While recovering from the effects of a collapsed lung in 1953, Robert C. Reynolds and I were with a now defunct steel company looking for magnetic iron ore among the sphagnum moss swamps known as muskeg, second-growth forests, and lakes of northern Minnesota. Until we got our “sea legs,” falls were frequent because of tripping over stones and rotten logs concealed by underbrush in the woods. Because of my poor condition resulting from the collapsed lung, the job was exhausting.
The main enemies, however, were the bite of black flies, the sting of mosquitos, and the sticky mud of the muskegs. The bite of the black flies would raise welts as broad as a dime. Every morning before we were to start our traverse, we would lather our faces, hands, and any other exposed parts with the popular mosquito repellent of the day called 6-12 which would keep these insects perhaps nine inches away because they didn’t like the smell. Because of the magnetic ore, the usual magnetic compass could not be used as it would point to the ore rather than North so we used a sun compass. One had to stand still at the sun compass to take a reading, and a cloud of mosquitos would gather ‘round generating quite a hum. We waited for perhaps a minute to let a good cloud of them develop, then quickly run about ten feet away, wheel around and zap them with a burst of DDT spray from an aerosol can which gave one a few moments of peace.
The first inevitable step into the cold, wet muck of the muskeg in the morning was always difficult, turning your dry, comfortable boot socks into a clammy, filthy mess. For each step, you had to pull your foot out of the resisting muck, perhaps knee high, making a slurping sound. It was exhausting. There were compensations, of course, such as the beauty of the lakes, the sound of the breeze through the tree tops, the wild strawberries in the spring, blueberries in the summer, and raspberries in the autumn. It was there that I learned two truths of nature. One was that if it clouded over in this land where a magnetic compass was useless, you were lost. The other was that no matter how tall or short you are, spider webs are always built mouth-high.
Reprinted from GeoTales IV, Memories from GSA members, v. 4, p. 47, 2009