Wind Rider

By Elizabeth Mullen

I looked up at the crystal blue sky from the dry patch of grass where I lay, my extra hoody providing a pillow.

Although several unexpected river crossings had extended our transect and we’d walked nine miles already, my partner wanted to explore new sage grouse viewing spots. I’d chosen to rest here while he wandered into the distance. The plains were forgiving during these last few miles, with only mild hills and dry land to overcome. 

I watched clouds move past, and then drifted off into a black abyss as I fell asleep. When I woke up some time later, the world around me was so beautiful I could easily have still been dreaming. Suddenly, the wind blew a tiny spider into my view, breaking my reverie. 

The spider latched on to a blade of grass and began creating an anchor with its web. After a few seconds it seemed secure, until it released the grass and began flailing in the wind, its web on the blade its only safeguard from being swept away across the vast prairie. The spider was only in the air for a few seconds before it landed on another blade, where it again tethered itself.

I watched as the creature grasped to the security of grass, only to throw itself into the powerful wind. It became apparent the spider had a special relationship with the wind.  It would wait for the wind to shift in direction, release its grip, and then be forcefully blown to another anchor spot.

The spider, the pilot. The wind, the power. 

It was equivalent to watching a nature documentary, with added environmental and sensory elements surrounding me. As my own narrator, I asked questions that were answered the longer I watched. 

My entertainment ended when my partner returned from his exploration. I rose and gathered my things, preparing for the miles ahead. Before we left I asked my partner to avoid stepping on this particular patch of grass. When he asked why, I told him that a complex silk network was in formation—one that I had seen a small spider weave with the wind. 

As we walked away, I was reminded that the world of large landscapes and enormous bison can be breathtaking, but there are other perspectives. Watching the small things fosters a sense of wonder toward a world that does not show itself as readily. It is subtle, but nothing short of amazing.

Elizabeth Mullen grew up in Chicago suburbs where she learned about nature in her backyard and in nearby forest preserves. She later decided to take her childhood studies more seriously, attending Carroll University to study Biology and Animal Behavior. Since graduating in 2013, she has worked with wild animals in zoos, rehabilitation centers and in the field.