"You are a tarantula hawk wasp, a predator known for stalking, hunting, and battling tarantulas for prey."-Nyla Gill
You awaken this time feeling the heat; hot humid Texas air barrels around you but you aren’t sweating. No fast beating heart or head rushing, or feeling like you might pass out. Your eyesight has been reduced to something similar to having your head squished together into a too tight football helmet. Compound eyes. You can see in all directions but not the color red, though it isn’t too needed where your at. The Chihuahuan Desert is abundant with bland colors and green shrubs. It’s also, despite appearing quite desolate, roaming with life. The temperature is almost nearing 90 degrees in the valley you’re at, but it doesn’t bother you. Not much tends to get in your way, especially when you’re armed with such a potent stinger.
You are a wasp, but not just any wasp--you belong to a family of spider wasps. Not only are you the largest species (reaching 2 ½ inches) within this family, but you are by far the most fear-inducing. It’s in your name, (not your scientific one however) Pepsini. You are a tarantula hawk wasp, a predator known for stalking, hunting, and battling tarantulas for prey.
The second thing you notice is that you are on your own, resting on a peonia. Without a colony, not only a “hawk” but also a lone wolf that tends to fly to low ground. Next to you, you see the hole in the soil that you used as a sleep burrow for the previous night. All this discovering is leaving you parched, so you use your mouth’s tubelike tongue to drink the peonia flower’s nectar. Feed like a butterfly, sting like a...well you aren’t the aggressive type so hopefully the stinger won’t be necessary today.
You are a wasp, but not just any wasp--you belong to a family of spider wasps. Not only are you the largest species (reaching 2 ½ inches) within this family, but you are by far the most fear-inducing. It’s in your name, (not your scientific one however) Pepsini. You are a tarantula hawk wasp, a predator known for stalking, hunting, and battling tarantulas for prey.
The second thing you notice is that you are on your own, resting on a peonia. Without a colony, not only a “hawk” but also a lone wolf that tends to fly to low ground. Next to you, you see the hole in the soil that you used as a sleep burrow for the previous night. All this discovering is leaving you parched, so you use your mouth’s tubelike tongue to drink the peonia flower’s nectar. Feed like a butterfly, sting like a...well you aren’t the aggressive type so hopefully the stinger won’t be necessary today.
You continue to navigate more flowers with your antennae but suddenly your feelers pick up a new scent amongst the flora. Sweat. And as established before, it certainly isn’t yours because your blackish blue metallic exoskeleton isn’t capable of producing any.
You don’t have many predators; your stinger has gained you quite the reputation (you rank 2nd place on the Schmidt sting pain index!). You figure there’s nothing to worry about, when a large boot clamps down on the dirt just inches away from you.
Thankfully you rear up your wings and zoom out of there just in time. You settle on a flower farther away and inspect the punk who almost crushed you.
It’s a human as suspected. It’s rare that you find those out here. Most are quick to leave you alone once they’re aware of your presence. Your wings chitter and make their distinct buzzing noise. Now the human should know you’re a wasp and to not disturb you. But...instead it looks down and smiles. The human looks at looks almost delirious. Odd. Even more odd that it’s wearing a silly cowboy hat.
“Pretty bird…” he mumbles, swatting at you.
How long has it been out here? How crazy has it gone to think you are a bird, and that’s it’s a normal thing to try to hold birds? You fly up to its ear and buzz loudly, hoping it’ll get the message.
“Chirp chirp chirp...Let me have your wings so I can I wanna fly too...” he chuckles dizzily and his hand hits you like a bat, plunging you into the dirt.
You recover and flex your sensitive amber-colored wings, trying to feel for any damage. Everything seems fine on the inside, but outside it’s time to show you aren’t one to be messed with.
This dumb dehydrated human is now a threat. It laughs right as a hand comes at you, palm open. You rear up your long stinger and the hand smacks into you. But before you can be completely crushed, a long, “Owwww” is howled out as the hand retracts and the human collapses before you.
Well...it’s about to get ugly. You better leave before the screaming starts.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAH.”
You warned it. It’ll be paralyzed with nothing to do but scream at the intense pain for at least five minutes. It’s human friends probably have something to treat it with.
You don’t have many predators; your stinger has gained you quite the reputation (you rank 2nd place on the Schmidt sting pain index!). You figure there’s nothing to worry about, when a large boot clamps down on the dirt just inches away from you.
Thankfully you rear up your wings and zoom out of there just in time. You settle on a flower farther away and inspect the punk who almost crushed you.
