On a sunny Saturday, a male jumper I cannot identify sprawled himself out on the short mast of the board, unperturbed by the noon rays that laid bare his skinny frame and abundance of body hair. Further along the railing, a Phintella scampered ant-like, dashing about in busy bursts, a sparkling emerald of radiance on its dull walkway. It refused to look me in the eye, unlike a chubby mangrove jumper who stared at my intrusion into her sun soak.
The Salticids that make a living on the boardwalk brave a world of danger. Foraging families of tailorbirds scour the waxy foliage for juicy treats. In the waters below, legions of half-beaks skim just below the surface, hungering for their fill of crunchy arthropods. Those who fail to miss a step are not safe either, unless their hangline is sufficiently secured to withstand the wet blasts of lippy archerfish. It's prudent to have a lifeline when you have to leap into the unknown, but what happens when you reach breaking point and nothing lies between solid ground and a sinking void?
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