New Zealand sandflies are an itchy initiation
Exploring New Zealand articles
One: New Zealand first impressions
Two: Intro to NZ mountain biking
Three: Unhinged—riding a NZ classic
Four: NZ sandflies are an itchy initiation
If you’ve never been to the south island of New Zealand, you’re in for a trick-or-treat experience. The treat is pretty easy. New Zealand is simply one of the most beautiful places in the world. New Zealand is also home to sandflies, one of the most microscopic, irritating and unstoppable insects you’ll ever meet.
When we left for New Zealand my wife, Wendy, had one big goal: sitting at Jackson Bay reading a book in the breeze while intermittently watching penguins frolic in the sea. On our first full day on the island, a bunch of Kiwis warned us about sandflies as they laughed hysterically about the notion of lingering on the beach at Jackson Bay.
By the time we arrived at Haast Junction midway down the West Coast and just an hour or so north of Jackson Bay, we’d had a number of encounters with the dreaded sandfly. Each of us had more than 60 itchy welts on our legs, and with each passing hour got more bites on any skin we were careless enough to leave exposed.
What’s a sandfly bite feel like?
For the uninitiated, a sandfly bite is an excruciating lesson in just how uncomfortable an insect encounter can be. The tiny, soundless black sandflies are a fraction the size of a mosquito, and only the females bite in order to boost their reproductive capacity. Unlike a mosquito, which inserts a needle-like proboscis into the skin, the sandfly cuts the skin open using a mouth that looks like a knife before splashing the wound with histamines and agglutinins to keep the blood flowing.
The bite itself hurts, but it’s the cumulative aftermath that really makes it uncomfortable. It’s the body’s reaction to the anti-clotting cocktail that makes it so painful. Untreated, the progression goes something like this:
Day 1: Bite, ouch.
Day 2: The bite is kind of sore. You scratch the soreness, but it doesn’t make a difference.
Day 3: The soreness gives way to intense itchiness as the welt begins too ooze runny yellow pus.
Days 4 – 8: You scratch the welts so much they bleed. They keep you awake at night and stain your sheets. No amount of cortisone, aloe or other medications seems to make a difference.
Days 9 – 10: the itchiness goes away and leaves ugly red scars behind.
Add to this painful, long progression the fact that there are literally billions of sandflies in humid parts of New Zealand, and it’s impossible not to be bit numerous times. If you’re unexperienced enough to linger in a pair of shorts without bug spray you’re nearly guaranteed to be bit dozens of times within a few minutes.
New Zealand sandflies at Jackson Bay
By the time we arrived at Haast Junction, we already had more than 60 bites each and knew the potential perils of traveling to Jackson Bay.
But when would we be this close again? And how bad could it be really? In between adventures to the beach to watch penguins, we could sit in our van, drink wine and play cards. Not too bad at all.
Without further thought, we filled up the gas tank and turned the steering wheel south toward the storied beautiful scenery and blood-thirsty hoards at Jackson Bay. We drove in at sunset and marveled at the views of glacier-carved valleys splashed with gold. Unlike anywhere we’d been in New Zealand, the road was completely empty. We didn’t see another car, camper van, RV or person in some 50 kilometers of driving through breathtaking coastal scenery.
The road eventually turned west and emerged on a rocky bluff above the bay. Wendy excitedly declared, “PENGUINS” as we passed a yellow hazard sign with a black silhouette of a penguin meant to keep motorists from running them over. We scanned the rocks by the sea looking for any sign of the little black and white birds. We stopped and scanned the bay, locating only a lone sea lion bobbing in the waves.
We continued to the town of Jackson Bay, a sleepy fishing village and the farthest extent of New Zealand’s road network on the west coast. An interesting piece of history in and of itself, Jackson Bay was the first place on the west coast explored by Europeans and remains the most well protected sea port.
An empty pier protruded into the water. There were a few scattered buildings and zero cars. We parked in a pullout between the road and the bay, a spot you might expect to see on the cover of an RV magazine—without another van or RV in sight. The evening twilight cast a gold sheen across the bay with glaciated mountains standing proud across the bay to the east. We stepped outside and thought, for a moment, what a beautiful place!
And then they came.
In thick, unwavering swarms they came.
Wendy dove inside the van while I walked in big circles, thinking I could leave them behind if I stayed on the move while exploring the beautiful scenery. I could hear Wendy’s hands slapping the van’s windows as she worked to kill any of the little devils that had followed her inside. Then foot stomps and more hand slaps that stood in stark contrast with the bay’s stunning scenery and serenity.
After realizing my attempts at staying ahead of them were failing to keep the bugs from feasting on my exposed hands and neck, I returned to the van. I found Wendy with sandflies swarming around her lower legs. I joined the sandfly eradication battle and within a few minutes we killed two or three dozen and thought we’d cleared the place enough to consider going to sleep.
Then we found still more.
At first we thought we’d missed them during the initial heat of battle, but after killing one or two dozen more in a hunt resembling a game of Whack-a-Mole, realized they were somehow finding their way inside the van despite closed windows and screens.
Wendy donned mosquito netting inside the van and looked up with sad eyes.
The dire state of our situation was clear. We were at least a two-hour drive from the nearest inland roads where the bloodthirsty hoards would thin, but there was no way we’d be able to sleep at Jackson Bay.
Without finishing the snacks or drinks we’d started, we jumped in the front of the van and headed for higher ground.
We’d lasted all of a half hour in Jackson Bay, the most beautiful, nasty place I’ve ever been.