My mind was drifting on a recent September afternoon. I was stationed at a check-in table for a work event, waiting for my next group of attendees, thinking about not much and everything all at once. And I looked down and saw someone staring up at me.

Rarely do I feel as though I am being truly looked at and pondered by any creature other than human. Of course there are deeply varying worldviews and lines of philosophical and scientific inquiry swirling about this notion. But ultimately, I notice a difference between when a robin looks at me and when say, a jumping spider does.

I was looking down at a jumping spider looking up with what seemed just as much intent. Not running away, nor poised to leap away. Whether I am anthropomorphizing or not, it felt as if we were just calmly looking at one another with a bit of curiosity.

I have written about spiders on Pikes/Pines before — mostly in an effort to dispel the myths about their level of threat to humans on the Hill. While I want to say flat out that you don’t need to be overly fearful of any spiders in Seattle, you certainly don’t need to be afraid of jumping spiders. The jumping spiders around Capitol Hill either will not or cannot harm us without significant effort on our part. But that’s not the point of this writing, instead consider how spectacular they are.

The family Salticidae, the jumping spiders, is the most diverse group of spiders in the world.

There are over 6,000 species described worldwide and the bulk of their diversity is centered in the tropics. But jumping spiders are everywhere with the exception of extreme altitudes and latitudes. And obviously we have some on the Hill, otherwise I wouldn’t be writing about them.

Jumping spiders host some general anatomy that set them apart from other spiders, which are employed in living that good bounding life. Let’s get the easy one over with: they are extremely good at jumping, but not because they have particularly beefy legs. Instead, they are able to manipulate the pressure of their internal body fluids, which forcefully extends their legs and can propel them several times their body length (the extreme being 50 times).

Aside from jumping, there are many other things that make these spiders unique and fascinating. Jumping spiders have 4 sets of eyes that help them see nearly 360 degrees around them, more of the color spectrum than humans, and in telephoto. Their main eyes are too close together to see depth the way we do, so instead they perceive it via layered photoreceptors in their retinas that help them measure the difference between spectrums. (If that doesn’t make sense, it’s ok, it barely makes sense to me.) The bottom line is that they do not see the world the way we do.

Jumping spiders leap as they do because it aids them in hunting. They are ambush predators and do not use webs for hunting (though they do use their silk to protect their eggs, create bivouacs for molting and sleeping in, and to rappel off surfaces). Precise vision combined with fantastical jumping abilities clearly have made them successful hunters. But it also allows them to hastily notice and escape danger. I recall a summer in high school scraping paint on our family home where I was face to face with many retreating Zebra Jumpers – there one moment and gone the next.

To top it all off, these fuzzy little spiders are well known for their courtship antics and male jumping spiders put on serious shows to attract mates. This might include but is not limited to: postering to show off coloration, dancing around excitedly, waving various appendages in the air, and vibrating and hitting surfaces to create songs for potential mates. Males competing with each other can also be quite intense. With the internet at your fingertips, you can find many examples of these spiders doing wild things.

Jumping spiders are generally easy to spot because they are usually quite hirsute, have recognizable eye patterns (extending literally to the back of their heads), and have rather rectangular, flat faces. This might be why I felt seen by the little pale faced individual, and also is likely why many people find jumping spiders cute instead of threatening. (Being inherently self-centered, I am often impressed and flattered by seeing myself reflected in the world around me.)

There’s a strong chance you’ve noticed a member of this family because they are active and diurnal species that can be quite flashy. The most common species on the Hill is undoubtedly the Zebra Jumper (Salticus scenicus), well named for their patterns and often eye-catching because of their start-stop movements. There are also other striking and common species like the Red-backed Jumping Spider (Phidippus johnsoni), which are larger and more colorful than other species on the Hill. And then of course there are a host of more cryptically adorned spiders, the better with which to blend in for sustenance and safety – like the Bronze Jumping Spider (Eris militaris). Part of the fun of jumping spiders is that despite their diversity, a decent photo can sometimes reveal not only their species, but tell you if they are male or female.

I like to think of jumping spiders as ambassadors. I won’t lie to you and suggest I’ve never expressed irrational fear of a spider. There have been moments of pure panic when I have flung a totally innocent spider from my person. But once I started noticing jumping spiders, I slowly started to consider spiders as just another neighbor, another being that I should consider. They might not look up at me quite like a jumping spider, but they deserve my respect and care regardless of how cute they are. Mostly they are just like me and want to go about life without being harassed, or squished.

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