I believe I found the source of all mosquitoes in the Mid-Atlantic. Apparently there is a mosquito factory in St. Mary's Wilderness. These may not be large as the ones that carry off cattle in Wisconsin, nor as dense as the ones that block out the sun in the Everglades, but they certainly hold their own in the flying pest department.
I went out for a short 2-night getaway this past weekend in that relatively isolated section of the George Washington National Forest. I've been backpacking in that area quite a few times in winter months, but this was my first summer trip in that area. I only decided to go because it was supposed to be rainy and cool (highs in the 70s) and I was going through a little withdrawal because I hadn't been out in awhile.
After a fairly strenuous and soggy 8 miles on Saturday, my second night was at one of my favorite spots along Mills Creek. Tarp up (still raining), hammock up, feet up. Too wet to make a fire, so started dinner on my pocket rocket under my tarp. I didn't last five minutes before I was swatting and itching like crazy. I was fully covered from head (skully pulled low) to toes (medium wool socks) in various types of clothing. The only thing uncovered was my face, neck, and and hands. But it didn't matter. The little buggers were voracious and biting through my clothes. I was lathering on Picaridin like it was SPF 50 and I was a redhead at the beach, but it didn't seem to deter them. I finally just gave up, crawled into my Fronkey-covered hammock (thank goodness I thought to bring the bugnet!), and went to bed early.
The next day, finally home, showered, and tick checked, I counted over 50 mosquito bites on virtually every part of my body including through my beard, on my eyelids and ears, and on the top of my head. (What the hell were they expecting to find up there??) My hands and face took the worst hits, naturally, but feet, legs, arms, back, and shoulders all have their share. I've already been through most of a tube of Benadryl and I've melted down half my cutlery doing the hot spoon trick. The itching is maddening.
Needless to say, no more summer trips along Mills Creek.
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