The cover for my hot tub measures a bit over six feet across. That may not strike some of us as a particularly great distance to cross, but distance is relative. If you’re a ¼-inch-long moth, that’s a pretty substantial jaunt. If early-morning dew has collected on the cover, it’s downright treacherous.
Starting in late spring and
stretching through the fall, dew gathered on the hot tub becomes a death trap
for all manner of moths and no-name whizbots. On some dewy mornings, I will
find dozens of insects helplessly stuck in place on the cover, their wings
pinned tight by the surface tension of the water.
Having been tainted by some sort of
moron gene, I often try to save the insects by tabbing them up with my finger
and depositing them on my brick ledge. I have my reasons. My cover folds back
on itself when I open it. If I did this with the insects stuck in place, I
would squash them.
Some mornings I find moths with
trails behind them where they dragged themselves forward across the wet
expanse.
Big efforts, those.
Noteworthy.
Yesterday, I found evidence of a
single, wholly inspiring slog across the entire cover. And the moth had
obviously escaped on the far side.
Great stuff, that.
I have posted photographic evidence
of the great escape—including a Cold Smoke beer for proper scale.
—Mitchell Hegman
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