Marin/Sonoma Mosquito & Vector Control District
800-231-3236 (toll free)
707-285-2200 (office)
595 Helman Lane, Cotati, CA 94931-9736

Reflected in a slough near Redwood City, James Counts of the San Mateo County Mosquito Abatement District wore protective gear while stalking mosquito larvae.

The big red Hovercraft glides across the water off Redwood City and comes to a halt in the soft mud of the salt marsh.
    ``Careful,'' warns James Counts, who oversees field operations for the San Mateo County Mosquito Abatement District. ``The mud there will come up to here on you.'' He holds a hand near his chin.
    ``If you were to fall in without anyone around, you'd never get out,'' Counts observes.
    This is about the most dangerous aspect of standing at the front lines in the Bay Area's war on mosquitoes. Aside from getting bitten and stung a good deal more than most people, mosquito warriors work in relative safety.
    And anonymity. It can be said that officials of the Bay Area's 10 mosquito-abatement districts hold some of the most underappreciated, thankless jobs around -- especially when you figure that their efforts are about the only thing making this moist, mild region habitable by noninsects.
    On this particular day, Counts removes his helmet and demonstrates how to jump from the Hovercraft into the nearby pickleweed, the thick, tangled plants that only become visible when the tide is out.
    His ride-along visitor, decked out in heavy, waist-high rubber boots and assorted layers of yellow rain slickers, stumbles along behind him. Even with the sun hidden by morning haze, it doesn't take long to work up a sweat.
    ``It's physical work,'' Counts says as he makes his way to a small pool of water left by the receding tide. ``On a typical day, I might walk five, six miles.''

Larvae collected for research gathered at the top of a water-filled test tube.

    Reaching the pool, Counts dips a plastic cup connected to a long handle and proceeds to carefully examine the contents. He spills it out and takes another sample from the other side of the pool, again gazing intently at what he's found.
    ``No larvae,'' he announces, satisfied, and leads the way back to the Hovercraft. There are plenty more samples to be taken on this inspection tour.
    The San Mateo district covers about 166 square miles running from Millbrae to Menlo Park. It's also the nearest mosquito-abatement district to San Francisco, which has no full-time mosquito-prevention program and thus relies heavily on San Mateo's efforts to keep the mosquito population in check.
    In fact, San Mateo boasts the state's oldest mosquito-fighting endeavor, launched in the Burlingame area nearly a century ago. At the time, according to a county report, mosquitoes ``would literally form dark clouds overhead and make human habitation almost intolerable.''
    This still would be the case, Counts says, without continuing countermeasures. ``Most of our work is preventive,'' he points out. ``If we didn't do it, you'd be eaten alive.''
    He wipes the visor of his helmet with a paper towel. The Hovercraft kicks up a lot of spray as it skims the water and muck. Counts, who races motorcycles in his spare time, guns the engine as he leans into a turn.
    Needless to say, successful mosquito abatement is something most local residents take for granted. Counts, 50, applied for an opening with the district on a whim and now has been doing it for almost three decades. He pulls down about $28 an hour.
    ``I love the field work,'' Counts says as he parks the Hovercraft and casts his eyes over hundreds of acres of open marshland. He has the dark complexion and rough skin of a person who works outdoors for a living. ``If I was a park ranger, it would be pretty laid-back,'' he says. ``This is much more interesting.''
    And maybe just a little frustrating, at least in terms of receiving recognition for a job well done. ``People don't realize that we're constantly out here doing this,'' Counts says. ``They think we need mosquito control like we need lion control.''
    He shakes his head. ``You try to explain to people, and they think you're just blowing air.''
    Counts takes another reading. He stares into the plastic cup for signs of mosquitoes-to-be. ``So far, so good,'' he says, spilling the contents back out.
    The Peninsula has a variety of mosquito species. At this time of year, the Western house mosquito -- Culex pipiens, to scientific types -- gets much of the attention by slipping into homes at night and feasting on people as they sleep.
    Most of these little fiends emerge from catch basins, fountains and other urban locations, and district workers have to move quickly to track down breeding sites before a situation grows out of control. They use a number of abatement methods, ranging from toxic (to a mosquito) substances to introduction of bug-chomping fish.

    The rapid expansion of Silicon Valley has only made things worse. More homes and offices means more drainage, more catch basins and, naturally, more mosquitoes.
    The biggest threat, however, remains the coastal wetlands, which give birth to the aggressive salt marsh mosquitoes Aedes squamiger and Aedes dorsalis. The eggs of these two can remain viable in the mud for as long as 20 years awaiting optimal hatching conditions, and a full-grown salt marsh mosquito is capable of flying about 50 miles in search of fresh blood.
    ``We know that there are tons of eggs out here just waiting for the water,'' Counts says as he takes another sample. ``We can't do anything about them. The eggs have a protective coating.''
    The trick to mosquito abatement is nailing these suckers at the larval stage. That's why Counts and his crew regularly check known breeding grounds, watching for sudden spikes in larvae (and wearing plenty of repellent during peak seasons).
    When found, the team often will attack with all-terrain vehicles, spraying nearby pools. Expansive areas will be addressed by helicopter. And for hard-to-reach spots, Counts will heft a 40-pound backpack and spray infested areas on foot.
    ``You know,'' he says while trekking back to the Hovercraft, ``more people die every year from mosquitoes than anything else. We're lucky to have a program. In some Third World countries, they lose thousands of people.''
    In the Bay Area, with malaria no longer much of a going concern, mosquitoes are essentially pests. But district personnel have their hands full battling assorted other pests falling under their jurisdiction. They tackle yellow jacket nests, not to mention Lyme disease spread by ticks, hantavirus spread by rodents and plague spread by a number of creatures.
    According to Robert Gay, manager of the San Mateo district, hantavirus was detected late last year in mice on San Bruno Mountain. It was found again this spring near Crystal Springs Reservoir, closer to residential areas.
    If inhaled by a human, hantavirus causes a high fever and the lungs to fill with fluid. Death can result within 24 hours.
    At the moment, district workers are still in surveillance mode and are educating members of the public how to dispose of mice droppings without stirring up dust, which is how hantavirus usually jumps to humans. There are no plans yet to try to control the rodent population throughout the countryside.
    And so it's the mosquitoes that remain a central focus of the district's labors.
    After a couple of hours traversing the marsh, Counts finally steers the Hovercraft back to shore.
    He has taken dozens of samples and turned up no larvae. This was expected. Things will start hopping, or buzzing, once the rains start.

A moon suit helped Counts deal with furious yellow jackets when he their nest in Millbrae.

    ``Hey,'' Counts says, ``you want to go after some yellow jackets? We can put on the moon suits. It's nice. People are really grateful when you come to their home and take out a nest.''
    His visitor decides to pass. Moon suits notwithstanding, going head to head with hundreds of angry yellow jackets isn't how he wants to spend the remainder of the day.
    Counts nods and loads the Hovercraft back onto a truck trailer for the short trip back to headquarters.
    He figures he has climbed about as high as he will go in mosquito abatement. The next step up the career ladder would be to become a supervisor, but that would mean riding a desk instead of a Hovercraft. Counts couldn't imagine having to remain indoors all day.
    He says he might put in another 10 years with the district before retiring in Santa Fe.
    So what are the mosquitoes like in New Mexico?
    ``I don't yet know,'' Counts says, smiling slightly at the prospect of bugs to come.

Somebody's Gotta Do It is a periodic series on people who do jobs most of us would shun. David Lazarus can be reached at davidlaz@sfgate.com.