For most of the year the ladybird spider is invisible. Both sexes live in silk-lined burrows sunk into warm, bare sand at the edge of old heather, and the female will never willingly leave hers — she can spend four years in a tube barely longer than a finger, black and velvet-furred, waiting for a beetle to touch one of the silk threads fanning out from her door. The male lives the opposite life, and only briefly. After years hidden underground he moults into something extraordinary: a scarlet abdomen spotted with black, white-banded legs, a body so like a ladybird that Victorian naturalists named him for it. Then he walks. Through May and June he crosses open heath in daylight, exposed to every bird and wasp on the hill, searching for the burrow of a female he cannot see. Most fail. Those that succeed mate underground and die there. What follows is one of the strangest acts of care in the animal world: the female guards her egg sac through the summer, feeds the emerging spiderlings a nutritious fluid from her own body, and then lets them eat her. Her body sustains them through their first winter. Once thought extinct in Britain, the species was rediscovered in 1980 as a single colony of fewer than sixty individuals in Dorset, and has been painstakingly hand-carried back onto protected heathland ever since. Their survival depends on something counter-intuitive: heath that is grazed, burned and disturbed enough to keep bare sand open to the sun.
Real sounds, daily wild facts, games and good news from nature. Free on Feravox.