Revolutionizing · Modernizing · Simplifying
Revolutionizing · Modernizing · Simplifying
Right now, three hours southeast of Denver, thousands of lovesick male tarantulas are walking across the prairie looking for a date.
I am not exaggerating for effect. This is happening as you read this.
Out in the Comanche National Grassland near La Junta, the Colorado and Oklahoma brown tarantula (scientific name Aphonopelma hentzi, if you want to sound smart at dinner) is in the middle of what everybody calls the migration. The males start emerging at the end of August, peak activity hits in mid-September, and the movement keeps going into October and early November. So the window is open. It is open right now.
Here is the part people miss. Nobody is going anywhere permanently. This is a mating ritual, plain and simple.
A male tarantula reaches sexual maturity somewhere around 8 to 10 years old. And when he does, he crawls out of his burrow and starts walking. And walking. These guys can cover up to 20 miles across the grassland hunting for a female. Twenty miles. On eight legs. For a shot at romance right before the cold sets in and, honestly, right before he dies. It is grim and beautiful and very Colorado if you think about it.
The Comanche National Grassland is huge, by the way. More than 443,000 acres, roughly 443,764 to be exact, which makes it the 4th largest grassland in the nation. La Junta itself sits about 176 miles from Denver, call it three hours if you do not stop for green chile. Which you should.
Most small towns would be embarrassed by this. La Junta made it the whole personality.
They have thrown the Tarantula Fest every year since 2022, and the 2026 edition is set for September 25 and 26 in downtown La Junta. And this is not some sad card table with a laminated poster. There is a parade. There are vendors, food trucks, a beer garden, an education pavilion, live art, and arachnid-themed face painting for the kids who are braver than I am.
There is also a Hairy Leg Contest, which I have decided is the greatest event name in Colorado. And at the end they screen Arachnophobia, the movie, which is either genius or a threat depending on how you feel about spiders.
National Geographic profiled all of this back in October 2025, part of a whole wave of national attention that has turned a bunch of eight-legged bachelors into a small town mascot. When Nat Geo shows up for your spiders, you have officially made it.
One heads up. The guided tarantula tours are the hot ticket, and as of the official Visit La Junta listing, both the Friday and Saturday tours for 2026 were already sold out. So if the tour is your dream, you missed the boat this year. But here is the thing. You do not need a tour to see them.
The best viewing is south of La Junta on Highway 109, out in the grassland. Vogel Canyon is the spot people love, a trail and picnic area where you can make a real afternoon of it.
Timing matters more than location. You want the hour right before sunset, roughly 5:45 to 6:00 p.m., on a warm day with no wind. Warm and calm. That is when the boys come out to walk.
Pamela Denahy, Visit La Junta's director of tourism, gave a tip I really like. Watch for tarantula hawks. Those are the big wasps with blue bodies and orange wings, and they hunt tarantulas, so if you spot one cruising around, a spider is probably close by. Nature's little bird dog, except it is a wasp that wants to eat the thing you drove three hours to see.
Let me kill the fear right now. These tarantulas are docile. A bite, in the rare event you earn one, is comparable to a bee sting. The Butterfly Pavilion out in Westminster has been researching these spiders since 2010, and their people, including animal-collections director Sara Stevens and entomologist Mario Padilla, have talked about this phenomenon publicly for years. This is studied, understood, not scary.
The actual danger is not the spider. It is you, standing in a highway.
Officials are pretty firm on this. The spiders are harmless, but stopping on a busy route like U.S. 350 to gawk is a great way to get hit by a truck. Use the grassland dirt roads and the pull-offs instead. And leave no trace. Photograph from a distance, do not handle them, let the little guys finish their long walk in peace.
Look, I know a spider road trip is a hard sell for some of you. Hayley gave me a look when I brought it up.
But this is one of the strangest, most under-the-radar wildlife spectacles the state has, and it happens for a few weeks a year three hours from your front door. Thousands of ancient, docile little romantics crossing an ocean of grass at golden hour. Come for the Hairy Leg Contest, stay for the sunset. Buckle up.