The baby terror of the savannah: my week as a gregarious antlion

Monday

I’ve been carrying out essential maintenance of my pit. It’s there beneath the winterthorn, an inverted cone lined with slithering, trickling sand. I made it by crawling backwards, using my (bumless) back end like a plough. The trick is to find the critical angle of repose: as steep as it can possibly be without falling in on itself.

Tuesday

And there’s me at the bottom, out of sight, only my jaws sticking out. Mind you, that’s a fair old thing to stick out: a pair of sickles that inject venom and digestive enzymes into anything I catch. Which today was nothing, but no matter. I can survive weeks, even months without a meal.

Wednesday

But not this week. There was an ant, hurrying along in that busy way they always have – and then he was slipping and sliding on the edge of my pit. I helped him along by firing sand at him, and I’m a damn good shot. Scrabble, scrabble, down he came and I had him in my jaws. He was a big one and inclined to resent this, but the forward-pointing bristles on my body gave me the traction I needed to hold him fast. When I was done with him, I chucked what was left out of the pit. Chucking sand, chucking corpses: a bit of a speciality.

Thursday

Today was all about digestion and repletion while musing on the pleasures of being an antlion: stronger, fiercer and trickier than anything else on earth. But you’ll be wanting to know about bumlessness. Unusual, I know. I’ve lived a couple of years as a hunter, and in all that time I haven’t had a single crap.

Friday

Ants are wary creatures in their way, and I reckon that they’d avoid a killing-pit full of antlion crap as if their lives depended on it. On account of the fact that they do. Besides, the stored stuff inside me doesn’t go to waste. When the time comes, it will fuel the production of the silk I’ll need to keep me safe as a pupa.

Saturday

But I don’t want to be a pupa. Still less do I want to be an adult. As a larva, I’m unique; as an adult, if I get there, I’ll be just one more gauzy lacewing, easily confused with a dragonfly. I’ll be a whole lot bigger – size disparity between larva and adult is really dramatic – but I’d sooner be small and fierce. I suppose there’s that sex thing I’ve heard so much about, but I can’t believe it’s as much fun as shooting ants.

Antlion CV

Lifespan Three years as a larva, 25 days as a grownup

Eating habits Ants, small spiders

Hobbies Shooting

Sexual preferences Not just now, thanks

Photograph by Phototrip/Alamy