Jonathan Kieran

Most Western people who know anything about the spooky-looking arthropods known as “camel spiders” (species name: solifugidae) learned what they know around the time of the war in Afghanistan, when soldiers encountered these desert-dwelling denizens and then shared video footage of the alien-like specimens that call that part of the world “home.” To amuse themselves, members of the armed services would sometimes catch these leggy monstrosities and drop them in buckets to do battle with other nasty characters like scorpions.

Hey, down-time during battle in the harsh environment of endless sand dunes can inspire all sorts of bizarre habits in our warriors.

Camel Spiders are indeed enigmatic outliers in the vast Kingdom of Bugs—not spiders, not really insects, not scorpions … but almost like an amalgam of all three. And, although a camel spider’s mother certainly thinks her camel spider baby is gorgeous, it’s probably safe to say that everyone and everything else in the world (outside our stalwart entomologists and scientists) would agree that the creatures are hideous-looking in the extreme.

What a lot of folks do NOT know, however, is that these fanged crawlers and swift-moving horrors are not only found in exotic locales like the Middle East. Oh no. These beasties are prevalent in all sorts of warm climates where a lot of loose sand is involved and where prey is plentiful.

In fact, I have my own camel spider story that is worth mentioning. When I was a little boy, I was obsessed with the usual things that grab an intrepid kid’s attention and reel him (or her) in with hypnotic allure: dinosaurs; spiders; snakes; and bugs. Quite frequently, I would spend the winter season visiting my grandparents in Florida and, in those days, no one (especially grandparents) had any problem encouraging a child’s explorations because to do so meant that the child in question would be out of their hair for awhile.

My grandparents knew I was a fairly responsible little shit, so they would even allow me to wander outside at night, when I knew that a great portion of action in the buggy world was at its peak. They would give me a flashlight and send me out among the crickets and palmetto plants and palm trees to investigate the secret doings of all sorts of critters. Good grief, I could have easily been snagged by a crocodile or a panther or a bear or … eaten by camel spiders in the humid Florida darkness, but kids were tougher, then, and grandparents knew nothing of wildlife while vacationing outside of their home states.

Paradise!

One night way back in the annals of my Kidstory, I took my flashlight and went a-searchin’ for interesting Things That Crawled or Flew. Perusing the ground was a sure way to discover what bugs do in the dark and, no sooner had I waved my flashlight around the periphery of the house for a bit then I came upon a hill of fire ants—the bane of every Floridian’s yard space. I saw the distinctive, blazing-red little bastards swarming like mad and was prepared to make a quick retreat, lest one of them sneak up onto my leg and inflict a venomous Hell-Bite.

Then I noticed some larger, lumpish form just off to the side of the anthill, the occupants of which seemed to be in a flurry of helter-skelter distress. Peering cautiously but more closely, the hairs on the back of my young neck stood up, for I recognized at once that I had happened upon a camel spider, Florida-division! What was even more exciting was that the gluttonous thing was just idling on the side of the anthill gobbling up one frantic (and hapless) fire ant after another, like they were the Red Hots we scarfed down as kids.

I was mesmerized. Moreover, I recognized the solifugid because I had seen them in school library books about Bugs of the World. This was a big one—not as Sasquatch-sized as the ones in Afghanistan, but big enough not to be bothered by a mob of fire ants unaware that they were on the All You Can Eat dinner menu. Extra spicy Fire-Ant Kung Pau!

It was an encounter I never forgot, obviously. The light of my flashlight glistened off the predator’s eyes, but this ravenous thing was not bothered by my riveted observations in the least. When you’re really hungry and focused on your supper, the rest of the surrounding world can often disappear. So it must be with camel spiders. It grabbed and mashed those stupid fire ants in its enormous fangs with gusto. I was exhilarated.

So exhilarated I ran back into the house and told my grandparents, with breathless abandon: “I just saw a specimen from the solifugidae species consuming large quantities of fire ants as they erupted from their nest in alarm!”

“That’s wonderful,” said my Gran perfunctorily, eyes still fixed upon Pat Sajak as he spun the Wheel of Fortune for a trio of clapping phrase-decipherers on the TV.

Geeky young bug-loving kids never get any respect. But I’ll never forget our dinner date, camel spider. You knew I was there and I like to think my flashlight helped you detect even more of those scrambling fire ants that long ago, sweaty evening.

We’ll always have Vero Beach, you and I.

To learn more about camel spiders, click on THIS LINK.

[Wait with rigid anticipation for Jonathan Kieran’s upcoming—as yet untitled—book of twisted cartoons and confessions in 2024. More details ensuing as details decide to make themselves known.]

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