Being a Kirkland Lake boy, I never thought I would develop an allergy to something that is as common up north as air pollution is here in the sunny, industrialized, too-close-to-the-GTA south.
I'm talking about Northern Ontario's official bird, the female mosquito.
Recently I have noticed I am obviously allergic to bug spit, the saliva of the mosquito. I came to this conclusion because of the robin’s egg-sized welts that develop anywhere on my body where a mosquito stops for a quick fill-me-up.
When mosquitoes (and black flies too, I have learned) have a nibble, they inject their protein-packed drool into their victim. It prevents the blood from clotting, allowing the beastie to chug a pint or two without choking, I guess.
Most people develop a wee bump and an itch that lasts a day or two. That was me until last year.
Now I swell up with huge carbuncles at the sites of the bites and I scratch for a week. Terribly unpleasant and not particularly pretty.
I did the research, and the experts say I might have Skeeter Syndrome (I'm not making this up). Of course, they could be wrong. They also say that SSS (Severe Skeeter Syndrome) reactions, including large areas of swelling, blistering rashes, bruises, or trouble breathing, rarely occur in people who have been bitten repeatedly by mosquitoes over many years. Apparently, you can build up immunity.
In my case, the opposite seems to have taken place. I was, as we fondly boast up north, eaten alive on many occasions while fishing, hunting, or simply barbecuing a burger (check it out … barbecues not a big seller in Moonbeam), so my immune system should be swimming with anti-bug antibodies.
Not so, apparently, and because of that, I have to be extremely cautious when venturing outdoors in early morning or at dusk. I don't wear dark clothing when golfing and I never tramp through the brush looking for a lost golf ball.
Once, while moose hunting (relax, I sold my guns and gave up killing for sport a dozen years ago), I got lost in the deep woods of Northern Ontario and soon learned why a popular brand of bug juice is called Deep Woods Off. I only wished then that I had remembered to dump a can or three of the diethylmetatoluamide-loaded insect repellent into my backpack.
For those of us in the know, that's DEET with a fancy name. And up north, we called Off, F-Off, if you get my meaning.
On that occasion, it wasn't long before I was driven buggy and could sympathize with the deer and moose that are driven out of the bush by attacking insects and onto roads where they turn Volkswagen Beetles into squashed bugs at the blink of an eye.
When travelling in the Caribbean or Mexico, I never worried about a mosquito infecting me with malaria. And I wasn't concerned about West-Nile virus back home. But these hideous welts that grow from an infinitesimal amount of bug spittle really freak me out.
So I never, ever, do what bears do.
