In Beelzebub’s Grip
Yesterday, about 10:30AM, I decided to head off behind the world class liquor store for a little hike. Soon as I dismounted out of the great vehicle I thought to myself, Crumby it’s too hot for man or beast. Yet I had already braved the many hazards of Brodie Lane to get so far. So I said to myself, Crumby, no sense in turning back now.
Out I headed, on foot, toting my trusty camera bag. These are the bigger and heavier items the camera bag contained. The camera bag contained a fairly trusty E330, a super trusty 70-300mm, a 40-150mm kit lens and a Raynox 150. This dern bag is heavy, Crumby thought to himself, his breath coming in wheezes, rasps and pitiful gasps.
Soon as Crumby got along away there was a new sign of impending doom right on the edge of the wilderness. Hark! Some cheap labor is putting in an irrigation field. Don’t know why? Reckon they got a permit for construction during the nesting season in known, occupied, GCW habitat?
Huh-huh. Crumby reckons not.
Off we went. The purpose of the hike is nymphs or satyrs. As everyone in their right minds knows, I, Crumby, have been denied getting to espy all the nymphs and satyrs that may allegedly, according to a few, inhabit these parts. That’s right. Plus it would take something major, similar to nymphs and satyrs, to get me, Crumby, out of the air conditioning on such a miserable hot and humid day. Yet, there I went.
The lay of the land in those parts is uneven. To get along, an average naturalist similar to Crumby must go up and down. The way is treacherous. The mud and rocks are snot slick from the previous night’s rain. Progress is slow.
The heat and humidity settle on Crumby. Yes. The twin sister Goddesses, Heat and Humidity cloy onto Crumby. Anon, Crumby is all embraced by the cloying arms of those twain stifling Goddesses. Mercy! Both those Goddesses have wrapped twain hot, naked legs around Crumby. Mercy! Both those dern Goddesses are rubbing twain hot sweaty bosoms in Crumby’ face. Mercy! Both those Goddesses are exhaling hot, humid fumes onto Crumby’s ears and neck. Mercy! Crumby prays to Upup for a little relief. Mighty Upup, Crumby wheezes, send me a down grade. These Goddesses, Heat and Humidity, are killing me.
Anon, Crumby finds himself on the west bank of an ephemeral creek. A torrent is raging. Crumby estimates the depth of the torrent. Dang. That torrent may be eight inches deep. I could get swept away. For sure, I could get my tennies wet. Crumby decides he can go no further. Plus, in all that long journey to that point on the edge of that raging torrent, no butterfly, much less a nymph or satyr, has Crumby espied.
Yet just at that very instant of darkest despair in the whole natural history of life as many know it, suddenly a gulf fritillary comes frittering along. Hold it, Cumby cries out, there must be a passion vine or two in these parts. Sure enough, Crumby only has to scout around a little while before he espies a passion vine growing in the limestone rubble that, over the centuries, or up to but not exceeding 8954 years, has eroded down into this steamy valley.
I better take a picture of this passion vine, Crumby reasons. This one is Passiflora lutea. I don’t have any pictures of Passiflora lutea. Sweatily, Crumby sits down cross-legged next to the passion vine. The passion vine has much to recommend it. It has a caterpillar. It has flowers. It has roots at the leaf nodes which indicate to Crumby that he needs to come back and make some cuttings. The only short coming the passion vine exhibits is a lack of fruit. No dern fruit, Crumby complains.
Here’s a picture Crumby took. Once again, the Raynox 150 and 40-150mm kit lens combo disappoints. Crumby reflects, I should have brought the 35mm. Also, I need to lose some weight.
The climb out of that terrible valley was long and arduous. Those twain Goddesses, Heat and Humidity, clung to Crumby. Peel these Goddesses off me, Crumby prayed. At last, his breath coming in great gasps, drenched in his own sweat plus the perfumed exhuments of those stifling Goddesses, Crumby reached level ground at last. Praise Upup. I have reached level ground at last. Perhaps I shall survive long enough to record this fantastic tale anon, alas.
