Getting a Leg Up

On Tarantulas’ Annual Texas Walkabout

“I calmly took this photo of a tarantula on our wall soon after moving to Hays County. The image clearly was taken with a steady hand and not by someone who was screaming like a girl.” —Loren Steffy

Loren Steffy

Ah, late spring in Central Texas, when a young tarantula’s thoughts—or instincts—turn to love.

During our first spring in the Hill Country, I was stepping through our sliding glass door, which my wife had left open to enjoy the breeze, and I froze. On the wall was a giant, hairy, black spider about the size of my hand. My response, as I recall, was to say, with mild surprise, “Oh my.” My wife’s recollection is a little different: “you screamed like a little girl.”

Either way, I carefully closed the door to keep the tarantula out of the house. But then I watched with curiosity as he meticulously made his way up, around the door, turned the corner of the house, and eventually went below the deck.

Tarantulas spend most of their time underground, so they’re rarely seen—except for this time of year. Spring rains lead to an increase in insect populations, and they come out of their holes to feast at the smorgasbord.

Most of the tarantulas we see this time of year are males. The mating season runs from May to August, and young males go forth looking for females, who almost never stray more than a few inches from their burrows. Males mature for seven to 10 years before they begin to seek a mate. No wonder. The tarantula mating ritual is intense—like tiny, hairy-legged Klingons.

When a male finds a female, who will probably be twice his age, he stabs a set of hooks on his front legs—grown just for mating—into her mouth. This prevents her from biting him. An appendage near his mouth, known as a pedipalp, extends into the female’s abdominal cavity, releasing sperm. Then, the male backs away quickly.

Tarantulas are almost blind, and if the male can’t find a way out of his lover’s burrow, she’s likely to eat him, headfirst, without even giving him a chance to say, “I’ll call you later.” Even if the male gets away, though, his days are numbered. After mating, males usually stop eating and slowly die, often while molting. Tarantulas shed their exoskeletons several times during their life, but after males mate, those special hooks they grew to keep their mate from biting them make it impossible to get out of their own skin, which can block their lungs. They slowly curl up and die.

An all-liquid diet

Tarantulas are found on every continent except Antarctica. In Texas, they are brown or black, and may be darker after they molt. The two most common types of Texas tarantulas are the Texas Brown Tarantula (Aphonopelma hentzi), number one in our area, followed by Aphonopelma armada. These grow to about four inches or more in leg span and typically have chocolatey to dark brown bodies with black, hairy legs.

They don’t spin webs to catch prey, like most spiders. Instead, their webbing is used to reinforce their burrows. Females also use webs to build a hammock for their eggs — they can lay between 100 and 1,000 eggs at a time. The eggs typically hatch in 45 to 60 days, and spiderlings usually emerge in late July or August. The young ones stay with mom, whose demeanor is much more nurturing than during the mating ritual, for three to six days before heading out on their own.

They often fall prey to other spiders or predators. Males in Texas typically live for only two or three months after they reach maturity. They either get eaten or run over by cars. Females, however, have lived as long as 25 years in captivity. (Hence the cougar-like aspect of their relationships.)

For most of their lives, tarantulas are solitary. They wait in their burrows for food to come by, snatching up passing crickets, June beetles, grasshoppers, caterpillars, and other tasty bugs. They use their fangs to inject their prey with venom and chew them up. They only ingest food once it’s been liquified. The venom, however, isn’t dangerous to humans.

“Tarantula” is a broad definition, often wrongly applied to other species of arachnids, such as large wolf spiders. The name traces its origin to the southern Italian town of Taranto, and it became a blanket term for any large, ground-dwelling spiders in the southern Mediterranean.

And there are many large, land-dwelling spiders in that part of the world. As a child, I lived in Cyprus for a while, and our house was built on the foundation of an old mill. The bedrooms were on the bottom floor, and in the summer it wasn’t unusual to walk in on a large black spider waiting at the bedside. My mother—who believed the only good bugs were dead bugs, and the flatter the better—did not welcome these nighttime visitors. Her response was to make my father dispatch them with a rolled-up magazine, which caused legs to shoot in all directions. (My mother was obviously not a Master Naturalist.)

Texas Brown Tarantula at Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center Photo: courtesy Betsy Cross

Be smarter than “Get Smart”

My fascination with tarantulas predates our time in Cyprus. It started in 1969, with a two-episode Get Smart in which KAOS sent a “deadly tarantula” into Max’s apartment while he dozed on the couch. Part one concludes with the spider climbing up Smart’s arm and onto his shoulder and then ends with ‘To Be Continued…”

We missed the next episode. It was years before I saw the conclusion, and the idea of “deadly tarantulas”—and poor Max’s fate—lingered in my brain. (Note to the young: Back in those broadcast-only days, if you missed an episode, you had to hope for a rerun months later, or you were out of luck.)

Thanks to YouTube, I know that Max’s predicament is quickly resolved when Agent 99 arrives and lures the spider away with a mirror, the tarantula thinking, as Max explains, that the reflection is another tarantula. They then smother the spider by dumping a jar of horseradish on it, (because 99 didn’t realize Max wanted her to get an empty jar. Yes, kids, such was sitcom humor back in the day.) “Killed him instantly,” Max declares.

That episode taught me three things. 1) Condiments can kill, 2) No child should learn about nature from Mel Brooks and Buck Henry, and 3) Tarantulas need better press agents.

In the years since we’ve moved to Hays County, we’ve seen tarantulas fairly frequently — often crossing roads. (No, I don’t know why they’re crossing the road.)

Last year, I found one in my wife’s tomato garden, though I think the location was a coincidence. There’s no evidence tarantulas like tomatoes. But over the years, my fascination with them has grown. I find it almost peaceful to watch the slow, methodical, undulating movement of their legs. Mostly, I’ve come to realize that they are the gentle giants of the spider world, fun to watch and wish well as they continue looking for love.

Despite many humans’ fear of them, they are docile creatures who would rather run than fight. However, if they’re cornered or feel threatened, they may rise up on their back legs and extend their front legs. They can fling their urticating hairs, which can irritate human skin and can cause problems if they get in your eyes. Tarantulas may even bite. Their bites are like a bee sting — painful but not fatal.

With all due respect to Maxwell Smart, tarantulas pose no danger to humans, and they certainly aren’t deadly. And I didn’t scream like a girl.

Want to know more?

Adam Russell, “Texas tarantula tango: Understanding their annual hunt for food, love,” AgriLife Today, May 6, 2024.

Texas AgriLife Extension, “Field Guide to Common Insects,” Tarantula, https://texasinsects.tamu.edu/tarantula/

Kate Weeman, “Eaten, Crushed or Starved; Male Tarantulas Trade Their Life to Impregnate a Mate,” Smithsonian, Sept. 29, 2023.

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