I discovered that in the dry leaves under the fuchsia hedge lived
another type of spider, a fierce little huntsman with the cunning and ferocity of a tiger. He would stalk about his continent of
leaves, eyes glistening in the sun, pausing now and then to raise himself up on his hairy legs to peer about. If he saw a fly settle
to enjoy a sun-bath he would freeze; then, as slowly as a leaf growing, he would move forward, imperceptibly, edging nearer and nearer,
pausing occasionally to fasten his life-line of silk to the surface of the leaves. Then, when close enough, the huntsman would pause,
his legs shift minutely as he got a good purchase, and then he would leap, legs spread out in a hairy embrace, straight on to the
dreaming fly. Never did I see one of these little spiders miss its kill, once it had maneuvered into the right position.
Gerald Durrell, My Family and Other Animals, 1956
Within a small section of Group 5's range grows a hard, grapefruit-sized fruit called mtanga-tanga by the local people. It is
favored by elephants, who become besotted after extensive mtanga-tanga binges, but the gorillas have not been observed eating
the fruit. Effie's young, though, did go out of their way to climb high into trees supporting the fruits and knock them to the
ground for play purposes. Puck, when only an infant, used the fruit as a display item, gripping the stalk between his teeth and
beating the fruit against his chest. This resulted in a resonant, deep chestbeating sound that, try as I might, I could not
duplicate. The fruit also served as a football, soccer ball, or baseball for all of Group 5's young, according to which type of
game was initiated.
Dian Fossey, Gorillas in the Mist, 1983
I was much interested, on several occasions, by watching the habits of an Octopus or cuttle-fish. Although common in the pools of
water left by the retiring tide, these animals were not easily caught. By means of their long arms and suckers, they could drag their
bodies into very narrow crevices; and when thus fixed, it required great force to remove them...These animals can also escape
detection by a very extraordinary, chameleon-like, power of changing their colour. They appear to vary the tints, according to
the nature of the ground over which they pass: when in deep water, their general shade was brownish purple, but when placed on the
land, or in shallow water, this dark tint changed into one of a yellowish green.
Charles Darwin, Voyage of the Beagle, 1893
The dragon lizard padded toward us, slapping its feet down aggressively, first its front left and back right, then vice versa,
carrying its great weight easily and springily, with the swinging, purposeful gait of a bully. Its long, narrow, pale, forked
tongue flickered in and out, testing the air for the smell of dead things. It reached the far side of the fence, and then began to
range back and forth tetchily, waiting for action, swinging and scraping its heavy tail across the dusty earth. Its rough, scaly
skin hung a little loosely over its body, like chain mail, gathering to a series of cowl-like folds just behind its long death's
head of a face. Its legs are thick and muscular, and end in claws such as you'd expect to find at the bottom of a brass table leg.
The thing is just a monitor lizard, and yet it is massive to a degree that is unreal. As it rears its head up over the fence and
around as it turns, you wonder how it's done, what trickery is involved.
Douglas Adams, Last Chance to See, 1990
We climb between mountain peaks through a rain forest of hemlock and spruce, ferns and shrubs, nibbling at blue, bear, and
watermelon berries as we go. There are fresh bear tracks and scat in the trail and a scraped place in a skree slide where a bear has
clambered up the slope above us, but we see no wildlife. Thousand-foot falls cascade down the mountain opposite us to foam in a canyon
far below. Across the valley a red-tailed hawk drops suddenly from nowhere and as suddenly disappears against the rocky landscape.
Rounding a turn in the trail, we come upon the headwaters of Power Creek, a Shangri-la-like valley miles wide. Glittery ponds, marshes,
and meandering water channels spread out below us in the mist like some nineteenth-century impressionistic dream. If humans have been
here, they have left no trace. There is no sound but the quiet hiss of rain. No odor but the damp sweet smell of decaying vegetation
and wet earth...This is not a place or time for talk. We return to the car slowly, each wrapped in private thoughts.
Janet Trowbridge Bohlen, For the Wild Places, 1993
At dusk on the first day in camp, as the light failed to the point where he and his companions found it difficult to distinguish small
objects on the ground, the first worker ants came scurrying purposefully out of the surrounding forest. They were brick red in
color, about 6 millimeters in length, and bristling with short, sharp spines. Within minutes several hundred had entered the campsite
clearing and formed two irregular files that passed on either side of the biologists' shelter. They ran in nearly straight lines across
the clearing, their paired antennae scanning right and left, as though drawn by some directional beam on the far side of the clearing.
Within an hour, the trickle expanded to twin rivers of tens of thousands of ants running ten or more abreast. The columns could
be traced back to their source easily with a flashlight. They came from a huge earthen nest a hundred meters from the camp up an
ascending slope, crossed the clearing, and disappeared again into the forest.
Bert Holldobler and Edward O. Wilson, Journey to the Ants, 1994
We are there at last. The place could not be better for my birdlets; shallow, tepid water, interspersed with muddy knolls and green
eyots. The diversions of the bath begin forthwith. The ducklings clap their beaks and rummage here, there and everywhere; they sift
each mouthful, rejecting the clear water and retaining the good bits. In the deeper parts, they point their sterns into the air and
stick their heads under water. They are happy; and it is a blessed thing to see them at work. We will let them be. It is my turn to
enjoy the pond.
J. Henri Fabre, The Insect World of J. Henri Fabre, 1949
