He who hesitates is lost. That may be so, but I’d like to update that saying to ‘he who hesitates is eaten alive,’ as that was the result of a recent blueberry-picking jaunt.
Since early July, I’ve been telling myself to make the time to go berry picking, yet every day seemed to bring either bad weather (too wet, too hot or too humid). However, there finally appeared a white space on the page of my day book and I figured it’s now or never for berry picking this year.
If you are a picker of wild berries, you know the importance of keeping the location of good sites a secret. However, since readers of this column are some of my favourite folks, I will tell you the best spot is on the Canadian Shield, on a rocky ridge between two beaver ponds, near a pine tree, just past a fallen birch. That’s as far as I will go with directions. Surely, you can figure the rest out.
Equipment for berry picking includes a long-sleeved shirt, wide-brimmed hat, bug net for your head, empty containers that are not too deep (to avoid crushing the bottom berries), and they should also be easy to carry when full to overflowing. (No problem stacking empty containers together, but think ahead, people.)
I set out at a good pace, the late afternoon sun in my face, the fresh air feeling deliciously wonderful as it blew gently by. It takes about 20 minutes to walk into the berry site, so a mild sweat was building as rocky hills were climbed and underbrush was crashed through. And I began to notice the deer flies were picking up my scent.
When it comes to biting flies, there is an order in which they find and then attack you. The first thing they notice is movement, so just walking by is enough to stir them to action; arm waving and hand slapping is an additional invitation to come on over.
As they fly closer, the second clue that dinner is about to be served is the perfume of carbon dioxide in the air. Every laboured breath that is exhaled, and every bead of sweat coming from heated skin, contained enough carbon dioxide to send these girls into a state of frenzy. (I mention the gender as it is only the females that bite; they need the blood as part of their egg production.)
The third stage of the attack is stimulated by heat. And a good place to locate heat is the back of a neck, around the ears, under the chin, behind the knees (if you are wearing shorts), and the undersides of your arms.
By the time the last gully was forged and the final climb was completed to the big expanse of open rock, the flies were incredible. Never had I experienced such an attack. A cloud of swarming, biting, frantic deer flies were doing all they could to dive-bomb me, as if trying to fly in my left ear and exit my right nostril, to nip and bite and drive me to distraction. Arms flailed, nasty words were muttered, sweat poured and more squadrons flew in to join the melee.
For whatever the reasons, the flies had chosen me as their sacrificial meal. A head net was pulled from the deep recess of my pack, but the exposed areas of my arms and neck continued to be in need of protection. Perhaps it was the colour of my T-shirt (red) or maybe it just needed a wash (?) but whatever the reason, the trip was turning into an ordeal. (Hmm, did I not say a long-sleeved shirt was required? I must have skipped that line in my haste to get out the door.)
A quick stop was taken to sit on some rocks, where the wind could blow the flies back into the woods. Sitting without movement, and with a body cooling due to the breeze, the flies did abate for a while.
As I had stopped moving, I could better see things around me. In the west beaver pond, a family of four young otters scampered by, mallards and black ducks were noted as they paddled the nearby pond, a great blue heron flew by, and a red fox appeared on the next ridge.
And the blueberries? Not a one. The season was over last week. Between the heat, the wildlife and other berry pickers, every bush was devoid of the cherished fruit. (Later, a friend told me the flies weren’t so bad a week ago. Maybe I should have gone then. Yeah, no kidding, eh?)
On the trek out, the deer flies again showed their strength. At one point, I swung the empty berry container through the throng and captured over a dozen flies in a single swipe. But despite the pesky insects, the empty bushes, and the energy-draining hike, it was a glorious outing. Time spent just sitting on a rock watching the natural world go by is time well spent. Flies be damned.
