That's the thing about momentum -- it doesn't stop working when you no longer need it. With the abrupt loss of resistance, Chuck careens forwards. His feet slide in the snow as he attempts to stop, the heavy weight still attached to the end of his stick unbalancing him.

He drops it too late, falling and sliding underneath the spider, head thumping against its abdomen as he does.

"Bloody fucking--" he covers his head and neck with his arms, and tries to assess his potential weapons through the noise.