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IN A BUSH PLANE buzzing high above the jungle of central Papua New Guinea, I peered through the windshield from my passenger seat. Below, a dense carpet of green spread in every direction. Not a single road or sign of humanity interrupted it—only the Karawari River, winding through the trees like a thick, glittering snake. Suddenly, a few inches from my face, a hairy, mouse-colored spider the size of a toddler’s hand emerged from a crevice between the plane’s windshield and instrument panel. As it scuttled across the dials, the pilot grabbed his flight-log clipboard and delivered a mighty wallop to the intruder. It…