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Destinations > Bzzzzzzzz - Slap!
Bzzzzzzzz - Slap!
Issue: August 2007
Words by Denis O'Byrne
A while back I was checking out the tents in a Darwin camping store when I got talking with a couple of young English tourists on the start of an extended camping tour of Australia.
Their first night out was on the Mary River floodplain. It was hot and muggy, being early dry season, but the sunset was a yellow-and-red delight and they could hear the great fl ocks of magpie geese out on the nearby swamps.
As the steaks sizzled in the pan they opened a couple of cold ones and settled back in their camp chairs, enjoying the moment. It was about then that the experience began to turn into the worst night of their lives. As the sun slipped below the horizon a mosquito landed on a bare ankle and began to feed.
A well-directed slap and the mozzie became a splash of red blood on white skin. Soon they were both slapping frantically as a voracious horde of mozzies descended for the feast.
The battle was short, but fi erce and bloody. No matter how many mozzies they swatted, more appeared to take their place. They were wearing sandals (no socks!), shorts and singlets - hardly what's recommend for outdoor evening wear on the Top End wetlands - and a desperate search failed to find the insect repellent they'd purchased in Darwin. In full retreat they grabbed their beers and half-cooked meal and dived into the tents.
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It would be nice if this sorry tale was to end here, but sadly their tents were two-jockey domes whose ventilation consisted of a small screened opening at each end. They likened it to being in a sauna without the steam. After 10 or so hours of this, much of the gloss had gone off camping.
However, when daylight came the mozzies disappeared, and a cup of coffee in the cool morning air restored their sense of humour. A group of locals camped nearby gave them some useful tips on living with mozzies, advising them to replace their tent with something more suitable before going any further, which was what they were doing when I met them.
Like those poor young Poms, most people who've spent time camping near mosquito-infested swamps will have a tale of woe - even locals. For example, a couple of Darwinites I know went out to Kakadu for a camping weekend and in their wisdom decided to leave the mosquito nets at home.
But the mozzies were numerous and hungry, and the only way they had of escaping their attentions was to swelter under the sheets. Around midnight they decided that they'd had enough, so they packed up and drove home.
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Words by Denis O'Byrne
A while back I was checking out the tents in a Darwin camping store when I got talking with a couple of young English tourists on the start of an extended camping tour of Australia.
Their first night out was on the Mary River floodplain. It was hot and muggy, being early dry season, but the sunset was a yellow-and-red delight and they could hear the great fl ocks of magpie geese out on the nearby swamps.
As the steaks sizzled in the pan they opened a couple of cold ones and settled back in their camp chairs, enjoying the moment. It was about then that the experience began to turn into the worst night of their lives. As the sun slipped below the horizon a mosquito landed on a bare ankle and began to feed.
A well-directed slap and the mozzie became a splash of red blood on white skin. Soon they were both slapping frantically as a voracious horde of mozzies descended for the feast.
The battle was short, but fi erce and bloody. No matter how many mozzies they swatted, more appeared to take their place. They were wearing sandals (no socks!), shorts and singlets - hardly what's recommend for outdoor evening wear on the Top End wetlands - and a desperate search failed to find the insect repellent they'd purchased in Darwin. In full retreat they grabbed their beers and half-cooked meal and dived into the tents.
read on below advertisement
It would be nice if this sorry tale was to end here, but sadly their tents were two-jockey domes whose ventilation consisted of a small screened opening at each end. They likened it to being in a sauna without the steam. After 10 or so hours of this, much of the gloss had gone off camping.
However, when daylight came the mozzies disappeared, and a cup of coffee in the cool morning air restored their sense of humour. A group of locals camped nearby gave them some useful tips on living with mozzies, advising them to replace their tent with something more suitable before going any further, which was what they were doing when I met them.
Like those poor young Poms, most people who've spent time camping near mosquito-infested swamps will have a tale of woe - even locals. For example, a couple of Darwinites I know went out to Kakadu for a camping weekend and in their wisdom decided to leave the mosquito nets at home.
But the mozzies were numerous and hungry, and the only way they had of escaping their attentions was to swelter under the sheets. Around midnight they decided that they'd had enough, so they packed up and drove home.
next page »
