I had a fantasy. It
lasted one day before falling flat and disappearing like the blink of a firefly
in early summer. It was simple dream. I was going to sleep in
until 8:00 a.m. It might not be grandiose, but it was a fantasy
nonetheless. Exhausted after tossing and turning for several nights
while my brain zoomed in and out of overdrive designing sunscreens and cushion
covers for the cockpit of Imagine. In mid-thought the neural switch
would flip from covers to how much of fabric would be needed to make dinghy
chaps.
Who was I kidding? Sleeping in? The alarm on my biological clock rings loudly
between 5:30 and 6:00 a.m. each and every day, no matter how late I stay up. That morning was no different. Waking to
nature’s call, I rolled out of the berth, shuffled passed the galley and into
the head. Instead of turning on the propane to make a cup of coffee
that day, I shuffled back to the berth with the intention of getting back to
sleep.
After a sigh, I settled
down for some extra zzzz’s when the buzzing began. The war of the
flies had begun. One landed on my cheek, another on my
shoulder. Noooooooooo! It would become an epic
battle. I would shoo and get a moment’s rest before the two pesky
flies became three. “What are you doing?” mumbled my husband,
Ed. At that moment the flies came back bringing their friends and
family. Now they could bring Ed from his slumber as well. UNCLE!
With flyswatter in hand, I listened as the coffee began to
percolate. A quick glance at the clock with one eye closed
determined it was officially 6:06 a.m.; so much for fantasies.
Those flies were going to
suffer. I whacked and hit air more often than a fly. For
each one downed, another two seemed to take its place. In Florida,
outdoor restaurants hang bags of water from the trees to keep away the
flies. Apparently the fly’s reflection is magnified and they are
frightened away. Floridians swear it works. Soon we had three bags
of water dangling from the overhead. The flies laughed at us.
That’s when I remembered
the bleach. Once in the Bahamas, when eating at an outdoors
café flies swarmed. A waiter noticed our plight and brought a
cup of bleach, setting it in the middle of the table. “They
don’t like the smell,” he explained. Suddenly we didn’t have to fan
the air over our plates and eat at the same time. It was worth a
try. Ed held a cup in one hand and a flyswatter in the other while I
poured the bleach. Relief lasted about five minutes.
Apparently, American flies enjoy the smell of bleach.
Two swatters, bleach, and
bags of water had not worked when I opened a drawer looking for a
sponge. OKAY! Our arsenal suddenly expanded with two
forgotten fly strips; Yes, those disgusting sticky things that spiral down to
catch wayward flies. I hung one in the aft berth and one in the main
salon and waited… and waited… and waited. The flies weren’t
buying it.
By now it is 8:30 a.m. and
I’m wondering if we shouldn’t just bomb the boat and leave for a while. That’s when it
happened. I walked straight into a hanging strip. My
hair and cheek were covered with goo. I cursed a little and removed
strands of sticky hair from the strip. Ed looked for the camera. The
flies whizzed past. Have you ever heard a fly
laugh? I’m sure I have.
By the end of the day, we
had snuffed the life out of dozens of flies. The traps caught two
flies and two people, one twice. I turned my head to say something
to Ed and found myself once again peeling my hair from the sticky
strip. I guess the flies and I are even… two for
two. Next it was Ed’s turn. He caught his beard in the
gummy goo as he reached for his hat hanging nearby. The fly strips
came down after that.
A trip to a nearby farm
supply store came next. We left in possession of a certified,
guaranteed baited flytrap. For $6.95, the hanging bottle trap
promised to catch hundreds of flies a day. If it worked, it
would be worth every penny. The last hope flytrap
smelled like horse urine or some other noxious odor that comes from a barn.
It seemed to draw the flies. But they did not fly into the trap. However, it did work in a way. We left the boat. The flies had their
own party before we returned. The odor became so bad that the trap went into a
plastic bag and then the garbage. Yep the flies had the last laugh.
Flies may have destroyed
my fantasy but they had given us a purpose for the day. Ultimately
victory was ours. Late afternoon brought with it a cold
front. Just as quickly as the pesky flies of autumn had appeared,
the cloud of pestilence was gone.
Living on the boat brings
us up close and personal with many insects. Spiders decorate Imagine
each night until we hit salt water and they disappear. In Florida a
colony of ants made a home in a small crack under the toe rail. They
came aboard via a hanging bridge provided by the dock
lines. Mosquitoes, mayflies and stinkbugs have hitched rides as
well.
Screens keep the majority
of insects at bay, but sometimes a hatch is left open. That’s when
unwelcome visitors fly in. I’m won't say who left the hatch open on
the day of the fly wars. I will say it wasn’t me.
