The sun was shining and the air was filled with black flies on that early June day of 1977 as I rode my bike through Limekiln Campground. I was checking out some of the more remote spots of my realm, pedaling just fast enough to out-pace those blood-thirsty flies.
Most of my special spots required getting off my bike and taking a bushwhack up an old creek bed or down an old log road where the bugs were crowding in on me pretty good.
I swatted a few but it only seemed to make them madder.
Once I got down by the old dam I leaned my bike against the register sign and decided to check out the rock-hopping situation.
I crept down over the edge of the old dam using a protruding iron rod as a railing.
Just as I was about to put my feet flat on a large boulder a large wasp flew up my pant leg.
It was the biggest wasp I had ever seen.
I gave my leg a little twitch to let him know he was not welcome, but he continued to climb up heading for my kneecap.
I looked around for a stick to to use as a swatter but the only thing lying around were larger branches.
With biting blackflies leaving puddles of blood on my neck and ears, I decided I had better do something to get that wasp to clear out.
I reached up and pulled off my wool ball cap and gave him a gentle brush.
It was at that moment that a few of his cousins popped out from between two old deck boards.
I thought it would be a good idea to go before his aunts and uncles arrived on the scene too.
I must have performed a world class climbing feat up the front of that dam because by the count of three I was already on my bike and 100 feet down the trail pedaling for all I was worth.
I never have enjoyed the company of blackflies, but to this day if a wasp flies close to me the hair on the back of my neck stands on end.
Mitch Lee, Adirondack native & storyteller, lives at Inlet. ltmitch3rdny@aol.com