Blue-lining in Appalachia comes with a certain set of rules. Don't talk about where you're going. Keep your eyes peeled for lightning storms. Check for ticks. Watch your back-cast. If watchdog landowners, rogue lightning bolts, rhododendron branches, and lime disease don't get you, the rattlesnakes will.
The mosquitoes hover around your head in an orchestra of confusion. If they didn't leave such regrettable memoirs, their sound would be welcome under the silencing effect of the forest canopy. But just past the swarm is a perfect, slow-moving seam that should produce another brookie. A bow-and-arrow cast ought to do it.