Webby

It’s getting awfully webby out there.

Desiree and I overnighted at the cabin again, and summer is nearly upon us. As you move through the woods and brush, you constantly feel the whisper of tiny webs brushing your face, lassoing the bare skin of your arms. Sometimes you can spot a gossamer thread stretched long through the air—but more often, not.

This is the work of young spiders—and possibly some variety of caterpillar or wiggly worm on a quest.

I’ll grossly understate things by saying I don’t enjoy walking into spider webs. I think that’s better than admitting to quiet panic. To soften the experience, I try to imagine the webs are spun by worms or caterpillars instead.

As a personal favor, I ask that all you amateur entomologists play along with this idea—even if you know full well no such bugs are afoot this time of year.

Thank you in advance.

—Mitchell Hegman

Little Miss Muffet

After witnessing a spider rapidly descend from the ceiling on a web not far from me, I thought about the old nursery rhyme 'Little Miss Muffet.' As you may recall, the rhyme goes something like this:

Little Miss Muffet

Sat on a tuffet,

Eating her curds and whey;

Along came a big spider,

Who sat down beside her,

And frightened Miss Muffet away.

After watching my particular spider drop into my hoya plant and scuttle away, I decided to amend the rhyme as follows:

Little Miss Muffet

Sat on a tuffet,

Eating her curds and whey;

Along came a big spider,

Who sat down beside her,

So, she squashed it dead.

—Mitchell Hegman

Black Widows (Crawlspaces)

Black widow spiders adore a crawlspace.  One of my worst experiences as an electrician involved a crawlspace infested with full-grown black widows.  As I entered the space, I saw their signature (messy) webs festooned everywhere under the floor joists.  I counted nearly a dozen spiders as I scuttled across the bare earth below the floor.  I held a cord-attached trouble light before me as I dragged myself across the space, clearing webs.  Halfway into the space…tink…my incandescent lightbulb instantly burned out.

I froze there in the darkness.  Black widows all around.

Fortunately, my coworker was on the floor above me.  “Rodney!” I bellowed.  “I’m in trouble here!  My light burned out and I can’t move.  I’m surrounded by black widows.”

Rodney soon appeared in the wan light at the crawl opening from which I originated.  “I need a new light bulb,” I told him.  “I can’t move without one.”

Rodney, using electrician’s tape, strapped a new bulb to the extension cord.  I pulled the cord and bulb to me and replaced the bulb in my light.

We finished our work (me dodging black widows for the better part of a half-hour) and then drove back to the shop.  I immediately found my boss and told him he was welcome to fire me because I would never enter that crawlspace again.

My boss laughed.  “You don’t have to go there again.”

My work as an electrician taught me to wire-in a series of lights throughout the crawlspace below the floor of my house when I constructed it.  I have entered the space many dozens of times for one reason or another and have thanked myself for the light.

I entered my crawlspace for a plumbing gig just the other day.   As soon as I entered the space, I switched on the lights.  The instant I peered down into the wash of light where I intended to go, I saw an enormous black widow suspended in the air below my floor joists.  Above the spider, I saw the gnarly web she constructed under a heat register near my back door.

As a rule, my policy is live and let live.

I took an exception there in my own well-lighted crawlspace.

—Mitchell Hegman

The Large and Freaky Spider

If you have known me for more than, say, fifteen minutes, you understand that I don’t like spiders. In my book, they are about as creepy as a thing can be.

At the same time, I have taken something of an uneasy comfort in knowing that our big ugly spiders don’t jump.

Granted, there are jumping spiders.  We have them here in Montana.  For some reason jumping spiders have never given me the creeps.  Jumping spiders tend to be small, have short legs, and big button eyes.  They don’t look quite as spidery to me.  And their jumping somehow makes them even less spidery.

I read somewhere that some jumping spiders can leap two feet in distance.  That’s a grasshopper right there.

Anyhoo, a really ugly thing happened yesterday.  In the early evening, I stepped into my laundry room to grab something.  I took only one step before spotting, on the floor near my feet, a really big, long-legged, hairy spider with enormous boxing gloves (palps) held out for a fight.  The spider saw me at the same time and jumped.

Listen to what I am saying: “The big creepy spider jumped up into the air.”

I don’t want to say I panicked…

Okay, I panicked.

I tore off my shirt, threw it down over the spider, wadded up the spider, and then ran to the back door and flung my shirt off the back deck.

I’ll retrieve my shirt again sometime next year.

—Mitchell Hegman

Attack of the Spiders

Early yesterday morning, as I sat on my sofa sipping coffee and watching some news, a leggy spider trekked out across the carpet.  I am not a fan of spiders, leggy or otherwise.  Upon seeing the spider, I slipped the sock off my right foot, pulled it over my right hand, and captured the spider sock-puppet-style.  I then pitched the critter out my front door.

Spider problem solved, I thought.

A while later, while seated at my kitchen peninsula, I somehow managed to come across a video about the most dangerous spiders in the world.  Naturally, I had to watch the video.  About the time the seventh deadliest spider appeared on the video, a blur of motion on the countertop to my right caught my attention. When I turn to focus squarely on the motion, I found—you guessed it—a second leggy spider sprinting in my direction.

I immediately identified the spider as a black recluse fiddle belly widow mini-tarantula.  Or something close to that.  And I did what any normal person would do: I yelped.

Removal of this spider required the use of a nearby dish towel.  I even considered gloves and safety glasses, and would have found some if given time.

I was a little frazzled by the end of the second spider attack.

Posted is the video I was watching.

Keep a wary eye out for spiders as you watch.

—Mitchell Hegman

Video Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b8xyRHOvl7g

A Good Reason Not to Visit Australia

I have always wanted to visit Australia.  Australia is the one country I want to visit primarily because of the people.  I really want to be surrounded by Australians.  I suppose I have a romanticized, Crocodile Dundee version of Australia and Australians in mind.  But they seem fun-loving and kind and I get a kick out of their accent.

The other day, however, I came across a pretty good reason (in the form of a video) not to go to Australia.

The reason: huntsman spiders.

Huntsman spiders are noted for being fast and aggressive.  Some species are also incredibly large.  Huntsman spiders in Australia may reach a five-inch leg span.  They are capable of hunting down mice, birds, and lizards.

Tough they are not really considered a danger to humans and are said to be reluctant to bite humans, they are still too big and creepy for me to share spaces with.

The largest species of huntsman spider (the giant huntsman) is found in Laos.  Giant huntsman spiders live in caves and are considered the largest spiders (by leg span) in the world.  They can reach a leg span of twelve inches. 

Posted is the video I saw the other day.  The video features a huntsman spider trying to make off with a mouse.

—Mitchell Hegman

Video Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wRQucp31n0c