Living in Japan, one might anticipate spine-chilling tales of GIANT JAPANESE HORNETS running rampant. Oh, the horror! Quick, flee!

Suzumebachi, the Japanese hornets (スズメバチ), have acquired a somewhat mythical reputation. Let’s burst the bubble! They are far from the colossal, winged, bloodthirsty beasts portrayed in internet memes. While not exactly warm and cuddly, they are not the swarming harbingers of doom some proclaim them to be. Despite their formidable size and occasional aggression, they are not as tough, persistent, or bloodthirsty as the tales suggest. Just last year, I witnessed a brave granny swatting and squashing suzumebachi bothering her while hanging laundry. Granny is undoubtedly a resilient soul, but if the hornets were truly fearsome killers, she wouldn’t have had such an easy time.

While bears and sharks might rank high on the list of potential threats, encounters with them are so rare that they remain on the sidelines.

For me, the terror of Japanese wildlife comes in the form of a particular horsefly species called “abu.” Numerous species exist, and while I cannot vouch for all of them, the ones I’ve encountered make the internet-famous Giant Japanese Hornets seem like butterflies. Locally, they are sometimes referred to as “yororo” (ヨロロ). At first glance, abu or yororo may not appear terrifying. But take a closer look at those menacing mouthparts they possess!

Goodness gracious! Those are some seriously wicked mouthparts they wield. You see, abu don’t merely suck blood like mosquitoes do. The female abu requires a blood meal to produce eggs, so they use those steak-knife-like mouthparts to carve out chunks of bloody meat. It brings to mind memories of a former girlfriend, but that’s a story for another time. The abu will land on you and start slashing and sipping. I used to think they carried off chunks of bloody meat to consume, but apparently, it’s the blood they’re after.

The thing about hornets is that once you leave their territory, they generally leave you alone. They may defend their nests if disturbed, but they don’t actively hunt humans like the abu do. And it’s not just one or three abu that come to feast; it can be hundreds. They are relentless, like tiny Terminators.

Once the signal goes out that fresh meat is available, they swarm in. I remember a time when a friend and I were strolling along a mountain path. The abu allowed us to proceed quite far before springing their ambush. It was sheer chaos. We dashed along the path, realizing it wouldn’t get any better. Eventually, we had to turn back and brave the gauntlet to reach the car and escape. Yes, we had applied bug spray before setting off. Not the feeble stuff from the drugstore, mind you, but the heavy-duty REI Jungle Juice. Alas, the abu paid no heed.

Another time, after descending the mountain, we had to spend the night at a campsite. The abu caught wind of our presence and descended upon us for a feast. There were hundreds of them, and it was a wretched ordeal. Swatting them proved futile as they displayed impressive evasion skills. Only once they landed on us could we smash them, but by then, it was too late, and they would simply burrow into the bloody hole they had just created. We ended up donning our rain gear, hoods cinched tight, gloves, faces wrapped, leaving only our eyes exposed, while desperately building a smoky fire. Before you dismiss it as bearable, let me mention that the temperature hovered around 35°C (95°F), with oppressive humidity. The abu seem particularly aggressive in mid-August. This poor fellow experienced their wrath firsthand.

Abu, yororo, or Japanese horseflies—call them what you will—I’d rather face hornets any day.