Spiders

I used to think I wasn't scared of spiders. Then I went for a walk in the woods.



I've been in Japan for nearly a month, and I hadn't been for a proper hike yet. So I got suited and booted and cycled up through Dazaifu to a shrine at the base of the very-small-mountains (well, hills). It took about an hour to get up there from my house, and on my skoda of a bicycle it was exhausting. Had a pleasant lunch in the grounds of the shrine, next to a friendly little old lady nattering to her friend in speedy nihongo [Japanese]. I decided to only attempt the smaller hill by the shrine, and save the much larger and steeper Houmon-san for another day. (Japanese mountains are given the same honorifics as people, eg Mount Fuji is Fuji-san, just as my name is Ollie-san. Or rather Oh-rrie-san.) Once I got into the woods and started up the hill I found the path was repeatedly broken by fallen trees and bamboo; Typhoon Shan-Shan clearly did more damage than I'd thought. I was in a bit of dopey mood from lack of sleep, and when I found there were three paths up the hill rather than the expected one, I was a bit flummoxed. Similar confusion followed my discovery of a signpost at a fork in the path, pointing in two different directions, neither of which I could read. Check mate Nihongo.

After a bit of an explore, I deemed the whole path thing to be overrated, and decided to go off-piste. With a map and compass, clear skies and well-spaced trees, what could possibly go wrong?

Suddenly I stopped. There was a cobweb inches from my chest, poised like a trip wire, ready to collapse onto me. My whole body flinched backwards, skin crawling. At the web's centre, an eight-legged, three-inch, black and yellow striped spider, balanced on its toe tips, curled like a claw. It was feeding on a large, tightly-bound moth. The web stretched between two trees about 2m apart, and the core of the web formed a disc 2ft in diameter. Baby spiders patrolled its edges, where the wind had scattered a few insects (now dessicated bundles).

I used a stick to clear the way in front of me, snapping the silk joists at arm's reach. With the first jolt the spider shot upwards with graceless mechanical speed, before freezing at the highest point, well above my head. With its strength broken, the web wafted free, hanging on the breeze. The thought of walking into it made my skin shriek. The stroke of those fine strands on my face, the realisation and hurried flutter of hands brushing away the clinging silk, carefully exploring the backs of my arms and body, dreading that I'd find needle legs on soft skin, unnatural scuttling across my lumbering limbs, sharp black and yellow on pale pink. With those thoughts in my mind and my stick held firmly above my head, I cowered under the web. I may even have whimpered, which can only have lowered the spider's opinion of me yet further. Then, well past the web, I stepped forward with relief.

Only to find another web, expectant, in front of me. I stopped to look around me. Two in every five or so trees had just such a web stretched between them. Every web with its dominant spider, content to wait and watch. As far as I could see, sheets hung in the trees, a creeping jewel nestled in each. Blowing full in the breeze, but remaining tightly bound as they stretched. The sheer number of them turned my stomach.

It took me a few minutes to get back onto the path, walking slowly as I peered ahead of me; checking for webs and clutching my stick, ready to fence. I wanted to head straight back down to the shrine, but decided to try one last path. After clambering over yet another fallen tree, I found myself facing an extended troop of 10 or so japanese hikers, descending in the opposite direction. My 'konichiwa' was met with an amiable but curt 'ah, english teacher'. (I don't think I've tried my Japanese on anyone yet who has not immediately replied in English, whether stilted or fluent.) They had kindly cleared the path ahead for me, so the remainder of my ascent was spider-free.

That said, I walked into my room that night and felt those slender strands across my face. I could see neither web nor spider; perhaps it was just my over-active imagination. But I keep looking in corners, and flinch whenever I see a spider. I wonder how long this will last...


ADDENDUM: Am not actually mad. Just found the spider in my room. Very small. Definitely not scary. Phew.