Despite stating otherwise, this is not my final post regarding the Lake Tawakoni super-spider web, at least based upon my visit on September 2.  What you will find below are some final thoughts and observations.  Part 5 of this series will contain the last photographs available from my journey there, as well as a stream-of-consciousness episode of questions and answers.

I arrived early in the morning just after the sun had risen above the horizon.  Its light strained to get through clouds intent on blocking it.  Weak and unhelpful, much of my photography was taken without its assistance.  Although I walked away with more than 200 images, few of them resulted in anything I wanted to share.  The reasons were twofold.

First, there was the lack of light, both because it was too early and very cloudy, and because I spent most of my time within the web’s grip—and that placed me in amongst dense foliage and beneath a canopy of silk that often blocked the sun with greater ability than the clouds could muster.

Second, I tried to take flash images for clarity.  What a mistake.  When standing in the midst of millions of spiders hurriedly spinning acre upon acre of sheet webbing on everything they can touch, a flash in close proximity causes extreme reflections on every individual strand and every thick mass.  It was like trying to take a picture of something behind me while looking in a mirror.  All of those images produced light bursts and washed out scenes, and all because too much webbing was too close.

I therefore found myself quite distraught by what photos I thought of as presentable.  A bare minimum of such a great whole makes me wish I had better equipment and better skills.  But I don’t on both counts and there’s nothing that can be done to change that in hindsight.  So oh well. . .

The park ranger who so graciously gave of her time just after I arrived deserves more gratitude than she probably gets from most who visit.  Thankfully, as I was the first on the scene, we spent almost an hour touring the spectacle, me asking questions and her giving what answers she could.  What a marvelously insightful, observant, and gracious host she was.  Only when throngs of people began showing up did she finally leave the area.  Were I in her shoes, I would have done the same thing.  One person demonstrating sincere interest and some intelligence on the matter is one thing; a writhing mass of ignorant apes trampling all but small children (and almost that!) is quite another.

I felt intruded upon as groups both small and large began filing into the web and surrounding area.  It was far too early, and there were spiders about.  Hadn’t they heard?  I guess I assumed more people were arachnophobic, or that those who weren’t wouldn’t get up quite so early on a Sunday morning to see a giant spider web.  But once it hit the national news, I should have known there’d be no chance to thoroughly and truly enjoy the experience without such intrusive and destructive crowds.

Nevertheless, before escaping ahead of the wave of people, the park ranger walked with me through the entire area, both of us constantly picking off and setting aside long-jawed orb weavers (of the genus Tetragnatha) who we errantly picked up along the way.  She pointed out new development, several of the accompanying species of spiders and insects, commented on the sudden appearance of squirrels and birds who had previously been absent in the web, and helped me understand the dramatic changes that had taken place both during the previous week and just since her visit the day before.

You see, thunderstorms have visited North Texas with an alarming frequency.  What the various news agencies had published by way of photos of the web no longer represented what was in place.  As she explained to me, the heavy rains had demolished a good deal of the original structure.  Perhaps I should be happy about that, for she confirmed it had been the final resting place for millions of mosquitoes.  The stench, she pointed out, was horrific, though she couldn’t help but be childlike in her explanation of how magical it had been to see and hear the massive web vibrating as so many insects buzzed hopelessly while looking to escape.  The glow in her eyes as she described the scene made me feel as though a master artist was showing their latest work long before anyone else would know of it.

And then she left.  We heard voices approaching from all around us.  She quickly offered a remark about the circus zoo returning, then she disappeared around the bend so that she might tend to the duties that would undoubtedly overwhelm her for the rest of the day.  I couldn’t have felt more appreciative for her time and expertise.

Which brings me back to the spiders and the web.

[more images and observations to follow in Part 5, the last entry based on my visit to Lake Tawakoni; it will also include my lay yet scientific hypotheses as to the origin and nature of this beautiful and marvelous event; finally, I’m truly sorry, poppets; work is beating me to a pulp at the moment and I haven’t the time to offer more than a glancing blow at this or anything else]