Tarantulas: The Misunderstood Moms of the Night

Let’s get one thing straight: a lot of people are afraid of spiders. Arachnophobia isn’t rare, it’s practically a universal reflex. Whole horror movies have been built around it. Giant, hairy monsters crawling out of drains, women shrieking from tabletops, brave men throwing things from across the room. It’s all very dramatic.

And look, I get it. I grew up with arachnophobia. Not from some traumatic bite or backwoods spider encounter. No, mine was a family heirloom. My mother was absolutely terrified of spiders. Couldn’t even see one on a television screen without panicking. And being the generous woman that she was, she passed that fear right on to me like a family recipe.

I held onto it for years. I wasn’t quite as bad. I could look at spiders; I just didn’t enjoy the experience. If one jumped on me, I’d jump higher. And if it was big enough? I’d leave the room to it. It was theirs now.

That all changed in my early twenties when I started working for the world’s largest reptile wholesaler in Florida. I was not an expert. I wasn’t even in sales. I was the cage cleaner. The bottom rung. The guy with the hose and the towel and the unpleasant jobs. We dealt in reptiles, amphibians…and arachnids.

Including tarantulas.

BAPTISM BY FANGS AND PAPER BAGS

One of my first spider experiences was a shipment of Chilean Rosehair tarantulas [Grammostola rosea], a common starter species in the exotic pet trade. They’re calm, slow-moving, relatively docile…and utterly uninterested in staying in their containers.

They arrived individually packed in small paper bags, each one folded over, stapled shut, and then all of them tossed into a wooden crate like fuzzy, venomous popcorn. The issue, of course, is that tarantulas have fangs. No teeth, but strong enough jaws to chew through paper when sufficiently annoyed.

After two days in transit, a solid percentage of them had gone full Houdini.

Opening a box of 250 tarantulas wasn’t so much a job as a test of nerve. The moment we cracked the lid, the spiders erupted…crawling up arms, down backs, across the floor, fleeing the bag life with all the desperate energy of something that absolutely did not sign up for air freight.

We had to catch them. Quickly. Using clear deli containers, the kind you get potato salad in at the grocery store. One spider per cup. Lid on. A drop of water. Welcome to Florida.

You either got used to spiders that day…or you left the building and never came back.

I got used to them. And somewhere in the middle of scooping spiders off my own neck, I stopped being afraid.

AND THEN I MOVED TO TARANTULA COUNTRY

Fast forward. I live in coastal Guerrero now. And I didn’t leave the tarantulas behind.

Mexico has the second highest number of tarantula species in the world [Brazil is number one]. And here in coastal Guerrero, we have at least three known species…one only recently described, two that are considered some of the most beautiful tarantulas in existence. And there are probably more that science hasn’t gotten around to naming yet.

This isn’t abstract. This is local.

In Troncones, if you’re here at the right time of year, you’re going to see one. Or several. Usually in your yard. Sometimes climbing the wall of your house. Sometimes on the road, mid-strut, looking determined and slightly lost.

And if that’s what you see, chances are, you’ve just met a male.

THE DESPERATE BACHELOR TOUR

Male tarantulas lead short, tragic, hormonally-driven lives. Once they reach sexual maturity, typically after living years underground, they emerge for one season, and that’s it. Whether they find a mate or not, they die shortly after. There’s no second round. No repeat performances. It’s now or never.

Females, on the other hand, stay tucked in their burrows for the long haul, sometimes up to 20 years, waiting for the guys to show up. They don’t move. They don’t date around. They pick a mate and get back to digging.

So, the males…they wander. En masse. Roaming roads, gardens, porches, and driveways, all trying to find a female before time runs out. It’s not malicious. It’s not aggressive. It’s just…urgent.

You’ll know them by their leaner bodies and smaller abdomens. Females are stockier and bigger overall, built to stay home and protect. Males look a little wiry, a little frantic. And if you’re close enough (and weird enough) to check, mature males have swollen pedipalps, those front appendages that look like little boxing gloves. Yes. Tarantula testes. Welcome to field biology.

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SPIDER MOMS: SOFT HEARTS, HARD EXTERIORS

If the males are driven by desperation, the females are defined by devotion.

Once mated, the female creates a tightly-spun silk egg sac, filled with dozens or even hundreds of tiny spiderlings. She guards that sac fiercely, refusing food, turning it regularly for even development, protecting it from predators.

When the babies hatch, they stay in the sac until she opens it. Then they emerge, still tiny, still soft, and stay close to her for a while before dispersing. She doesn’t abandon them. She doesn’t just “lay and leave.” She guards them, sometimes for weeks.

They’re not monsters. They’re mothers.

BUT AREN’T THEY DANGEROUS?

Tarantulas are not dangerous to humans. Their bite is rare and typically no worse than a bee sting. They’re not aggressive unless threatened, and even then, they’d much rather flee.

What you might encounter are urticating hairs…tiny, itchy barbs they kick off their abdomen when stressed. These can irritate skin or eyes, but they’re a defense, not an attack, a “leave-me-alone” signal. Not a threat. For the most part, they just want to be left alone.

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WHAT TO DO IF YOU FIND ONE

So…what if a tarantula ends up in your house?

Don’t panic. Don’t grab a shoe. And please don’t call someone with a can of poison.

Instead, use a broom and dustpan to gently guide it out. Or, a glass and stiff paper. Trap it gently, slide the paper underneath, and release it outside in a quiet place. They can be fast, but they’re not out to get you.

There’s no reason to kill them. They’re part of the land here. Just another quiet resident, passing through.

THE QUIET, BEAUTIFUL WILD

Living in Troncones means living with the wild…sometimes with flowers and birdsong, sometimes with scorpions and tarantulas. But these spiders aren’t something to fear. They’re ancient. Patient. Resilient. Protective. And often…beautiful.

They won’t hurt you.

So, when one crosses your path, maybe let it remind you that not everything wild is dangerous. Some of it is just misunderstood.

And some of it is just trying to get laid before the rain ends.