Why Tarantulas Make The Best Stuffed Animals - Karl:Mission 89-4
Beau was early. I toss my towel on the bed and head out the door with my duffle bag; my hair is still wet. The west Texas heat instantly envelops me and I’m suddenly grateful for my wet hair… instant air conditioning.
Beau gives me one of his famous smiles. I toss my duffle bag in the back of an open air jeep that seems twice as ancient as Beau. I’m guessing a 1947 Willis Army Jeep. I climb in the passenger side and I’m instantly off the seat faster than a greyhound, “Ouch!” I say in pained surprise. The dark brown vinyl of the seat was like sitting on a hot iron.
“Oh I really sorry ma’m”, Beau says visibly upset. “I meant to put the towel down first. I guess I got so excited about our trip I forgot all about it.” he says as he quickly smoothes out the towel he pulls from the back seat.
I sit down again and while the towel’s an improvement the heat pours through the terry cloth and reconnects with my already seared legs. I force a smile at Beau and say, “Thanks for the towel! How hot is it?”
Beau smiles back and says, “111°, a little cooler than last week but it should still be okay for catching tarantulas.”
He pulls the jeep out of the motel parking lot and heads out of town. No one else is on the road. We pick up speed until we’re doing about 50mph. The wind buffets us from all sides and seems to sap every once of moisture from our bodies. Beau reaches under the makeshift consol between the seats and produces a beat up cowboy hat not too dissimilar from the one he’s wearing. “It’s yours if you want it. The sun’ll really take it out of you here.”
I take it gratefully, not even caring about the thick sweat band ringing the hat. “Thanks!”
By the time we get out of town about five miles I see my first tarantula and I get really excited. “This is going to be my easiest assignment yet.” I think to myself.
The tarantula was casually crossing the highway. I look over at Beau and couldn’t help myself, “Why did the tarantula cross the road?”
Beau looks over at me with a puzzled look and says with full sincerity, “I have no idea.”
I’m caught off guard a little assuming that he’d naturally get the joke but I guess questions about tarantulas aren’t taken lightly by one of the worlds leading field experts.
Then I look up the road and see hundreds of tarantulas crossing the road in both directions. I’m absolutely flabbergasted and my question just got a lot more interesting.
I looked behind the jeep expecting to see a trail of dead bodies but I don’t see a single dead spider. Now it’s my turn. I look at Beau with a quizzical look and he anticipates my question.
“It’s almost impossible to run over a tarantula. I don’t think you can do it on purpose. The tarantula needs to make a mistake. You see, they’re very light for their size. The wind from the jeep blows them out of the way before they get smashed and they scurry off the side of the road.”
Sure enough, as I watch the action behind the jeep I see a string of tarantulas being flung to the side of the road and then scurrying away. I breathe a sigh of relief. I sure didn’t want to be the cause of a bunch of dead tarantulas.
“What’s the matter with these tarantulas?” I ask Beau a little confused.
Beau responds in his west Texas drawl, “These are your basic garden variety tarantulas. We could get one and head back if you want but the message from Finn was that you wanted a brown tipped tarantula. Some people say they look the same. They’re the same ones that would just as soon kill the tarantulas. The brown tips are real beauties in my book. To be real honest, I was surprised anyone out of this area knew about them.”
“It turns out there’s a little girl back east that loves brown tip tarantulas. Finn is determined to get a stuffed brown tipped tarantula for her.” I say. “Where do we find a brown tip?”
“The last spotting was about 3 miles from here on the Spitzer deer lease. The turn off is just half a mile up the road.” says Beau pointing to a break in the fence that was just barely visible.
When we get there we cross a cattle guard and head into a field of dust, juniper, tumble weed and more dust.
“You might want to put this on.” says Beau handing me a bandana. “We’re probably going to kick up a lot of dust now.” he continues saying as he crams the transmission into first and we start to lurch forward across the field.
For my money, Beau just became a crazy person behind the wheel. We’re bouncing and lurching faster than makes sense and the more we lurch the bigger the smile on Beau’s face. He’s like a little kid in a candy shop…filled with tarantulas.
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