Earthworms and other fallacies

I’ve been lying in bed for the last hour pondering the fact that everything in Africa seems to have developed some form of pre emptive self defense that involves reducing me to a state of complete and utter surrender. I know that this may seem repetitive and an ongoing theme of this blog, but I’ve been forced to acknowledge that perhaps it’s not the wildlife but rather me.

The root of the problem is what I have identified as the ability of the human brain to place an overly large amount of faith in what can only be described as bullshit. You see I’ve come to the conclusion that as human beings we thrive on certainties that only become the gospel truth when repeated over and over again.

Now normally this wouldn’t be an insurmountable problem. Telling a child that both halves of an earthworm will grow into two separate worms that will go about their daily business harms no one (except possibly the earthworm). Telling an adult that the dogs that growl don’t bite is another kettle of fish entirely.

My personal experience is that my friends and acquaintances now know that when I spot a beetle on the window frame and say something along the lines of “that’s a green bellied toe biter which is capable of firing a deadly blast of cyonic acids from its posterior to deter predators” they most often simply don’t believe me.

The problem is that they don’t want to touch the beetle to prove me wrong because every now and then I actually know what I’m talking about. The fact that I once read a children’s guide to the flora and fauna of South Africa makes the knowledge I have just dangerous enough for all involved to be uncertain as to the correct action to take..

The real danger however, is that if you repeat facts to yourself enough times you may actually begin to buy into your own bullshit and this is when things can rapidly take a turn for the worse.

Take for instance the scream I heard not so long ago from one of the bathrooms in my home. Now those with young children will know that bathroom based screams are rarely, if ever good, so I at once leaped into pointless action to find out what the problem was.

The problem was in fact one of the largest and most terrifying spiders that I have ever seen sitting on a window ledge. If this spider had a CV it would have read “winner of the world’s most terrifying Arachnid competition 2009, 2010, not permitted to enter in 2011 to make things fairer for other terrifying Arachnids”.

The significant other is Arachnophobic so no help there. Taking stock of the situation a leant down to my young daughter and stated in a confident voice that this spider was a representative of the baboon spider family, that is well known to experts to be relatively shy and only uses the threat display of its massive fangs (see, you can spot them there if you look closely) to deter predators so that it can reach safety unharmed.

I don’t need to tell you the result of this misplaced confidence but I’m going to anyway. A swift poke at the spider with a long broom handle so enraged the beast, that it ran up the broom, and made a spirited attempt to bite my hand off. I threw the broom and the spider out of the window and beat a swift retreat to the wails of my daughter accusing me of harming one of Mother Nature’s creations.

Why I'd go anywhere near this thing I'll never know

The only conclusions that I can come to is that my brain is trying to kill me and that the voices in my head should be ignored at all costs. Oh, and I need to find people who actually know what they’re talking about. Also lesser insectivorous bats are not small cute harmless furry flying mammals only put on this Earth to control the insect population (A Beginners Guide To Mammals of sub Saharan Africa),  they also can give you a nasty nip and they carry rabies. Live and hopefully learn.

The Mosquito Conundrum

Summer is in full swing in South Africaand this summer evening I simply can’t seem to fall asleep. While the rest ofJohannesburgeither falls into a stupefied slumber or drifts off to the land of nod, depending on preference, I’m unable to close my eyes and let the gently soothing night sounds of the African Highveld lull me into pillow drooling oblivion.

The reason is mosquitoes, and not for the reason that you might think. I’m having issues with mosquitoes and Darwin’s theory of natural selection, never let it be said that I let bedtime thought descend to the level of the mundane.

You see I simply can’t fathom how or why a living organism that should rely on stealth for its sustenance should make such an irritating noise. Surely if your purpose is to land undetected and fill your abdomen with tasty hemoglobin nature would by now have ensured that you do it with as little disturbance to the unwilling donor as possible. Having your victim thrash about as though in the throes of an epileptic fit would make the whole process not only complicated, but messy for all parties involved and potentially lethal for yourself.

A serious design flaw

By rights this approach should have consigned mosquitoes to the cupboard behind the door of evolution that’s labeled ‘must try harder’ by now.

Many of the good lords’ creations like rattlesnakes and mothers in law make an irritating noise but most of these make a racket for reasons that enhance their survival potential by driving off other organisms that could do them harm.

Other blood drinkers try to be as stealthy as possible, the Vampire Bat for instance lands some distance away from its intended victim and sort of shuffles up to it before sinking its teeth in for a midnight snack. Although light sleepers will never hit the snooze button again after seeing one of these beasties sidle up like an arthritic nightmare. So even this approach has the potential to reduce the pool of alert available human victims.

I think, on second thought, that I'd prefer the risk of Malaria

However, back to the pondering on planet sleepless.

I just don’t know why a mosquito makes this irritating sound. Having someone try to hit you with a pillow or a shoe night after night just doesn’t make sense as a survival enhancing mechanism.

Scientists have found ancient mosquitoes frozen in lumps of solidified tree resin (the oldest found so far was in a lump of 79 million year old Canadian amber, don’t ever say that visiting this blog doesn’t further your education) so they’ve been around for some time. They’ve fed off dinosaurs and caused Neanderthals sleepless nights so there must surely be a reason for that annoying whine. Some research has indicated that it attracts mates, I’ve certainly met women like that.

This theory does have some holes in it (mosquito, holes, you see what I did there), seeing as the male mosquito feeds on plant nectar, doesn’t usually stay up after eight PM and wouldn’t be seen dead in a strangers bedroom.

