I'd Like to Check You for Ticks

On the first morning of my first camping trip I found a tick latched to the center of my throat.

We'd already had an eventful morning. In the early hours, when the rain began, we awoke briefly to wish we'd had the foresight to place a tarp over the cooler-and-portable-stovetop-on-picnic-table that AW called "the kitchen". Then, at around 6am, AW began screaming, "What the hell are you doing in here? How'd you get in here?" (imagine variations and much more colorful cuss words).

BG and I squinted at each other and unzipped one of our tent window flaps to see AW's tart shaking. We guessed he was throwing things at the tent door. "Get out of here!" he kept shrieking.

It turns out a squirrel broke through his tent barriers and thought it might be fun to hang out. BG and I made a few puns at AW's expense, dubbed the squirrel "Genghis" because it went through his wall to terrorize him, and rolled over to go back to sleep.

I discovered the tick (as of yet unnamed) after I put my contacts in a few hours later. It glared back at me from its station on the middle of my throat and dug in a bit deeper as I watched it. I was alone, so I can't confirm whether I lost consciousness from pure horror, but eventually I found BG and through a series of gestures and moans intimated the issue at hand (or neck). Concerned, she led (carried?) me back to camp, where we found AW cooking bacon and pancakes in the rain. I maintained a vague hunger despite the sick feeling brought on by any thought of the tick I hosted and when I smelled the frying pork I momentarily envied my guest for the ability to continuously feast. He cackled at me and sucked more of my blood, relishing my suffering.

I clawed open my jacket and choked out, "There's a tick on my neck, get it off!"

AW tried to hold me down for tick removal as I thrashed and screamed. At one point he asked BG to take over cooking. I strayed in and out of conscious thought for those few seconds, mostly imagining the gush of blood that would surely pour forth from my giant throat wound once the tick was gone.

After AW removed the tick and crushed it with his nails I grabbed at my neck to staunch the bleeding. Once I realized there was no blood (probably because the tick already sucked it all out of me), I zipped my jacket snugly back up and snatched some bacon, commenting, "I think I handled that pretty well."

"You were calmer than I'd have expected," BG agreed.

With the exception of certainly contracting Lyme disease I fared well on my first camping trip. This is due almost entirely to AW's superb planning skills and camping equipment. BG and I met on the bus from Boston to Concord, NH on Tuesday evening, where AW picked us up from the bus station. The three of us enjoyed a quiet evening at The Common Man, where I ate one of four lobsters in an eight-day period, and spent the night with AW's parents so we could load up and move out early Wednesday.

At home I drive a dark green Toyota Forerunner whom I affectionately named "Bruce" after Bruce Banner - the Hulk's human personality. AW's family, on the other hand, owns The Hulk. He is a dark green F-250 Super Duty Pickup and easily held all our supplies and food. I hopped in the back seat of the cab on Wednesday morning and settled in for our drive, hoping Bruce would not be jealous. He hasn't spoken to me since.

On Wednesday afternoon we reached our island in Maine and I learned how to set up camp. Luckily my brilliant sister advised me to pack a hat and gloves, which I happily donned as AW built a campfire. We hiked along the edge of the ocean and marveled at the sky, filled with ash from the forest fires in Canada. When it rained AW taught us Gripe Rummy, and my skill level has developed to a point at which I wonder that I shouldn't turn pro. Due to a lack of cell phone or internet reception, though, I cannot adequately research the presence or lack thereof of Gripe Rummy in the professional cards arena.

Thursday night we decided to boil lobsters (#3 of the 4 per 8 days). Unfortunately, we dawdled longer than expected at our Fort Popham outing, where we spent the early afternoon climbing through ruins and watching herons and Main fishermen, and we arrived at the little lobster shed too late. We scrambled wildly to another store and reached it in time to find the owner throwing sticks into the ocean for his Golden Retriever off the lobster dock. AW explained our situation while I took over the Golden's entertainment and the old man unlocked his doors so we could choose our lobsters. Later by the campfire I talked about wanting a dog until AW and BG got fed up and let me play with the lobsters until the water boiled. I tried to make them fight over a carrot, but they just glared at me and crawled on top of each other.

I complained that the lobsters weren't as fun as dogs and BG remarked, "Better than a neck tick, though."

I imagine I'll camp again.