The Abominable Deer Fly

I never thought I’d hate something so much.

When I was a kid, I spent a good majority of my summer swimming at a lake about a half-mile from my house. I can remember enjoying most of my vacation days there – from June to early September. My friends and I would either ride our bikes down the hill to the lake or sit our butts on our oversized skateboards to do the same. Either way, we’d end up rolling through that six-foot tall chain-link gate that was attached to that six-foot tall chain-link fence. Ours was a private beach and membership was required. Oddly enough, I only remember one season when the powers-that-be actually enforced membership. They bought some elastic bands and plastic tags that members were encouraged to wear around their ankles. A teenager sat at the gate to police who came through. Again, that only lasted one summer, or two at most. And I’m not sure I ever wore the band around my ankle. I’m also fairly certain that only half the people who visited that beach were members. Relaxed environment would be an understatement.

The reason I bring this up is because besides the ride down the hill, the membership enforcement challenges, and the ankle bands, I also recall one aspect of swimming at our lake (called Lake Tonetta in Brewster, New York, for those who are curious) that I’d rather not remember at all. Being July in western Maine though, I’m sort of forced to think about these ungodly creatures once again. What are they? The horse fly, that’s what. If you’ve never experienced being the target of a very focused and determined horse fly (family Tabanidae), you haven’t lived. They’re relentless. They’re ruthless. While a kid is innocently trying to climb the ladder to jump off the dock to make a splash, the big, hairy, horrible, huge eyed horse fly will unsuspectingly land on the kid’s shoulder and sink its scissor-like mandibles right into his or her skin. If you’ve ever heard a little girl urgently and incessantly scream for seemingly no reason at all while swimming in a lake, rest assured that she was just bitten by a horse fly. Savage little buggers they are. Utterly savage and they all deserve what they have coming to them.

What you’re looking at in the photo at the top of this post isn’t a horse fly (pronounced “huss” in Maine) at all. It’s a photo of its little brother, the deer fly, or a version of one, at least. Spend some time in northern New England and you’ll surely encounter one. Or likely more than one. Hundreds, probably. The deer fly is in the same Tabanidae family as the horse fly, but they’re much smaller. They’re less weighty, but just as tenacious, focused, and determined. While taking a summerly stroll outdoors in July, dozens will actually buzz around your head. They’re so aggressive that you’ll be left with only two choices: go mad and run back indoors or slap one dead as you feel it land on your scalp. You have to be fast to kill one though – they’re smart and they’re quick. I’ve actually been semi-successful with just slapping my hands together like I’m clapping above my head to get one. Since these insects buzz around so closely, they become intoxicated by the prospect of sucking a person’s or animal’s blood. While intoxicated, they get sloppy. That’s when I strike. Just last week, I managed to unalive three in a row. That was a good day for me.

I don’t have any information to share regarding the deer fly near the coast of Maine, but I can tell you for sure that they’re prolific and prevalent and any other P word you’d like to use near the interior. People who live in my area have trouble visiting their mailboxes to retrieve their daily mail when the deer flies are active. They can’t walk to their garage for a shovel or rake. They most definitely can’t barbeque in their back yards during the worst month, which happens to be, as I mentioned above, July.

In case you’re interested, yes, deer flies bite. The females do. They’re after the protein in your blood to pass along to their eggs. The males don’t bite at all, as they’re happy feasting on plant nectar. And also in case you’re interested, a deer fly bite can result in an allergic reaction, red bumps and welts, and/or a bacterial infection called tularemia (rabbit fever) that can either resolve on its own, be treated with antibiotics, or be fatal. Yes, imagine that. Dying because you’ve been bitten by a deer fly.

Years ago, my annoyance drove me to the point of doing anything in my power to stop these flies in their tracks. I did some reading (what those who live during the internet age call “research”) and discovered that this particular fly is attracted to the colors blue and black. Anything dark, really. On the internet, I learned that people were wearing hats with sticky tape attached to them and were successful at catching the deer fly as they swarmed and landed on their heads. What I found inspired me. I went ahead and bought a blue hard hat. I then bought some shower caps. I then bought what’s called Tanglefoot. The latter is the material used on those long flypaper things we buy in the hardware store to catch houseflies. It’s sticky and if an insect lands on it, well, it’s over for the insect.

I covered the hard hat with the shower cap and then I microwaved the pint container of Tanglefoot for about a minute. That loosened it up so it was easily workable. Then, I used a popsicle stick to smear about a golf ball size worth of Tanglefoot over the shower cap until it was thoroughly coated. What I was left with was a freaky looking contraption that I’m too embarrassed to post a picture of here. I’ll tell you this though – I now wear that hard hat outside with pride. I wait for the deer flies to swarm my head. I hear the loud and obnoxious buzzing until I don’t anymore. And then I remove the hat to bear witness to all of those blood suckers that have met their maker. Stuck right there in that Tanglefoot that was hovering right over and around my head.

Talk about winning. Every deer fly I kill by catching is an ego boost for me. You don’t even want to know how big my ego is by this point. I’ve got about a hundred flies sitting on my most recent iteration of shower cap/Tanglefoot combination as I sit here typing this very moment. It’s no joke. The deer fly can either make or break a camping trip, fishing excursion, or anything else you’d like to do during the month of July in Maine. If you’re planning a visit or live here and haven’t successfully dealt with these insects yet, take my advice and make yourself a sticky helmet. It’ll make your life so much better.

Jeez, and I thought Maine was known for its black fly. They were nothing this year compared to this nonsense.