On the trail of tarantulas under Mount Taygetos
After trekking in the scorching heat, Ben Aldiss came across a giant arachnid lurking in the shadows.
Out of the hole rushed the biggest wild spider I have ever seen.
The July morning had dawned crystal clear, so the perfect symmetry of Mount Taygetos stood out with unusual clarity from the barren landscape. The stunning blue waters of the gulf barely stirred under the cloudless skies – it promised to be a scorching day.
My son Matt, daughter Sofie and I headed up a dry riverbed leading from the coastal town of Kardamyli towards the distant peak of the mountain. On previous camping holidays in the Peloponnese region, we’d seen tell-tale signs of the infamous tarantula – Lycosa tarantula. But it was here in Kardamyli that I believed we might strike lucky and find one.
Within minutes, we entered a narrow defile marking the river’s exit from the mountains into the coastal plain. Already the sun was making its impression, and the hot, bleached pebbles shifted and met percussively beneath our feet.
As noon approached and the temperature reached a scorching 40°C, we neared our destination – an open, grassy hillside close to a small derelict monastery. Nearby was an area of patchy, aromatic vegetation called phrygana and, to our excitement, between
some of the clumps of fragrant lavender we found burrows – tarantula burrows.
Discarded exoskeletons surrounded the largest, their dimensions scarily indicative of the power of the adversary lurking within. Delicate strands of silk radiated almost invisibly from the burrow’s mouth – trip-wires, set taut and ready. I gently stroked one strand with a stick, but we were totally unprepared for the speed and ferocity of the response. Out of the hole rushed the biggest wild spider I had ever seen. What’s more, instead of retreating – as most spiders do – it unhesitatingly leapt at the stick. Quick as a flash, Sofie clapped a jar over it.
With its sleek fawn and chocolate livery and distinctive ‘Land Rover’ eyes, there could be no mistaking the relationship to its relatively tiny British cousin – the familiar wolf spider. Needless to say, we let it go later that day, but not until we’d shown it to the burly owner of our campsite. “Impossible!” he said in his thick Greek accent. “We don’t get them that big in Greece.”