A mystery then, part of this rich and sometimes annoying tapestry of life provided courtesy of Mother Nature at her most pre menstrual.

Did you ever have one of those days?

You’re going to need some time to read this, so go and make a cup of coffee.

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Oh, you’re back. Good.

By way of introduction I have some thoughts for you. You’ve got to thank God that your country doesn’t have tiny things that fly and make you bleed, sun that doesn’t cause you to vomit if you don’t wear a hat and friends that don’t scream about fruit in the morning. Bear with me, it’ll all make sense.

Since I turned 40 I tend to think a lot about my younger days. About the events that shaped me into the person I am today, and the advice I’ll give my daughter as she leaves our home to interface with wider society.

One of the first things I’ll whisper in her ear is;  no weekends away with people who share Dad’s organisational abilities, no camping, no small riverside motels, no fun weekends. Absolutely not, no. If  Dad’s friends suggest the hills or mountains, head for the coast.  Just run, fast. Downhill is good, the sea, that’s the thing, build a raft, set sail, a life on the ocean free, aargh me hearty. I’ll buy you a parrot, just get the hell out of Dodge.

It seems that my personality as of 2009 can be directly linked to humiliations suffered, not at the hands of cruel fate, but at the hands of those nearest and dearest to me.

I’m thinking of one particular friend of mine, a fine man of outstanding values, keen judgement and a fine swimming stroke. Also I have been led to believe that for a man of his size he can run like the wind in the face of an explosion (but that’s an entry for another time, trust me I’ll get to it).

Let’s call him Anthony, because that’s his name.  I strive to protect the innocent at all times but in this case innocence is in the eye of the beholder.

Anthony is nothing if not a firm friend, a gentle soul who has always done his best to support me in hobbies and pastimes while steering me clear of the more unbalanced fancies that take me from time to time.

So, being the understanding man that he is, after weeks of my begging he agreed to accompany me to the Crocodile River for a weekend of Fly Fishing and lager cocktails.

Those of you with more foresight than me will immediately think ‘Crocodile River’  WTF?.

At the risk of spoiling the rest of the tale, there were no sudden lunges from the toothy stream and no one was dragged screaming into the dark depths to be devoured by reptilian monsters.

There was however howling pain, convulsions and fruity embarrassment.

So there we were, two heterosexual males (the SO will back me up) checking into a prime honeymoon destination (as we were later to find out) confirming a chalet built for, uhmm… more athletic nighttime pursuits than we had anticipated. To be fair we had thought about some night time activities, but more along the lines of beer, staggers, singing and shortly unconsciousness. The bar next to the check in was enticing, tables with flower arrangements, candle settings and padded seats.

Lovely, until we were told that there was actually no bar service and what we saw was a room set up for a wedding the next morning.

When a good friend places his trust in you in expectation of a weekend filled with urbane conversation, good wine, silly hats and fishing and you are faced with a situation like this there is only one escape. Lie, lie to yourself, lie to him and hope to God that what you have experienced is just a single instance of bad planning. After all the deposit was already paid.

Well, the chalet was attractive, fruit basket (apples, banana’s, grapes, pineapple) in the entrance area, comfy chairs and in the main room, a king sized, four poster bed and as an afterthought, a pine bunk suitable for the youngsters placed against the South wall, with a thin sunflower embossed duvet covering.

Now Anthony is a well proportioned man, six foot four and big with it, while I, although not petite, come in comfortably under 5.9. Feet. So in the interests of not being beaten to death with a 5/6 fly rod I surrendered the four poster bed to my good friend, who after a couple of celebratory resilience testing bounces, suggests that we investigate the lunch menu.

So picture if you will two virile young(ish) men placing an order for a picnic basket, replete with strawberries and cream to be eaten in full view of the honeymoon couples strolling past on their way down to the river (I’m cringing as I write this).

There was a small dog that ate the remains of the lunch, a couple of beers, some Champaign (and strawberries and cream remember,  seriously, we threw some of the strawberries to the dog), conversation, etc.

So to the fishing.

Back to the chalet. Rods, fishing vests. Selection of flies. Beer, more beer.

Stumble through the bush toward the stream. We had been assured by the owner, who had thoughtfully served us with our strawberry filled basket, that that we should be aware that deadly snakes (I am not making this up) had seriously inconvinced a visitor some weeks ago.

And so to the riverside, very, very carefully.

Now I will not make light of the terrors of, for instance the United States, where everything is bigger and better. All I will say is this, they have Bobcats, in Africa we have Lions. In America they have cows;  in Africa we have the Cape buffalo, one of the most dangerous animals in the world.

When I say to you that African horseflies are a different breed to those found elsewhere in the world, I am not exaggerating. Those buggers can take a piece of skin the size of a postage stamp off you. Due to them you can have a sip of beer, bleed, scream, fall off a rock,  catch yourself behind the ear with a number 3 Mrs. Simpson, take three large gulps of water, almost choke to death, see a friend convulsed with laughter and still stand upright and curse the day that you took up fishing.

So there we were at the riverside.  Tomorrow I’m going to tell you about bananas, sunstroke, the runs, nakedness, fright, vomit, poo and indignant neighbours. Anthony has threatened me with legal action if I do.

But I’m going to,  Look to his comments (come on Bro!) for further information. Keywords: Kill, Legal, no holiday ever again.

Oz, wait until I write about the Midlands. Keywords, Chess, Snoring and TV tipping. I have the pictures.

The rest of the story in the next couple of days. Log in, you’ll love it.