MOSQUITOES 



Though the summer may sound a very tame 

 time from a hunter's point of view, there is one 

 occupation that keeps everybody busy. I mean, 

 fighting the mosquitoes. 



From the beginning of July to the end of 

 August, and even later, the summer air of Labrador 

 swarms with countless hosts of bloodthirsty gnats. 

 The supply is unlimited. 



Mosquitoes, we call them ; and rightly, I suppose, 

 for their scientific name is Culex ; and they live 

 fully up to the evil repute that their family has 

 for biting and stinging and buzzing and swarming 

 around. How, thought I, can one be expected to 

 enjoy this lovely scenery, these otherwise delightful 

 walks among the hills, if one is compelled to be 

 encased in a gauze veil and a pair of thick gloves ? 

 The buzzing creatures perch on the meshes of your 

 veil, and you can see them striving to get through ; 

 if you have not adopted Eskimo boots, which reach 

 up to your knees, they climb about your knitted 

 socks, and sit there, biting your ankles between the 

 strands of wool, and you can almost imagine them 

 kicking their heels with delight at the convenience 

 of having something to stand on while they ply their 

 nefarious trade. 



There is a hideous fascination about watching 

 the mosquitoes: you may slap and dance, but 

 however many you may kill there are always plenty 

 waiting their turn, and the only satisfaction you get 

 is in the knowledge that new-comers receive an 

 extra share of their attentions, and that some day 

 you will be hardened. The first bites may produce 

 really alarming results. I am sure that I took all 

 due precautions, the first night that I slept on shore 



258 



