Spiders and Snakes

[Stelenes at aol.com]

Mark Walker wrote:

>I've shared many of the hazards associated with butterflying in remote
>locations before, perhaps in an attempt to offset the image of the wimpy
>butterfly collector.  When I think of what it took to travel to some of
>these locations back in the second and third decades of last century, it
>truly amazes me.



Mark, a note of caution...

I just read your homage to "wimpy butterfly collectors" who were really 
venerated explorers in disguise and snickered a bit when you mentioned your 
inspiration for this thread was partly the half-pint of a spider that stung 
you.  (Hope you still have the finger, you never said which one it was you 
waved at the motorists.)

One thing to add to that romanticized image of the "'last' (20th) century": 
While I agree that getting there was typically quite a feat for those lucky 
few early Lepidopterists who chanced upon this nascent Shangri-La of 
entomology, it is hard to overlook that today's challenges can be greater, 
though not accompanied by a theme of virgin adventure.  I had an experience 
on Sunday which sadly is relevant to the difference betwixt now and yore.

I worked all weekend on mundane projects as the rain continued.  A couple 
hours before sunset on Sunday, the light had potential.  

It was late Sunday afternoon and I was in the foothills of the California 
Coastal Mountain range.  The moon was at least a gibbous one, but the short 
spurt of sunlight the late afternoon offered quickly was swallowed by the 
darkness when a thick cloud cover enveloped everything.  The only sounds were 
the squashing and suction crackle from my boots on the muddy path; then the 
trickling roar of the river 1000 feet below in the canyon.  Alone, an hour 
away from my vehicle.  A place a mind could get the wrong idea about knurled 
stumps and my vision was about as good as a planarian's (or should I say a 
faded monochrome monitor eking out gray scale).  It was refreshingly 
frightening, imagining that somewhere around here might be a bear like on the 
California State flag; the Grizzlies wherever they lived were long ago 
banished to the Unhappy Hunting Grounds where all the beauty still resides.

I reflected, none of God's creations could spoil the wonderful tranquility 
and the frightful emotions of darkness, controlled, were quite pleasurable. 
Was there ever such a creature which when understood and respected could be a 
menace?

The digital altimeter dial was no longer visible, except half way down, I 
imagined that the leading one had vanished.  But how splendid it all was, one 
could always run like the dickens to confound any spoilspirits in evil 
pursuit.

AS I APPROACHED THE RIVER AT 500 FEET, AND NEARED THE TRIBUTARY OF A DIRT 
ROAD WHERE I HAD UNOBTRUSIVELY CACHED MY VEHICLE ALONG THE OLD HIGHWAY, 
UNQUESTIONABLY, FEAR PULSATED THROUGHOUT THE PEACEFUL REQUIEM.  WHY?  THE 
DANGERS OF THE HUMAN RABBLE ONE MIGHT MEET, AND THE PLEASURE WAS GONE.

FAR WORSE THAN MUTATED GIGANTIC ARACHNID RUNNING AMOK, SUPPOSE SOME EVIL MAN 
HAD STAKED A VIGIL OF MY VEHICLE, MAKING THE SMALL CLEARING WHERE IT LAY 
DORMANT HIS PARLOR?

I was lucky once again, with my modern defense of a remote key and sprint 
into the vehicle.  Though, the cakes of mud on the floor remain as a tribute 
to this sad source of danger.  Sometimes I think one would have better fate 
if captured by cannibals rather than modern day lurkers.

Best wishes.

Doug Dawn
Woodland, CA
Monterrey, Mexico