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If I never see another sandfly again, then that would be too soon.

The night before we went for a walk on Fox Glacier we headed down to a small beach to freedom camp.

We pulled up at a little DOC campground (still debating whether the warning sign we’d seen several kilometres down the road was meant to be a sheep or a cow … For the record I’m sure it was a sheep and therefore I was right and for the first time in history … Kim was wrong).

We jumped out of the vehicle, wandered down to the beach and decided that this place was bliss …

Then Kim got bitten by the first sandfly.

Within seconds we were swarmed by the bloody things and had to beat a quick retreat to our van where we spent the next three or four hours fighting off the invading hordes which seemed to be able to find impossible entrances into our Van.

After running out of aeroguard, Kim resorted to trying Vicks vapo rub on the fly screen to see if that would help keep them out.

It didn’t.

But after dark we were finally able to emerge from the van long enough to enjoy the sunset and cook a meal …

As I sit on the plane writing this, I’m tired and weary, and it’s not from getting up at 4.00am for our flight, but rather because we were both awake from 2am scratching and itching from fricking sandfly bites.

The only good thing to say about sandflies is that they’re not as bad as midges.

But it’s close.

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