Out I headed, on foot, toting my trusty camera bag. These are the bigger and heavier items the camera bag contained. The camera bag contained a fairly trusty E330, a super trusty 70-300mm, a 40-150mm kit lens and a Raynox 150. This dern bag is heavy, Crumby thought to himself, his breath coming in wheezes, rasps and pitiful gasps.
Soon as Crumby got along away there was a new sign of impending doom right on the edge of the wilderness. Hark! Some cheap labor is putting in an irrigation field. Don’t know why? Reckon they got a permit for construction during the nesting season in known, occupied, GCW habitat?
Huh-huh. Crumby reckons not.
Off we went. The purpose of the hike is nymphs or satyrs. As everyone in their right minds knows, I, Crumby, have been denied getting to espy all the nymphs and satyrs that may allegedly, according to a few, inhabit these parts. That’s right. Plus it would take something major, similar to nymphs and satyrs, to get me, Crumby, out of the air conditioning on such a miserable hot and humid day. Yet, there I went.
The lay of the land in those parts is uneven. To get along, an average naturalist similar to Crumby must go up and down. The way is treacherous. The mud and rocks are snot slick from the previous night’s rain. Progress is slow.
The heat and humidity settle on Crumby. Yes. The twin sister Goddesses, Heat and Humidity cloy onto Crumby. Anon, Crumby is all embraced by the cloying arms of those twain stifling Goddesses. Mercy! Both those Goddesses have wrapped twain hot, naked legs around Crumby. Mercy! Both those dern Goddesses are rubbing twain hot sweaty bosoms in Crumby’ face. Mercy! Both those Goddesses are exhaling hot, humid fumes onto Crumby’s ears and neck. Mercy! Crumby prays to Upup for a little relief. Mighty Upup, Crumby wheezes, send me a down grade. These Goddesses, Heat and Humidity, are killing me.
Anon, Crumby finds himself on the west bank of an ephemeral creek. A torrent is raging. Crumby estimates the depth of the torrent. Dang. That torrent may be eight inches deep. I could get swept away. For sure, I could get my tennies wet. Crumby decides he can go no further. Plus, in all that long journey to that point on the edge of that raging torrent, no butterfly, much less a nymph or satyr, has Crumby espied.
Yet just at that very instant of darkest despair in the whole natural history of life as many know it, suddenly a gulf fritillary comes frittering along. Hold it, Cumby cries out, there must be a passion vine or two in these parts. Sure enough, Crumby only has to scout around a little while before he espies a passion vine growing in the limestone rubble that, over the centuries, or up to but not exceeding 8954 years, has eroded down into this steamy valley.
I better take a picture of this passion vine, Crumby reasons. This one is Passiflora lutea. I don’t have any pictures of Passiflora lutea. Sweatily, Crumby sits down cross-legged next to the passion vine. The passion vine has much to recommend it. It has a caterpillar. It has flowers. It has roots at the leaf nodes which indicate to Crumby that he needs to come back and make some cuttings. The only short coming the passion vine exhibits is a lack of fruit. No dern fruit, Crumby complains.
Here’s a picture Crumby took. Once again, the Raynox 150 and 40-150mm kit lens combo disappoints. Crumby reflects, I should have brought the 35mm. Also, I need to lose some weight. The climb out of that terrible valley was long and arduous. Those twain Goddesses, Heat and Humidity, clung to Crumby. Peel these Goddesses off me, Crumby prayed. At last, his breath coming in great gasps, drenched in his own sweat plus the perfumed exhuments of those stifling Goddesses, Crumby reached level ground at last. Praise Upup. I have reached level ground at last. Perhaps I shall survive long enough to record this fantastic tale anon, alas.
posted by ray pistrum at Saturday, June 13, 2009
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