When wasps attack

This afternoon I was attacked by minute flying insects that I’m guessing were wasps. Looking to discover new fishing grounds, I had gone on an exploratory mission upstream to a section of the gorge I had never been to before. In some places the going was easy. In others it required hopping from one big rock to another. And there were places where I had to wade through nearly waist high water.

Finally, I arrived at a large, deep pool that reached almost across the gorge. It looked promising but access was limited by dense, low vegetation. Substantial trees with branches only six or eight feet above my head were a further impediment. It would be a challenging spot from which to cast a line, but I was excited by the prospect of making a good catch. Without hesitation, I prepared hook, line and frog. To reach further out into the water, I needed to swing the line above my head a few times and then let go.

Regrettably, in this process, the hook and frog hit or brushed against some impediment above me. Immediately, that didn’t seem to be a problem, except that what I thought was low hanging vegetation, turned out to be a nest of tiny wasps. Diminutive though they were, these insects had a hostile attitude, and they were clearly displeased by my intrusion into their space. To begin with, I did not even see them. I just knew my unclothed arms, neck, and shoulders were afflicted by multiple burning stings, as though someone or something was attacking me with red-hot needles. I dropped the spool and line and thrashed about in a frenzy, yelping with pain.

In the midst of this mayhem, I detected tiny yellow and black insects hovering over me and understood what was happening. If water had been more accessible, I might have flung myself into it. Instead, like a man gone berserk, arms flailing about me, I crashed through the brush, wanting only to get away from that place as quickly as possible. For a few intensely long seconds the wasps pursued and continued to attack me. When they withdrew, I was left cursing and quivering with pain over much of my upper body.

Gradually I regained some composure and realized I had left the fishing spool behind. It’s my only spool. Without it, I’d have a hard time catching fish. I let a few minutes pass, then crept back to retrieve it. I found the spool and reached down to pick it up but at that instant the wasps descended on me again. With spool in hand, I retreated as fast as I could, but sustained several additional stings, including a couple on my face. The fact that I was naked from the waist up, wearing only boots and shorts gave my attackers plenty to work with.

Now back at camp, I’ve counted at least 30 stings, most of them on my shoulders, arms and back. They are round, red spots, itchy, tender, and still mildly painful. I’ll eat a quick dinner and go to bed early. I’m not feeling too good.

Setback

Yesterday’s run-in with the wasps is turning out to be a worse setback than expected. I woke up in the middle of the night in extreme discomfort, scratching myself and unable to get back to sleep. It was a long night.

Now the red sting marks have swollen, and each one has a tiny yellow dot of what appears to be pus in the middle of it. I keep wanting to scratch them but doing so just makes things worse. On top of the general discomfort, I feel tired and weak. I’ve done nothing but lie around camp all day, feeling sorry for myself and concerned that my condition might worsen.

No swimming today but immersing myself in the water did make me feel a little better.

Recovery

After three days, the swelling around the wasp stings has subsided. Only tiny scabs remain where the stings were. They are no longer itchy, now just a source of minor discomfort. I expect they’ll soon be gone.

It’s a relief to have survived this aerial assault. From now on, I’ll be on the lookout for the little flying demons, especially in dense vegetation. If they catch me by surprise again, at least I’ll know to retreat immediately. And, in the future, I’ll wear a shirt or jacket whenever I venture into unknown territory or stray far from my camp, no matter how hot it is.

There is something reassuring about the wasp experience. My body was attacked by a foreign force. It suffered some pain, swelling and fatigue. And some alarm. But it has shown resilience. It’s ready to interact with the world again.

Decades before New Zealand-born Keith Stewart landed on his 88-acre farm in Orange County, NY, where he would grow organic vegetables and herbs for 34 years and teach up-and-coming farmers, his personal pilgrimage included a Thoreauvian stretch living solo in the sparsely populated Australian outback. Now retired from farming, Stewart has been cleaning up a roughly scribbled journal he kept during that formative stretch in 1972, thinking he might turn it into a book. Meanwhile, his wife, artist Flavia Bacarella, is working on woodcuts to accompany the journal. They have invited ‘Dirt’ to publish excerpts of ‘The Alone Trip’ serially. This is the fifth part.