I wish.
But, if you can’t have a pack that instantly kills those pesky winged devils once they penetrate your personal space, then you might as well have a pack that’s ergonomically comfy and stays on your back when you’re swinging for the fences trying to escape from the torture of those worthless winged things. Since it covered my entire back, my Gregory Triconi 60 probably did save me from a few more dozen bites.
I should have known better though. Taking a four-day backpacking trip into Wyoming’s Wind River mountains in the beginning of July after a huge snow year is like going to your local blood drive - except you come away with 46 swelling bumps instead of feeling warm inside that you might have helped save someones life. The Winds in July equals Mosquitoville and my girlfriend, Genevieve, and I were held hostage.
Yes, our friends, sisters, brother-in-laws, crusty old retail gear shop guys and co-workers all told us the bugs were going to be bad. But really, how bad can it be, I thought? Bad enough that after every mosquito bite you got you wanted to name it after someone who told you not to go?
It was bad. Unbearable at times. And dousing yourself in DEET didn’t seem to do the trick. 
