The dharma bum's dog had a run-in with some ground hornets recently and it reminded me of a childhood experience of my own where I learned first hand the woes of provoking those vicious little critters.
When I was a kid my family had a cabin on Leech lake in northern MN and I spent many family vacations there. I spent countless hours exploring the woods in the vacant lots nearby - Back in a time when there were still vacant lots on the shorelines of lakes. One particular year I discovered an abandoned cedar strip boat near the shore. I made this discovery in the spring in mid-may. After a brief period of jubilation, thinking that I could possibly resurrect this craft for my own use, a more thorough investigation revealed that years of unprotected weathering and rot had consumed through portions of the hull. So my dreams of being the youngest boat owner on the lake were dashed, leaving me just a young boy in the woods once more. But I did find solace in hitting and poking around the deteriorated portions of the hull with a stick, knocking out the rotten portions with the relish of an overzealous dentist, working like a madman to save a 12-foot long tooth.
Fast forward to our family vacation in July of that same year. Somewhere toward the middle of the week I found myself again wandering the woods. Once more I happened across the abandoned boat. I resumed my game, discovering that a majority of the truly rotten material had been knocked loose in my previous game that spring. To continue the game would require a more aggressive use of force. I found a stick about the size and weight of a hockey stick; Swinging it back over my shoulders in an extreme lumberjack cut, I brought it down soundly on the keel.
The resulting sound was not unlike a stock car going around the far corner of a racetrack. Hornets began pouring out of every nook, cranny and crevice of the boat. I cried out and bolted through the woods. In retrospect the smarter move would have been to dive into the lake and follow the shoreline back to our property. I think I read in the Art of War that an army thrown into chaos will almost always choose to retreat in the same direction that it came from. I was in much chaos. I flew through the woods, a few stings landing here and there on my back and arms as I ran. The inevitable came when I tripped over the tongue of a boat trailer concealed in the underbrush, allowing the main pursuit group to catch up with me. They attacked me as mercilessly as I had attacked their home.
Fortunately for me my reaction was mild, considering the number of stings to my scalp, face, neck, back and arms (Either my jeans kept them from getting to my legs or they didn't bother with them, as they had unrestricted access to my head). I do not recall how many times in all I was stung. I did learn from the experience though, and I am now cautious around rotten wood or infrequently used structures encountered in the forest.
Oh yeah, and I also learned to have an escape route planned a priori to ever hitting anything with a stick.
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Wow. That sounds terrible! Thanks for passing on that valuable little lesson. It was certainly scary to think about what would have happened if one of us had gotten so badly attacked as far from civilization as we were... Not fun. Anyway, enjoyed your story as much as I could. :)
ReplyDeleteThe worst was hitting that trailer hitch across my shin, at a dead run. Even if I hadn't tripped, the pain was bad enough that I might have went down anyway.
ReplyDeleteI was on the ground so fast (and so shocked to find myself there) that I clearly recall a moment between when I identified what tripped me and when the bees struck - A textbook "Oh Crap" moment.
As I got older and I started watching slasher films, I was the only one who never found it odd that the characters would trip, fall down or run into trees when fleeing through the woods from the psycho killer.
The other thing that I forgot to mention is that back then, some of my relatives had this bizarre practice of nailing the heads of northerns they had cleaned to a tree near where I fell. The flies would pick them clean so the tree was basically covered in northern skulls in various stages of decomposition. It was was quite a menacing tree to behold - very fierce in a Golding-esque way. The more I think about it - I think that I was Simon in that analogy.
As a fellow “cabin kid” and old school bee fighter, your post hit a very deep vein. Exiled for three months every year to Lake Vermilion, I too spent hours exploring the woods around our cabin; run-ins with bees were inevitable. My worst encounter with angry bees resulted in a mere 7 stings and came after my Light Saber (popple stick) slashed through some tall grass and cut a hidden basketball-sized bald-faced hornet nest into two pieces. Your comparison to a victim in a horror movie is spot on – sheer terror.
ReplyDeleteAlso down the road (well before the real estate boom) there was an abandoned cabin with a tilted boat house. Inside sat an old Chris Craft inboard in an advanced state of decay. I used to sneak over and spend whole mornings snooping around the boathouse and sitting in the old boat – the sights, sound, and smells are with me to this day.
This post brought back a lot of memories – thanks!
Hey Eric, Thanks for stopping by. It's official, there are now five people reading this blog.
ReplyDeleteI can think of fewer things more beneficial for a boy than some unsupervised time exploring the woods. I think that statement would make my wife jump straight up and out of her skin. We live in different times these days.
There was an abandoned resort near where we fished that had a large cache of wild asparagus. My brother in law would beach our boat in the old harbor and I could wander around while he harvested.
The entire place was blanketed under huge maples and even in broad daylight the place had a shady and sinister feel to it. I remember peering in through the dirty windows of the cabins and the lodge, and rummaging through the junk that was strewn around. I imagined the people who had stayed there over the years, wondered where the former owners were now and why the resort had closed. Had there been a tragedy, or a terrible crime? I'm afraid my 10-year old mind did not process concepts such as economic viability or bankruptcy. It seemed a reasonable possibility to me that there were bones beneath the floorboards of those cabins.
In the height of dog days even the shade was not much relief from the heat, it only encouraged the mosquitos. I don't know if it was all the bloodletting or just the creepy feeling I got from trespassing in that place but I was relieved when we headed back to the boat and went out for the evening bite.
There was never any danger of course but my mind whipped up enough that I still recall that event as a grand adventure from my childhood close to 30 years later. You don't get that type of experience from Nintendo.
I really pity kids nowadays.