Swarms

This is another in the Sunday Story series.  There’s a little “news update” in the beginning, then just a few stories about “swarms”.

Israel

Last night, a “swarm” of Iranian drones attacked Israel (in addition to more serious cruise and ballistic missiles, a total of over three hundred).  It was a “slow motion” attack, with hours between the launch and the assault. Israel, with the help of the United States and Jordan and (maybe?) Saudi Arabia, knocked 99% of them down.  Now, drones are a serious new weapon of war, ask the Ukrainians.  Drones, at the minimum, absorb a lot of defense capability:  if you’re shooting down a couple hundred drones, you’re don’t have those same defensive weapons for cruise missiles and rockets.

On the other hand, it does seem almost laughable.  We’ve watched “drone shows” at the Olympics and the Super Bowl, when colorful drones, guided by computers, make all sorts of improbable three-dimensional patterns in the sky.  It’s beautiful, and almost miraculous to those of us not familiar with drone guidance technology. And we can cruise on down to Wal-Mart and buy our own drone, a simple version of the long range weapon (over 1000 miles) used by Iran last night.

Toys of War

On the other hand, if we can do that for a “show”, then what can “we” do when war and lives are on the line? The Iranian drones aren’t “dumb”.  Technology has come a long way from the Nazi V-1 “Buzz Bombs” of World War II.  Those were non-guided jet-propelled flying bombs, drones.  The Germans literally pointed them in the direction of Great Britain and fired off the engine.  The V-1 flew (with a distinctive buzzing sound) until they ran out of fuel – then fell to the earth and exploded.   As long as you heard them “buzzing” – you were safe.   Targeting wasn’t completely random back then, but close.

So that got me thinking about my experience with swarms.  And this essay is no longer about technology and advanced weaponry.  It’s about swarms, real swarms, of insects; the kind of swarms that freak me out.

Cicadas Song

The biggest swarm of insects I ever ran into was a couple of years ago.  It was a swarm of cicadas, those damn, noisy infestations that crawl out of the ground and head up to eat the leaves and mate in the sky.  Here in Ohio, there’s supposed to be a “twenty-year” cicada cycle, but, somehow,  they don’t seem to all be on the same calendar.  

We get some cicadas almost every year.  I know, Lou, our big “everything” mix dog, loves to dig up the yard to find the pubescent cicadas (and eat them).  He’ll eat the adults too.  Sometimes Lou walks around the back yard with a sly, satisfied look on his face.  Then you notice his mouth is “buzzing”; an adult cicada contained inside.  The outer shell (carapace) isn’t really good for dogs, so we spend some time “freeing” the insect from Lou’s grip.

Gentle Crunch

So one “cicada” summer, Jenn and I were taking a dog to the veterinary surgical center called “TAHO”, off of High Street north of Columbus in Olentangy.   We were nearing the busy intersection of Polaris Parkway and High, when we drove into the middle of a cicada swarm.  We had to quickly roll up the windows, but even more, we had to turn the windshield wipers on to clear the view.  And as we proceeded slowly into the intersection, there were three sounds. 

First, there was the deafening “screech/song” of the cicadas themselves, (produced by a “sound box” in their abdomen to attract a mate).  It was so loud, we had trouble talking to each other in the closed car.  Second, there was the hailstorm of thumps, as cicadas flew into the windows, doors, roof, and sides of the car.  And finally, there was the gentle crunch, like breaking through the crisp icy top of a new snowfall.  That was the cicadas getting run over by our tires.

It only last a block, from just south of the intersection until just north.  But it was definitely disturbing.

Just Bees

The second swarm also took place in the Olentangy area.  My track team was competing in the District meet at Olentangy Liberty High School.  As was my “custom”, I was hanging out on the backstretch, just outside the fence from the pole vault runway.  It’s “calmer” on that side of the track, and I can talk to the vaulters, and still “communicate” with my athletes in the running events, as they fly down the backstretch, away from the cheering crowd in the home bleachers.

So the vault was going on, and the runners were out on the track, when a close, dark, cloud flew across the football field and headed towards us.  It was a swarm, this time of bees.  Their appearance put my athletes to their ultimate test:  how fast could they really run, when a buzzing swarm of bees were taking direct aim at their heads? 

I since learned that a swarm of bees (unless they are the new “killer bees”) really aren’t interested in stinging anybody, unless they are disturbed.  But, even if I knew that at the time, I’d still be sprinting out of the way, and yelling at my kids to do the same.  And, while I was in my late-forties, I still could show MY old sprint speed, as I “lead” my squad out of the path of the “storm”, the swarm of bees.

The Punch

But my worst experience with “swarms” was when I was in college.  I spent several summers backpacking all over the United States, and this time I was with a couple friends in the Alleghenies of Pennsylvania.  We usually covered ten to twelve miles a day, and on this particular day we were done with plenty of daylight left as we setup camp.  Matt and I were out gathering firewood, and saw a particularly attractive dead tree still standing next to a creek.  Dead trees still standing are great firewood.  They haven’t been on the ground absorbing moisture, so they’re likely to burn hot and fast. 

Matt went down the gentle embankment to grab the tree, and I followed him down to help.  Then, to my shock, Matt turned around and punched me in the stomach, hard.  He then sprinted past me up the embankment, yelling “WASPS!”

I was still doubled over, so I had a good look at my lower right leg.  It was covered with wasps, who must have had a nest in the dead tree we choose for our nightly fire.  And fire was the right word, because my leg felt like it was on fire.  And, of course, what would put a fire out?  I jumped into the creek, about a foot deep, and sprinted as fast as I could, hoping to shake the wasps off of my legs, and avoid the rest of the swarm aiming  for my head.

Wasps

The trick worked, and I got away with only a dozen or so stings on my lower leg.  But I knew I couldn’t take my boot off that night.  If it came off, it might never go back on, and we had “miles to go” before we got to a road. The next morning, my swollen leg literally hung over the top of my laces, throbbing with each step.  But at least I had my boot on.

And why did Matt punch me, then leave me to the swarm?  Well, he was highly allergic to stings, so much so that he hiked with a syringe and epinephrine in his pack (this was before the self-injector days).  We had strict orders to “shoot him up” if he got stung, or he’d choke to death.  

So Matt knew “he” couldn’t get stung.  And he was right.  It was easier for me to limp on with a swollen leg (and keep a boot on for a couple of days) then it would be to save him, then carry him out to a road and hospital in those days before cell phones could call for rescue.  

So swarms – of cicadas, bees, wasps and drones.  All are disturbing, and some can be deadly, in nature, and in war.

The Sunday Story Series

Author: Marty Dahlman

I'm Marty Dahlman. After forty years of teaching and coaching track and cross country, I've finally retired!!! I've also spent a lot of time in politics, working campaigns from local school elections to Presidential campaigns.