Gatineau Park, Quebec September 8, 1978

On the highway heading south, it has started to rain.  
The first rain in quite a while. 
I turn the windshield wipers on.

They leave great streaks on the windshield.

Bug bodies! Oily bug bodies! 

I contemplate throwing powdered soap on the windshield to counter the slime. 

Instead I stop and deal with the mess with soap and sponge and elbow grease (not oil).

I observe three bugs on the passenger side window. 

They appear of the same kind, but one is large and the other two small. 

About the size of a mosquito. Winged. Light transparent beige. 

The two little ones are on the bigger one's back – either attacking it or mating with it, I can't tell. 

The bigger one seems rather annoyed, shaking and doing cartwheels on the window. 

Aha! Another menage a trois just landed on the window in precisely the same state: two on one. 

The large one's abdomen is much bigger than the smaller one’s.

And appears to grow larger as they mate... 

Now just one on one, the other small one resting (?) some distance away. 

What a performance. 

There are thousands of them out there, all doing the same thing.  

I wonder what they are.  

And if they bite…

 

I pass through a more settled, pastoral landscape.

Old barns and cornfields.

More like Ontario.







The road hugs the Gatineau River. 

The ramshackle houses of up north have given way to well-kept homes. 

Yellow "Citizen" boxes dot the road. 





I find the road to Gatineau Park.

It’s a rough dirt road with no sign and no directions. 

There are manicured grounds on either side of the road, back to about 50 feet. 

Then 'wilderness'. 

Rough wooden signs announce the existence of a lake and warn: 

"No camping, no hunting, no alcoholic beverages, no domestic pets." 

There are no other signs, just very pleasant looking, pastoral places along the roadway, nicely set back, with picnic tables strewn thoughtfully about. 

Like a beautiful front lawn of some expensive state manor.  

But it seems there'll be no camping here.  

More’s the pity.  

C’est la vie.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Preamble: Why Canada? Why solo? Why not?

New Denver, Slocan Valley, B.C. June 2, 1978

Moyie Lake, B.C. June 6, 1978