Hiking Isle Au Haut

Yesterday we took the mailboat out to Isle au Haut for some hiking. We disembarked at Duck Harbor at the southwest corner of the island, which is largely unspoiled forest and hiking trails, with a handful of camping sites available. Although I have been on the mailboat multiple times, this was the first time I had actually set foot on the island, and I was eager to see what it was like.

It turns out that Isle au Haut is like most of coastal Maine—only more so. There was lots of rugged and dramatic scenery, sheer cliffs, pine trees and ferns, and plenty of granite. There are lots of different hiking options, too, from simple trails with only small elevation changes to much more difficult hiking that requires you to clamber up rock faces. I enjoyed the view, in the photo above, looking south from a promontory a few hundred feet above the ocean, and the inky black pool of water, shown below, that was perfectly reflective and framed by rock outcroppings.

By the time we reached Squeaker Cove, shown below, we realized that our visit to Isle au Haut would not only feature memorable vistas, but also an unprecedented swarm of biting black flies. According to the park rangers, the flies had just appeared the day before, and no doubt the swarm would be gone a day or two later. But the flies were there yesterday, in force and ready to chomp, descending on everything that moved and giving vicious bites if you didn’t swat them away in time. There were so many flies that the legs and backs of fellow hikers would be virtually carpeted in flies. The little bloodthirsty bastards were easy to kill, in their singleminded zeal for a meal, but for every one that got swatted another ten were circling and ready to land.

Eventually the pesky flies became so annoying and unpleasant that they drove even the most ardent hikers back to the mailboat dock, where the breeze off the ocean kept the fly swarms to a minimum. As we waited for the mailboat to arrive we swapped fly tales with other hikers and sympathized with the dogs that had suffered mightily from fly bites. And as we waited even the boat dock offered some pretty views, like the one below.

I’d like to go back to Isle au Haut to do more hiking and exploring—but before I do I’m going to call the Duck Harbor ranger station for a fly report.

Big Fly

Autumn is flu shot season, and football season, and allergy season.  It is also — regrettably — big fly season.

IMG_4980We try to keep our doors shut during the summer months.  But somehow, some way, crafty houseflies get inside.  And then, usually, we don’t see them for a while.  They flit around at night, doing whatever vile things flies do.  They also must consume some kind of special housefly growth tonic, because by the time fall comes you’re being dive-bombed by houseflies the size of golf balls that buzz like chainsaws.  You hear the distinctive buzz and out of the corner of your eye you see that large, hairy black object flying straight at you and you duck and swat at the repulsive creatures.

Why does autumn seem to infuse flies with such recklessness?  Are they simply feeling indestructible because they have grown to brobdingnagian proportions.  Or, as I suspect, do they realize that the end is near, and they might as well take one shot at annoying the humans they’ve been avoiding for weeks?  When you’re huge, why not live large?

Because we all know how the story ends — with gigantic, granddaddy flies dead as doornails, curled up on the floor or on the windowsill above the kitchen sink, to be retrieved with a tissue and a feeling of utter disgust and tossed in the trash or the toilet.  It’s a meek ending for a big fly.

Why Did Zebras Get Their Stripes?

Why do zebras have stripes?  It’s a question many kids have asked their parents, and one that many scientists have tried to answer.  Now researchers say they’ve solved the puzzle, and it has to do with . . . flies.

Awful, blood-sucking horseflies, to be precise.  The researchers contend that the patterns of stripes reflect light in a way that makes zebras unattractive to flies.  They conclude that the coats of black and brown horses, poor devils, reflect light in a horizontal way that horseflies love, whereas the coats of white horses don’t reflect light in that way and, as a result, white horses are less troubled by painful fly bites.  When stripes were added, the researchers found, even fewer flies were attracted.  Hence, they believe that stripes evolved to keep flies away.

Color me skeptical.  Much as it sucks to be bitten by blood-sucking flies — and it does — it’s not life-threatening and wouldn’t seem to be a sufficient cause for a significant evolutionary detour.  If it were, we wouldn’t be seeing black and brown horses romping through the pastures of Ohio, and elsewhere.  As I understand evolution, the process of natural selection works only if a genetic variation makes the individual with the variation more likely to survive and reproduce.  A variation that allows you to be more successful at avoiding non-life-threatening fly bites wouldn’t seem to fall into that category.

On the other hand, it could be that lady zebras long ago decided that black-coated males who were covered with biting flies were less attractive potential mates than those cool, laid-back striped dudes over by the watering hole who weren’t frantically twitching their tails at swarms of horseflies.  Or, alternatively, the black-coated lady zebras tormented by blood-sucking flies were less likely to be in a receptive reproductive mood than their serene, striped counterparts.