Mosquito: The State Bird for Maine

"What do you do about the mosquitoes?" the couple asked.

"You move faster," I said.

Blank stares with strangers.

"Oh."

            I woke up at 430 the next morning with the rain dissipating and Sun rising.  It's going to be a great day!  I grabbed some water from the river, filtered it with a painfully slow system and headed down the trail at pace.  It was unbelievably flat as I left Katahdin Stream Campground.  Parts of the forest were dense and daylight had to wait to enter.  As the sun finally peaked onto the trail, fog burned off and the sounds of birds came alive.  It brought a smile to....

"AH! What the fuck?!" I bitched. "That was a big ass mosquito."

            Yes, I began talking to myself on day 2.  Now where were we?  Aw yes, to see nature come alive brought a...

"Fucking son of a bitch!" I yelled.

            As I tried to "become one with nature" I had walked into a boggy area where apparently the world's largest carnivorous mosquito population was waiting for me.  These suckers were starting to bite on every exposed piece of flesh I had and when I smacked them, they splattered.  They were the biggest and most aggressive mosquitoes I had ever seen.  At least back home in Virginia there's some standoff and they don't appear to be on anabolic steroids.  I began to take my own advice to move faster.  This wasn't sufficient as the mosquitoes would hover over the trail in groups of 20-30 every 50 feet and would just hop on as you walked or ran into their morning bloodlust party.

            To make matters worse, I somehow missed a turn and realized I was going in circles.  This is the easiest trail to navigate and I'm lost already?  How the hell did that happen?  I back tracked and found my way, all while being prison shanked by flying swordfish.  I decided I had to put on pants and mosquito netting, so as I picked up a fast jog I planned how to get into my pack and dressed as quickly as possible. 

            I had a plan, picked up a full-on sprint to get out of the kill zone and then stopped.  I dropped my shorts and grabbed my pants hoping to not get mosquitoes all over my man parts in the process.  I put on a boonie cap from my military days and dawned the mosquito net covering my face.  Then I went for a long sleeve... shit... no long sleeve shirt, because who thinks to pack that in July?  I got back to speed hiking as the mosquitoes drank from my exposed arms.  I was flailing like a jazzerciser hoping to scare them away.

            After about 8 miles I needed a break, but these asshole mosquitoes were still attacking me.  I remembered I had a small towel that might be able to cover enough of me to not go crazy.  I stopped to get it out of my pack and the mosquitoes were now biting thru my pants.  This is RIDICULOUS.  As I'm putting on the towel I turned my head to spit and forgot about the damn mosquito netting around my head.  Yep, now there was spit in my face.  It was officially amateur hour.

The towel covered enough of my arms so I only got bit eleven-teen more times before I hit a clearing with a road 2 more miles south.  Awww the breeze eliminated the mosquitoes and Abol Bridge campsite was close.  I followed the road to the campsite where there was a supply store attached to a restaurant that was conveniently closed on Tuesdays, the day I arrived.

"Do you guys have a bathroom I could use?" I asked the cashier.

            She pointed to the back and I was so elated to sit on a toilet.  I know I just started the trail, but I was thinking about a toilet visit all morning.  I smelled awful, but didn't care as I took shelter from the mosquitoes in a roadside bathroom.  This is the life I've always dreamed of.  Aren't you envious while reading?  I walked out five pounds lighter and bought a Coors Light, breakfast burrito and chips.  There was a picnic table outside overlooking a lake and I sat in the Sun for lunch.  Day 2 was only half done.  I had my wet clothes drying all over the table when I had my first run-in with a NOBO (northbound) thru hiker.

"Going all the way?" I asked with excitement.

"Yeah. Started last year," he said with an aggravated English accent.

            He took his clothes off to wring out the sweat and laid them to dry.  He was tall, pale and red headed with a nasty red beard.  I warned him of the mosquitoes he was about to encounter the next 10 miles and he said they weren't bad to the near south.  He had just exited the 100-mile wilderness and wanted a hot meal.  He got no such luck and was furious about the restaurant being closed on a Tuesday until I told him about the breakfast burrito. 

"How far have you gone today?" I annoyingly asked.

"15 miles with 10 to go."

            This man was on a mission to finish and I could not even fathom being that close to the end.  He put his disgusting wet clothes on from the day before that had been soaked by the rain.  He knew he had no choice because they were the only long sleeved clothes he had to protect himself from the insect vampires.  And you know what?  He gave zero fucks about what he had to wear as he was so close to completing a 2,185 mile hike.  My day was about to get worse as I packed up and imagined how excited that guy must be.