Mosquitoes, Hike, Midday Heatwave
Tippecanoe River State Park
The Forest at Tippecanoe River State Park
I woke early, hoping to beat the heat and get a solid six-mile hike in before the sun climbed too high. I mapped out a route that combined three trails. The first mile was peaceful, if not a little sticky—spider webs stretched across the path like invisible tripwires, wrapping around my legs with every step.
As I got closer to the stream, the air grew heavier and warmer. Beams of light pierced through the trees, and I paused with my 14–24mm lens, trying to capture the stillness, the birdsong, and the soft hush of early morning. It was one of those moments that makes you feel like the only person on Earth.
Then I turned onto Trail 5. That’s when the mosquitoes found me. First one, then dozens. The closer I got to the water, the more relentless they became. It’s hard to appreciate nature’s serenity when you’re being eaten alive. Bear, flies, mosquitoes—once something wants to feed on you, the magic disappears.
As I got closer to the stream, the air grew heavier and warmer. Beams of light pierced through the trees, and I paused with my 14–24mm lens, trying to capture the stillness, the birdsong, and the soft hush of early morning. It was one of those moments that makes you feel like the only person on Earth.
Then I turned onto Trail 5. That’s when the mosquitoes found me. First one, then dozens. The closer I got to the water, the more relentless they became. It’s hard to appreciate nature’s serenity when you’re being eaten alive. Bear, flies, mosquitoes—once something wants to feed on you, the magic disappears.
Halfway through Loop 5, I gave up on finishing the full route. I picked up the pace, practically speed-walking back to the van, slapping my arms as I went. The mosquitoes were getting bigger—or I was getting slower.
Russula Emetica Mushroom (Sickener)
As I hurried back through the woods, swatting at a cloud of relentless mosquitoes, I spotted a flash of red just off the trail—a cluster of Russula emetica, the aptly named “sickener” mushroom. Their vivid caps stood out against the damp forest floor, a striking reminder that not everything beautiful in nature is meant to be touched—or eaten. I’ve been trying to learn mushroom names, but it’s a daunting task; just when I think I’ve identified one, a lookalike pops up to challenge my confidence.
Back at the van, I rummaged frantically for the Benadryl cream and generously covered all the bites. Fortunately, I’d worn long, lightweight pants—one good decision for the day.
After cooling off and regrouping, I stepped outside and chatted with two park workers nearby. I asked the woman if there were bears in the area. “No bears in Indiana,” she said, sounding disappointed. “I’ve always wanted to see one.” We ended up talking for half an hour about her trips to Tennessee, North Carolina, and Ohio—places where bears might appear from time to time.
By 12:30 p.m., it was pushing 100°F inside the van. I headed into town to run errands—CVS for a prescription, Ace Hardware for a couple van fixes, then a quick grocery stop. All in the same shopping center, and all blissfully air-conditioned. After nearly two hours inside, I actually had to step outside just to warm up.
The rest of the day was a slow battle with the heat. I moved the van into the shade under a stand of trees. Around 8 p.m., the sky began to spit. By 11, it had turned into a full-blown thunderstorm. Branches dropped all around me, but somehow, the van escaped without a scratch.