The Yellow Menace

I divide the year into two parts: the spider season and everything else.

In clear violation of the He-Man Code of Conduct I will publicly admit that there are a few things about the outdoors that scare me: fresh bear tracks, nearby lightning strikes and cranky copy editors. However, there is one thing that transcends even that gallery of nightmares, a horror that is head and shoulders above everything else.

Spiders.

We’re not talking about your little run-of-the-mill arachnid; those delicate daddy long-legs that cling to your tent fly or even the hairy athletic ones that sprint across your legs as you sit in the grass. I’m talking about the heavyweights of the spider world, the kind that looks like they would eat a wolverine for lunch and ask for seconds.

In Indiana the prime offender is the garden spider, the ubiquitous yellow and black demon lurking in bushes and open fields throughout the state, waiting patiently for the unwary sportsman. Starting in late August, through September and ending with the first hard freeze in October, these spiders are scattered throughout the landscape, making squirrel hunting, early waterfowl season, bow hunting for deer or even a simple hike a certain rendezvous with anxiety.

You will be blithely sauntering along, minding your own outdoor business then suddenly find yourself enveloped in the sticky web of the yellow menace. Such incidents normally cause the spider to drop to the ground and flee. The human does likewise, albeit in the other direction, at a much higher rate of speed and with considerably more flailing.

Now, some of the readers are saying, “C’mon, tough guy. Spiders are just small, harmless critters that are a vital part of the ecosystem.” I might agree, except for the fact that they are not small, they will indeed hurt you and the ecosystem doesn’t need them, at least not any environment I would design. In my world, their role of eating nuisance insects would be fulfilled by enormous machines.

Garden spiders are certainly dangerous. They pack a nasty bite, though such attack is very rare. The more significant danger is serious facial damage that results from running headlong into a tree after inadvertently sauntering into a large web with the owner still in residence.

This year, tired of soiled foundation garments and the ridicule from others, I have begun a rigorous fear-aversion program to overcome the phobia of garden spiders. This technique worked so well with my previous fear of water snakes that I can now look at photographs of the reptiles with only minimal tears.

Currently there is a garden spider living near my front door. It started out small, even cute, like a kitten. It has now grown to the size of a kitten and become a burly, lumbering menace of a spider, an arachnid version of an NFL offensive lineman.

When I find such spiders near the house I usually deal with the animal quickly, using a handgun to put it out of my misery. A friend recently heard me discussing this practice and found it unimaginable that I actually use a pistol to shoot spiders. It was apparent that he was right, so now I use a medium-caliber rifle.

The previous statement is factual but I have decided to utilize this spider in my therapy program. In fact I have even given him a cute little pet name, Beelzebub, or “Beez” for short.

Now, every time I leave the front door, I see Beez happily eating another neighborhood squirrel or repairing his trampoline-sized web. I say “Hello!” and he raises a foot-long leg in salute as I pass, sizing me up for the day when he begins to hunt big game.

I believe the familiarization therapy is working. With luck, I should be able to roam field and forest during the coming months without looking like someone who is expecting immanent attack by rabid bats or EPA agents.

If this plan works, I will be able to crouch in the reeds fearlessly while waiting for a flight of September geese to land. It will turn my early deer hunts into hours of fun and relaxation instead of a panic-filled scramble through spider-infested fields. I will be able to walk in the woods without looking like a demented Shaman, waving a long stick in front of me to dislodge any spiders in residence.

Hopefully, this therapy program will make my Hoosier outdoor experiences during early fall become even more enjoyable and tranquil.

Of course, the loaded rifle is still near the front door.