THIS IS A story about wilderness pests. It is told as a warning to others. I remember this disturbing episode like it was yesterday. Because it was yesterday.
We were floating down a river catching bull trout. Or maybe they were Dolly Varden, a fish named after a character in a Dickens novel with pink spots on her dress to match the pink spots on the fish.
Whether they were Dolly Varden or the threatened or endangered bull trout, a pest that is neither threatened nor endangered nor even a trout, it’s a char, was anyone’s guess.
Formerly considered an egg-sucking, smolt-eating scrap fish, the bull trout was elevated into endangered species status by a convoluted fisheries mismanagement scheme that manufactures endangered species by protecting their predators in hopes of creating still more endangered species, but I digress.
People who fish with me get mad when they catch a Dolly or a bull trout. You must release this fish without taking it from the water or risk a ticket. If you keep one of these abundant endangered pests, fish cops can take your fish, your gear, your truck and your boat, throw you in jail and give you a fine. So, we let the bull trout go. Causing the tourists to ask questions like, “If the bull trout are endangered, how come that’s all we catch?”
The answer is easy. Because the rest of the fish are extinct.
Tourists ask a lot of questions that lead to still more questions like, “Are cougars and bears dangerous?”
They are not dangerous, I assure tourists.
The most dangerous pests you are likely to encounter on the Olympic Peninsula are the mice and chipmunks who will rip your camping gear apart while stuffing the engine compartment of your vehicle full of flammable materials to make a cozy nest for themselves.
Forget the bears and cougars, it’s the bugs that will eat you alive. Fortunately, they don’t seem to bother me. Perhaps it’s the acid bile or the fact that you need a tough hide to write for a newspaper. Bugs don’t bother me. Except for horse flies.
The horse flies of the Olympic Peninsula are a stealthy, bloodthirsty adversary for even the savviest fly swatter. Often attacking in teams where one fly buzzes in front of you as another delivers a bite from behind. While sucking your blood, they inject their anti-coagulating saliva that makes your blood flow faster. It stings and itches, so you scratch and scratch, spreading the saliva and enlarging the wound while fending off more bugs with everything from chemicals to tree branches.
The state Department of Health warns that horse flies can transmit tularema, AKA rabbit fever symptoms, which can include fever, skin ulcers and enlarged lymph nodes. They recommend you avoid areas horse flies inhabit, which would include most of the Olympic Peninsula that isn’t paved. Or keep yourself covered, which I do, until I took off my waders. That’s an annual event that occurs when the sun comes out, not unlike the marmot seeing its shadow or the loggers shedding their woolies.
Taking the boots off marks the survival of another winter. Just then we hooked another big bull trout. During this brief lapse of divided attention, I felt a sharp sting in my ankle. I killed the horse fly, but he got me good. There was only one thing to do with a big bull trout on. I spit on my hand, wiped my saliva on the bite and put my boots back on. There was no itch or infection. Hillbilly medicine works.
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Pat Neal is a Hoh River fishing and rafting guide and “wilderness gossip columnist” whose column appears here every Wednesday.
He can be reached at 360-683-9867 or by email via patnealproductions@gmail.com.
