A giant spider spins its web where the traffic is thickest and spins it again each evening, whatever the night did to the last one. In the first week of September, at Bowyer's Cut, the wheel hangs between two stripped yew trunks across the old stave road, eleven feet wide and strung at the height of a carter's head. The owner sits at the hub with its forelegs resting on two spokes. It is the size of a pony. The abdomen is a black, swollen pear with a pale hourglass worn to bare shell at its waist, and the middle eye on the left side is clouded the color of skim milk while the other seven stay black. It never blinks. It watches with the seven.
Early autumn is the web season. Dew outlines the lines from fifty yards, which is the only reason anyone finds them in time. Beneath the hub lie the husks: a deer's hide hollowed and folded flat, a ram's fleece with nothing in it. Ruth Cardew, who hauls staves for the cooperage, has lost eleven hats to the wheel. The spider cuts each one free and drops it in the ditch, the way a man clears a plate, and has not yet touched the carter under it. Ruth drives bareheaded now and says the eleventh was the best of them.
The first hard frost changes its habits. The wheel comes down, and the spider moves two miles to the roof of the abandoned brick kiln above Gallon Fen. It hangs from the rafters on trip lines run to the doorframe and drops on stock driven past the open door. Its legs make no sound on brick. Nobody in the Fen whistles within sight of the kiln. A whistle sets a taut line trembling, and the spider answers a trembling line whether or not anything is caught in it. Drovers cross that pasture in silence, and a boy who whistled there last November is still spoken of by his full name.
By midwinter the husks stop. Snow lies unmarked under the rafters, the trip lines are cut clean, and for about three weeks nothing in the Fen is taken. Then the thaw comes and the wheel is back between the yew trunks, the same width, with the same worn hourglass at its hub. Ruth Cardew asks anyone who sits still long enough: where does it go for those three weeks, and what is out there in a hard frost that is worth the leaving?
- Classification
- Colossal web-spinning arachnid
- Habitat
- Old roads, kilns, abandoned timber works
- Danger
- High
- Size
- the size of a pony, 11 ft leg span
- Activity
- Nocturnal
- Realm
- Temperate hill country and fen edges
- Binomial
- Magnaranea hiemalis
- Diet
- Deer, sheep, stray cattle
- Temperament
- Patient, territorial, ambush-minded