It’s a human as suspected. It’s rare that you find those out here. Most are quick to leave you alone once they’re aware of your presence. Your wings chitter and make their distinct buzzing noise. Now the human should know you’re a wasp and to not disturb you. But...instead it looks down and smiles. The human looks at looks almost delirious. Odd. Even more odd that it’s wearing a silly cowboy hat.
“Pretty bird…” he mumbles, swatting at you.
How long has it been out here? How crazy has it gone to think you are a bird, and that’s it’s a normal thing to try to hold birds? You fly up to its ear and buzz loudly, hoping it’ll get the message.
“Chirp chirp chirp...Let me have your wings so I can I wanna fly too...” he chuckles dizzily and his hand hits you like a bat, plunging you into the dirt.
You recover and flex your sensitive amber-colored wings, trying to feel for any damage. Everything seems fine on the inside, but outside it’s time to show you aren’t one to be messed with.
This dumb dehydrated human is now a threat. It laughs right as a hand comes at you, palm open. You rear up your long stinger and the hand smacks into you. But before you can be completely crushed, a long, “Owwww” is howled out as the hand retracts and the human collapses before you.
Well...it’s about to get ugly. You better leave before the screaming starts.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAH.”
You warned it. It’ll be paralyzed with nothing to do but scream at the intense pain for at least five minutes. It’s human friends probably have something to treat it with.
You settle on a nearby cactus, and preen your body and stinger where its sweaty fingers touched you. You clean off your antennae until it’s scent is no longer there to throw you off. But then another scent stops you and you halt to survey the area.
Another tarantula hawk. A male passing by who observed the fiasco. Before you raise your guard, it releases pheromones to let you know it’s not trying to attract a mate, rather let you know of a food source. To be more accurate, it just gave you the social response of questioning why you would waste your stinger on a human. Male wasps can’t even sting, yet apparently he claims to be more knowledgeable about what a stinger is for.
He tells you he can show you how to really put the stinger in action. You gaze back to the still screaming human, rolling around the dirt in pain, holding it’s swollen palm. You decide there’s nothing better to do and he leads the way out of the valley.
You arrive at a open scene full of shrubs and rocks not much different than where you were before. The two of you hide behind a rock and easily notice the hole in the ground a ways across from you.
Tarantula burrow. Your feelers click with anticipation and the male signals to a nearby bush. It doesn’t take you long to spot the female tarantula hawk hiding behind it in wait. He releases more pheromones as if to say, “Watch my mate use her stinger and take notes.”
It’s a Chilean rose hair. Soon as exits to find it own meal, it becomes prey, and it nice Sunday hunting stroll is cut short. The other female tarantula hawk pounces and begins to wrestle! Two painful fangs against one terribly potent stinger.
Another tarantula hawk. A male passing by who observed the fiasco. Before you raise your guard, it releases pheromones to let you know it’s not trying to attract a mate, rather let you know of a food source. To be more accurate, it just gave you the social response of questioning why you would waste your stinger on a human. Male wasps can’t even sting, yet apparently he claims to be more knowledgeable about what a stinger is for.
He tells you he can show you how to really put the stinger in action. You gaze back to the still screaming human, rolling around the dirt in pain, holding it’s swollen palm. You decide there’s nothing better to do and he leads the way out of the valley.
You arrive at a open scene full of shrubs and rocks not much different than where you were before. The two of you hide behind a rock and easily notice the hole in the ground a ways across from you.
Tarantula burrow. Your feelers click with anticipation and the male signals to a nearby bush. It doesn’t take you long to spot the female tarantula hawk hiding behind it in wait. He releases more pheromones as if to say, “Watch my mate use her stinger and take notes.”
It’s a Chilean rose hair. Soon as exits to find it own meal, it becomes prey, and it nice Sunday hunting stroll is cut short. The other female tarantula hawk pounces and begins to wrestle! Two painful fangs against one terribly potent stinger.

The rose hair almost has her pinned, until the male gives off pheromones similar to a cheer. The boost of courage helps the t-hawk flip over her opponent and land it’s stinger right in its soft abdomen. In an instant the tarantula is paralyzed and the three of you flutter your wings victoriously. But it’s not over. The female drags the alive yet doomed-in-place rose hair back into its den.
You question her intentions to the male, who replies back saying, “A perfect place for their larvae to hatch.
In the burrow? You question.
His antennae chime, Inside of the tarantula. Just one egg. One big unlucky meal that will last weeks.
You question her intentions to the male, who replies back saying, “A perfect place for their larvae to hatch.
In the burrow? You question.
His antennae chime, Inside of the tarantula. Just one egg. One big unlucky meal that will last weeks.