Contradiction: mosquitoes and a fire ban

Up in the North Country, certain things go hand-in-hand: A moose and a pond. Tamaracks and a bog. Blueberry bushes and a rocky outcrop. A bear and a dumpster. A portage and a steep hill - or waist-deep muck hole. One isn't quite complete without the other.

Two Boundary Waters regulars I never expected to see paired together, however, just hooked up last week: a bumper crop of mosquitoes, and a U.S. Forest Service-issued campfire ban.

Mosquitoes, of course, inhabit the wet-and-swampy places, which the BWCA and surrounding region have in abundance. Too bad the desert southwest isn't in the market for ponds, bogs, and swamps, or we could all retire millionaires.

The North Country - from the farthest reaches of the tundra all the way down to our beloved Boundary Waters - has a reputation for hella fierce bugs come summer. Mosquitoes are a given, but the BWCA also breeds noseeums, black flies, and my favorite, the horse fly. The horse fly is probably the most bad-ass of the bunch. Wikipedia explains why:

The bite from a larger specimen is extremely painful, especially considering the light, agile, and airborne nature of the fly. Unlike insects which surreptitiously puncture the skin with needle-like organs, horse flies have mandibles like tiny serrated scimitars, which they use to rip and/or slice flesh apart. This causes the blood to seep out as the horsefly licks it up. They may even carve a chunk completely out of the victim, to be digested at leisure.

It's every bid as horrid as it sounds. I've watched a horse fly land on me and literally rip a chunk of flesh right out of my skin.

None of the pestilence of these bloodsucking and flesh-eating insects are spared on the unwitting canoeist. (Once you've been out in canoe country in June, it's easier to understand why the voyageurs wore long-sleeved shirts and pants on even the hottest summer days. Or they probably did. At least that's what paintings portray.)

(Aside: I recently learned that black flies, apparently, are largely responsible for pollinating blueberry plants. No black flies means no blueberries. So the next time one takes a bite out of your arm and you ask yourself, "Why on earth did God create the black fly?" you'll know the answer: To pollinate blueberry bushes.)

Fortunately, the bug season is as transient as it is fierce. June is merciless, but the flies and mosquitoes dwindle by mid-July. Come the typical mid-August, the BWCA is practically bug-free.

But it's been a wet year. The Gunflint Trail received something like 20 inches of rain in two months last fall. Snowfall was back to normal levels - that's a good 100 inches - this winter. And the spring and early summer brought deluge after deluge. One particularly potent set of storms earlier this summer washed out parts of the Gunflint Trail and flooded downtown Grand Marais (the link is to photos, including a couple taken by my cousin, Kate Watson). Lake levels are 3+ feet higher than a year ago, and the USFS Smokey Bear fire danger signs in the Superior National Forest read "LOW" for the first time in many summers.

All of this moisture has had consequences. The mosquitoes have stayed long past their time. During a normal mid-August cabin trip, we might notice the occasional dim-witted, slow-flying mosquito during the day - easily snuffed in a slap of the hands - and a few more at dusk.

Just a week ago, however, mosquitoes were a nearly constant presence in the woods. Loose the breeze, and they were on you like sharks on a blood trail, whining in your ear and biting your neck. At sunset, clouds of them ascended from the woods. Even biting flies made late-season cameos over the weekend.

Well, fine. If a few more bugs mean the Canoe Country is safe from forest fires this year, that's a small price to pay.

Au contraire: On Wednesday this week, the Forest Service announced a ban on all campfires in the blowdown area of the Boundary Waters. This is not an unusual action: The USFS has been cautious about the risk of forest fires in blowdown area since 1999, and especially after 2006's Cavity Lake Fire and the devastating Ham Lake Fire of 2007 (click the link for photos; click here for even more). The Forest Service will enact fire bans whenever the weather turns dry. And while fall, winter, and spring were wet, much of Canoe Country hasn't seen more than the occasional rain shower or downpour since early July.

The ban took effect Thursday last week, until further notice. While it does not include propane stoves - like those Jenni and I will use to cook on the canoe trip - it does mean that we may lose the romance of a cheery nightly campfire. Nearly half our trip falls within the blowdown fire restriction zone as defined by the Forest Service.

Clouds of mosquitoes in the midst of a fire ban? That's a first.

A couple of weeks ago on the blog, I joked about snow in September. Now, consider the benefits: lower fire danger and no more mosquitoes.

Snow in September nearly sounds welcome!