29 May

The path through the Lac-Saguay forest is sunk, it’s drunk … although the brown portaloo is intact on stable ground.

I guess this is where the bears go to take a shit in the woods.

As I look over my shoulder, I ask – where’s the view?

That was left out the patio door, back at the blue motel, where things were happening this morning … yeah I heard the rustlings.

And now for the day-long delaying tactics.

I attempt a trail by the roadside snack-box where a house has landed.

Clearly it’s behind the garden, up the road that was built for the horses, by the horses.

I go there and park my car.

Within minutes, all of the flies in the near-vicinity have been on social media and invited all of the other provincial flies down here for an impromptu party, which follows me around the mountainside like a lingering bout of funky wind.

No party tunes, no party drinks … this is a party out of bounds.

After a hot minute, the realisation dawns I need a comedown, a retreat of sorts.

But I’m being led up the garden path now, followed by the party committee. Where’s the fire exit?

Poor signage leads me upwards and upwards, and suddenly I’m not climbing trees, but pushing them aside. Shrubbery freaks.

At the peak, zip wire electric dreams / nightmares … what led me here apart from general positivity and expectation and hope, all very quickly punctured and shattered as I’m followed around by a crowd of flying insects who I do not like and will never take to, although they’ll take to me and follow me all the way down the hill / mountain.

I arrive back to a surprise car park, where even more flies are congregated.

An overwhelming fear of being mugged persuades me to speed off with as much vigour and ceremony as I can muster from my automatic sludgebox rental.

Suffice it to say, no nearby living thing is impressed, and my stunt-driver credentials are well and truly in ruins, stuck fast in the puddle.

I don’t need any more of this aphid mob, yet that’s exactly what I get at my next stop, by the vertical climbing wall.

Yep, they’ve followed me … here comes the party, as I climb the rocks, in full swing, wings buzzing, frequent attempts to zoom in for the kill I will not back down, so I continue on up.

Until such point that I realise – this is a swarm.

There are tactics going on here, and I’m not party to them. The rules seem to be – follow the lost human, bring everyone you know, get them to bring everyone they know … then party, procreate, multiply, attack! And ye shall reap blood.

Mountain battles, covered in maple syrup.

This is turning into a mess on a mountainside.

On a mission to get back to civilisation, I beat them all off, all of these unwanted suitors.

Except for the two defiant ones who jump in the passenger seat of my rental, buzzing around it like they freaking paid for it.

Hey there! I’m the mere mortal with the credit card here … get the hell out, my friends!

All of this happens in the space of less than twenty minutes, the whole episode leaving me with a residency of prolonged itches which absolutely must be scratched.

On the flip side, at least it provides me with the working plot of my own pseudo-Hitchcockian B-movie thriller: The Flies.

I’m still needing to kill time – how does it work is lost on me.

Up the narrow twisting road to Lac Superieur, via the yellow school bus lookout (more aerial pests).

Here are the apartment suites where no-one lives, and there’s the lake, and this is awkward … I’m too early. The frickin’ flies rushed me here, is what.

I break into my suite ten minutes before I’m allowed to, just when no-one is looking. This works well, given the place is deserted.

Once inside, the President & CEO giving me the full sales pitch for my own lakeside luxury apartment. Hey, I’ve already paid for this!

I walk straight past them, with a raised arm, taking my beer and sunshine and insatiable groupies (bugs) to the balcony, by the lake which will not be walked over today.

Down below, a swimming pool which is closed for business. The fitness centre unimpressed over there, in a hut with a lockpad to keep out the squirrels and the bears.

I seem to have landed in a retirement complex.

Yet the retired either haven’t been told about it yet, or otherwise they’ve withdrawn one step further – underground.

Pesky flies.