Attack of the Dawn Patrol

We are truly living in a tropical paradise…almost. For as long as anyone can remember, Marco, Isles of Capri, and Goodland have always been paradise in the winter season. In the winter months, the weather is perfect; any activity outdoors is a pleasure, and the only problem islanders have is when a distant relative or acquaintance arrives from the past - most of the time unannounced - and wants to be entertained, wined, and dined, and offers hints about moving in for a couple of cozy days.

The aforementioned scenario can indeed be an irritating problem that still arises every winter, but in the not-so-distant past, another pesky menace would always arrive every summer and this was a menace that would arrive with a vengeance. Unlike the polite regulations imposed on us by social and moral obligation, desperate and calculated action was necessary to remove the unwanted summer invaders simply for survival.

When the full moon in late spring pulls in the highest tides of the year and the first sprinkles of the rainy season begin, water touches the eggs that have been waiting. This is when a vicious cycle begins, and about a billion mosquitos are born in the mangroves that surround the archipelago in which we call home. The mosquitos are born hungry and the little vampires that they are - like the winter invaders - seek to impose, feed, and move in for the summer.

To combat the tiny vampire’s scourge and the magnificent menace rising out of the mangroves, a war for the survival of our island inhabitants was forced upon us. Winter pests have always been a short-term problem for our personal lifestyle and space, but the winged and magnificent menace waiting to invade our tropical habitat in summer has a colorful history that must not be forgotten.

Today, science has thankfully progressed into an artform that holds the almost supernatural menace at bay. In recent years, mosquitos in the rainy season have not been the traditional scourge of summer because of the fine folks at the Collier County Mosquito Control. With sleek stealth, highly efficient helicopters, and fixed wing aircraft, a very effective agent is deployed over our islands and our homes to control the density and population of the tiny tropical vampires.

This, however, was not the case when the Marco Beach Boy Chronicles began in the early days of island development. These were the days of growing pains when there was, indeed, a war of Beach Boys and Girls verses mosquito. During the 1960s 70’s, and 80’s a very different kind of assault on the mosquito population began and although this might have been an antiquated approach, this was a dawn patrol attack with full-blown shock and awe. A well prepared, very smoky, and very noisy war.

Well before dawn and almost on a daily basis, preparation for air superiority was underway. The airplanes might have been old, and there might have been only three, but when the Douglas DC-3’s were being fueled with aviation gas and mosquito fog, the sleeping population of Marco, Capri, and Goodland was never quite sure when they were going to be rolled out of bed with a full-scale attack.

When the three twin-engine cargo planes lifted off from the runway and it was wheels up over the mangroves, it was only a few minutes of flight time before the orange ball of the sun began breaking free of the jungle that reached all the way to the Everglades.

When the three Douglas airplanes (that were assembled in the 1940’s) banked away from the rising sun and grouped together almost wingtip to wingtip and then dropped down to fogging altitude, the two pilots on each of the three old airplanes must have felt this was the best job in the world. This was when the pilots pushed the throttles forward and began the first mosquito attack and fogging run on Marco Island.

At the Marco Beach Hotel, joggers out for a predawn run would suddenly burst into the lobby breathless and shout to the bellmen and front desk crew: “This island is under attack!” the jogger would shout. “There are bombers attacking Marco. They are going for the rooftops. They are attacking the houses! They must be dropping bombs!”

Other newcomers to the islands would call 911, and report: “A group of planes flew over.” The caller would gasp. “All three were on fire. They were all trailing smoke!  Old airplanes ready to crash and trailing smoke. They were so low they must have crashed into someone’s house!”

The old Douglas DC-3 workhorses were indeed trailing a great deal of smoke because of the diesel fuel and mosquito fog mix that was sprayed onto the exhaust manifolds. This was the recipe for attack when the airplanes were only about 100 feet above the rooftops of the homes on Marco and Capri.

The sound of the six big Pratt and Whitney engines flying almost as one giant aerial war machine must have registered very high in the decibel range and almost to the point of the threshold of pain. The released mosquito fog, trailing from the prop wash and the veteran engines, did appear as though the planes were crashing and the oily fog that fell from the sky did smell as if a modern tropical island was at war. 

The dawn patrol attacks were very effective - every tiny vampire on the wing was instantly snuffed out of existence by the descending fog that looked like smoke. In the instant the old planes roared overhead, every islander that called Marco and Isles of Capri home rolled out of bed cursing the noise as the mosquito pilots raced over the rooftops smiling ear to ear.

Early islander residents will never forget the sound of the deadly three as they crossed overhead. About halfway through the dawn patrol mosquito attacks, our islands indeed looked like there was a war. The blood red sun was rising but climbing through a thick haze created by the battle for the islands. As islanders watched, the smoke from the airplanes exhaust layered dense fields of fog and vapor as the little vampires dropped from the skies. As the mosquito bombers continued to race away, almost touching rooftop to rooftop, trailing even more fog and smoke to a distant part of the island, many early islanders were scratching their heads and wondering: how can we get something like this for the winter time pests - the friends and family from up north that arrive every year?