On the topic of spiders...

Spiders don't really bother me.  I generally leave them alone unless they are invading my space bubble (read: touching me).  Out in nature, they play their role and are good for the environment.  But once they are on my turf, it's action time, which I've said before.

I am, after all, a spider murderer. I don't require someone else to do my dirty work or a man to come save the day. I am my own hero. Plus, if I'm invading their space, I acknowledge that and sidestep out of their way.

Not much frightens me, truth be told. (Now, jumping tarantulas that can also "walk" on water due to their furriness, that's another thing...) As a result, I can very happily be found trekking through the rain forest ahead of the other tourists with no hesitation.

Spiders? Who cares. Snakes? Not a problem, we'd catch them as kids. Millipedes?  Gross, but whatever.  Piranhas? (Okay, only in the water, but still...) Bring it on*. Conga ants who's bite will hurt for weeks? Just don't touch anything.  Poisonous frogs?  Cool, can I have one?

On one night walk in the jungle, our group of international tourists came across a wolf spider. My manfriend at the time generally felt the urge to provoke these arachnids into a defensive position for "more interesting" pictures. He was out of his mind. This time, though, he knew better.

Manfriend: "Alright, folks, everyone see the wolf spider?" aiming his flashlight at a branch ahead of us.

Illuminated on a branch 6 inches above our heads and two feet in front of me, a lone wolf spider waits for his prey.

Tourists: "Oh wow." (gasping and murmuring)

Manfriend: "Be careful walking under it. Don't bother him."

Alright, I'm off.

Tourists: "oh. Uhm..." (more gasping and murmuring)

Fearless, I walk on.  Honestly, he's not going to jump on you, people.  Just walk.

The Lucys (two tourists with the same name): "I'm scared." (whimpering)

Somehow, we all manage to walk on by the spider and continue our evening walk... for about 7 more minutes.  At one point, each person turns off their flashlight and we are consumed by the black of the rain forest as the songs of the insects creep steadily toward us. It is unnerving, this absence of visual stimulation, and overwhelming perception of sound and the sudden awareness of the aroma of damp earth and fresh rain.

Night walks are a unique experience that one rarely gets to glimpse on a quick tour to Cuyabeno.

Yet the spider appears to be too much for the Lucys. Among some tears and handholding, we turn back.  10 minutes?  Shortest jungle walk ever.  (They usually last hours.) In my head I'm screaming...not only for their inability to deal with a spider, but because they apparently need to be comforted with a hug or two, from my manfriend.

*Piranhas have an eerily aggressive reputation, but won't actually attack a human (because of our size) unless blood thirsty...meaning there are too many of them in too small a space because it's the dry season - in which case, they become cannibalistic.  If those are the conditions and you are bleeding, then they might attack.

Deadly Attacking Fish!

I just so happen to worship the sun.  Yes, I sprawl on a towel and roast myself.  I hardly ever burn, so that's my excuse to everyone who's screaming what about cancer?!?! to their computer screens.  And yes, sunscreen is my friend.

Anyways, for a few days this July one could find me out on the dock bombarding my skin with sun rays.  The problem with this is that it gets hot.  Now, typically, when I get hot, the solution is to go for a quick dip in the water.

Side note:  I should have been born with gills.  I was raised with a pool and spent summers at the Lake... swimming has always been a natural part of my life, and my parents yelling at me to get out of the water already has always punctured my summers.

I very much enjoy being in the water...even 56 degree water.  I have a couple of pictures (somewhere) of me swimming in said water.  While I was at the Lake this summer, the water was around 56...perfectly acceptable for me to climb in.

So, day one, I'm out on the dock and beginning to roast.  Time to cool off I think as I crawl over to the metal ladder. 

It looks inconspicuous enough, right?

I'm about halfway into the water when something sharp strikes my foot.  What the... I glance toward my foot just in time to see a fish darting back towards the dock.  Uhm, that's new.  This occurrence urges me out of the water.  As kids how many times did we imagine fish that would eat us?  All the time.

Or what about that time J. was screaming that the minnows were going to eat him as he floated on the inner tube...?  ...That's another story...

I content myself with having been halfway in the water.  Oh well.  So there I lay, reading and sleeping until the sun goads me into the water again.  Alright, well, the fish is probably gone by now.  I get down to the second rung again, and feel a sharp strike on my foot again. Grrr.  Stupid fish!

The psycho attacking fish!

I'm not getting in the water.  The manfriend went to wash his face and the fish came to attack. Uh, hello... Not safe...the little bugger.  I don't think so, we're not getting in that water.  As I contemplate my options, I watch him chase off a few other fish that swim by.  One fish he manages to scare off is at least 1 1/2 feet long.

No matter what, this little guy is not leaving his territory right beneath the ladder.  Too bad I don't own a fishing license so I could catch a nice little dinner. Who am I kidding?  I won't eat him.  I just want him to let me swim.

Why did he have to choose under the dock for his nest (or whatever his reason for being there)?  Why not here?

It looks perfectly nice to me.  Or what about over there?

Or even that way?

Anywhere that would allow me to swim...

Ah well.  I'll make up for my inability to swim by roasting marshmallows over the fire.  The big ones. You know, the ones that are the size of your fist to begin with and swell up to the size of your head.  Those.

After note:  Upon returning from the Lake, I talked to my brother about the fish.  Apparently they're rampant up there this year.  A lot of deck owners are pestered by little mighty fish of their own.