”Tales From The Underbrush” documents, with occasional hyperbole, the experiences of the artist over a lifetime of interaction with what used to be called nature, now reinvented as the environment for reasons apparently best known by just about everyone in the world excepting the artist-writer. These wilderness interactions have come mainly while working as a geologist, briefly as a forester, but sometimes as just a guy whose principal happiness in life has been derived from being outdoors. Not that life in the wilderness, be it at work or at play has been without pain, discomfort, deprivation and even danger. Fortunately, the passage of time more often then not artfully blots out or at least dims the recollections that wound, substituting instead a recall that if perhaps not substantiating the aging athlete’s jest of “the older I get, the better I was”, at least allows tales to unfold that warm the memory and give substance to the life that experienced them.
The artist proposes to post monthly herein a chapter from his book “Tales From The Underbrush” in the hope that his adventures may be shared and enjoyed by those who might stumble onto this blog. This month’s entry continues the tale.
A Dog Of An Insect
“…………..Hangs like blue thread loosened from the sky
So this winged hour is dropt to us from above.”
Dante Gabriel Rossetti, 1828 – 1882
The House Of Life (1881)
I love dogs, or at any rate what I call real dogs. Dogs that have to be carried, dressed in clothes, that are prey to birds or cats, that can’t see higher than your ankles, but most of all who yap rather than bark, I do not consider to be genuine members of the dog kingdom. Rodent world, yes. Ankle biters, yes. Dog world, no. Toy department, maybe. Barbecue material, possibly.
Now that I have probably offended a large number of people, we can dismiss that issue and move on. I love real dogs in part because they suit my personality. They have the attributes of courage, loyalty, affection, athleticism, a love of play and an eagerness to please. In spite of all that I do not consider them to be man’s best friend. For better or worse, man’s best friend is an insect!
I should preface this seemingly outrageous statement by saying that as a geologist who was “blooded” in the boggy, water-laden forests and tundra of the Canadian Pre-Cambrian Shield region of northern Canada, afflicted as it is with hordes of carnivorous insects lusting for your blood, it might seem strange that I would attach a “best friend” label to a bug and not, in the more traditional manner, to a dog. Those denizens of the population who have never had their bodies and minds ravaged by the criminal element of Canadian insects have a right to retain the dog as their best friend, but not this lad. My best buddy looks like a helicopter with two sets of rotors, comes in a myriad of colours and models, mates “on the wing” and has been around for some 300 million years. While it may or may not have inspired Mr. Sikorsky’s brilliant invention of a functional helicopter (as opposed to Leonardo da Vinci’s original inspiration), it seems no small coincidence that the profile and aerial capabilities of both the helicopter and this bug display impressive similarities. Vertical takeoff, flying in reverse, hovering, whirling, darting and dipping in powerful flight are the hallmarks of both, as are the rescue of the helpless and hapless, one in conscious fashion, the other as the unconscious product of a voracious appetite.
I speak of course of the dragonfly, that menacing looking aerial acrobat that looks for all the world like a helicopter dancing around the sky in unfettered flight. The fossil record has revealed that ancient dragonflies had wing spans of about 72 centimetres (28 inches). In modern dragonflies that wing span has been reduced to a range of 2 centimetres (3/4 of an inch) to 16 centimetres (6 inches), which nonetheless makes them of considerable size in the insect world. With a bulbous upper body on which are attached fore and aft wing pairs, and a long slender, trailing abdomen for a “tail”, the analogy with the helicopter is completed by the enormous pair of compound eyes that are like large, twin bubble canopies. In each of these compound eyes are said to be over 12,000 simple eyes, which may explain why the dragonfly is a visually based predator. It literally does have eyes in the back of its head! Found in many climates of the world, the 6,500 or so species come in a stunning range and combination of colours and designs, from iridescent blues and greens to every other colour of the rainbow. Like the butterfly, the dragon fly is a truly beautiful insect.
Because of its look and size, which in the insect world might be viewed as considerable when compared for example to a mosquito or house fly, there is often the common misconception, mainly by urban types, that the dragonfly is a dangerous, biting menace that threatens the survival of the human race. Nothing could be farther from the truth. The dragonfly has absolutely no interest in humans, never mind biting or stinging them. I have been out on a lake fishing from a canoe and had a dragonfly alight on my arm for a rest. Rather than brush him off, I have gone to great pains to make sure that I made no sudden movements that might drive him away before he was ready to go. This basking period might last for a half hour or so, during which time I ceased fishing and just allowed the canoe to drift, a not unpleasant inactivity in which to peacefully indulge while observing and absorbing the beautiful natural world around me. Eventually rejuvenated, the dragonfly would resume his aerial marauding, leaving me to my earthly meandering.
Why this solicitude towards a bug? Because the dragon fly will help preserve your sanity and save you from other bugs whose sole objective is to feast on your flesh and blood and drive you insane in the process. In the larval stage dragonflies are voracious aquatic predators, assisting in the control of insect pests. During the aerial portion of the dragonfly’s life, it becomes an equally voracious aerial eating machine, a fierce, visually oriented hunter with exceptional aerobatic abilities and extremely acute eyesight, focused on hunting and devouring the black fly, the mosquito, and the no-see-ums that make a man’s life miserable.
To understand the importance of the dragonflies to the preservation of human life and mind in the bush of northern Canada, and why I personally venerate their existence, the reader is invited to read the section entitled “Flies and Zippers.” The persistent, savage thuggery of the black fly in particular on the human torso and mind can never be exaggerated. Thus, after a hard morning’s traverse, the thought of lunch might normally seem a pleasant respite in which to indulge. Unfortunately, as in war, stationary targets become easier to attack and to effect killing success. In the bush therefore, a lunch, if undertaken at all, normally consisted of hunching down in one’s bush jacket until it covered your head and then wolfing down a sandwich or orange by shoving it through the space between the button holes in your bush jacket, while hoping that your shirt tails were properly tucked in the now exposed waistline area of your corpus delecti. Particularly demoralizing was a situation where, having determined that lunch was to be had, one happened to find oneself beside a bubbling little brook with water so clear that it magnified all that which lay in it. What could be more perfect than lunch beside clean, clear, cool, refreshing water? No lunch, that’s what. Unfortunately, unlike its equally criminal cousin the mosquito, who likes to linger in water so foul that none but the mosquito inhabits it, the black fly breeds and prospers in an environment of clean, running fresh water. Ergo, the fantasy of a restful lunch beside “clear, cool waters” as the song goes, becomes in reality a battle against time in the face of the constant harassment by black flies. Rarely, but every once in a while however, the fantasy miraculously becomes fact when a posse of dragon flies happens round the neighbourhood. Like magic, there is momentary peace as the black flies scatter in terror. I do not exaggerate when I say that one can almost lounge normally and in comfort while the dragon flies go about their business of hunting down and destroying man’s dreaded enemy. In such a circumstance I do indeed feel rescued and forever grateful to these dragons of the air.
It is always hard to persuade urban types that tales like these are not an exaggeration of reality. When I speak of clouds of black flies rising out of the Labrador tea bush in such volumes as to dim the sunlight around you, I am met with disbelief and skepticism. So be it. I understand and don’t really care if I am believed or not. So as much as I love dogs, I will always venerate the dragonfly and be grateful for it bringing me, from time to time, some relief from the torture of body and mind brought on by the likes of its uncivilized cousins who are attracted to the human condition.
Man’s best friend a dog? Bah, humbug! Or perhaps best said, dragon bug!
Copyright © 2008 Ian de W. Semple
