it to my shoot and then head back into Park Rapids to do an interview of Aunt Belle’s Candy shop. The weather had paused for me to pack out of camp, stormed, paused for me get my shoot and then I moved on.
Nevis was home to the world’s largest tiger muskie and had a decent burger at the Iron Horse Bar. Akelely was having their festival and I made time to visit good ol’ Paul Bunyan as well as listen to some banjo pickin and chatted with locals.
Storms began to roll in as I neared Sugar Point on Leech Lake. As I pulled up the curvy drive lined with sugar maples, the lake ahead looked large and forboding like Superior, especially now, with the amount of mist and wind chop.
After checking into my cabin a rap came on the door and I was invited to dinner with the owners, a reserved but likeable couple. Not wanting to attend the dinner empty-handed, I shot out into the remote north woods in search for something to bring. Knowing that any large town was at least an hour away, I shot towards the nearest village that might have any establishment whatsoever. My Neverlost brought me down dirt roads, that ran the perimeter of the stormy lake. With wind blowing rain and gravel-mud beneath my wheels, I found it fun but a wee bit nerve wracking, wanting to get something and get back in time and not get lost or stuck. I found a bar with no one inside but the tender and grabbed some ice cream bars. When I presented them as dessert, the owner was impressed that I got Blue Bunny bars and wanted to know what establishment I got it from. He carried Blue Bunny for years but his distributor no longer could get them, to his disappointment!
Shoots the next day brought me into Bena. Here I sat at a café and drank coffee with the owner of the establishment. In his late 30’s, we exchanged stories and travels. He had fished for 3 years in the Aleutian islands and spent a good 10 years doing construction in Arizona. One of his workers was a self-declared ‘southern’ girl but currently looking after the family’s homestead up north. We humored over equal love of the south, whether it be Georgia or that country called Texas and shook our heads at the misperceptions people have of those generous latitudes.
After shoots saw another chat with the owner of a small bar. He was a truck driver and spoke of his recent divorce. He fried up some spectacular northern and presented it gratis. It ended very agreeably, having started with a fury upon seeing my camera. He had apparently been harassed quite a bit during the divorce precedings and thought this another ruse on the part of his ex.
Tomorrow is a very early start and a two hour jaunt to a place called Lake Shore. I’ve met only one local who has heard of the place and hope that the GPS does not guide me down yet another logging road. But I did see a black bear on such a detour and perhaps I’ll see another!
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