The Hardest Task Ever

!±8± The Hardest Task Ever

I became interested in creepy crawly things as a boy in Upstate New York. I started to take them seriously in the early 1970s'. As I explored the swamps and forests of the Southern US, I would write down everything I ran across with respect to native reptile life. Things such as color, length, girth, how it crawled its response when handled which led to the depth of a bite. The usual stuff that one would expect a geek to write in his pocket journal. Well one journal led to two then three and so on, forty years later you can just imagine the mountain of paper I was left with to decipher and rewrite. One thing that I found was that hand writing changes over time and what was easily read at the time of posting, is now something that resembled a 1st graders homework, the only difference was I used a pen rather then a crayon.

Had I to do it over, I would have drug a typewriter into the woods with me. I had planned to write the future Bible on native snakes of North America, I wanted the supreme book, one that would answer ever conceivable question that might be asked about any snake native to the US. This is quite an undertaking and required meticulous study of each snake captured. I do believe that I am responsible for many a snakes psychological maladjustment. I wonder what was going through their minds as I counted each row of scales, placed a magnifying glass in front of their eyes and counted their teeth? I bet they did not view life in the same after meeting me in the woods, I was that guy their mother told them about. I went about my research differently then most others because I could not bring myself to kill a snake for scientific research reasons. It would have been far easier to count the scales of a dead snake versus a wiggling, biting snake that is a given however I found them to be wondrous animals and you do not repay beauty with death, at least I could not. I continued to seek knowledge my way and I found that some snakes have other interesting ways of defending their self other then simply biting. Several of them will whip their tails in your face and eject the cloacal contents all over. What are cloacal contents you ask? The remains of undigested mice and rats, semi liquid waste products from the kidneys, secretions from intestinal glands, in other more common words, "Poop"! If I had a dime for every face full of crap that I was forced to wear I would be a bit better off financially then I am now.

There are roughly 102 species and sub species of snakes known to be native to the United States at this time. No being financially able to travel to each home range and look for each species in the wild, I had to do the next best thing and that was to locate someone who had one or more of them in captivity. This was extremely slow and tedious work. The hard part was to talk someone into allowing me to examine each animal in their possession. Some folks were happy to help, and get a chance to pass on their knowledge, while others hung up on me when I asked to give their snake a physical exam. A number of times I found that the snake they possessed was not even in the same family of snakes they believed it to be. When I corrected them I was shown the back door and given directions on where to go . Funny how fast some people change attitudes so quickly, one second they are pleasant and smiling and the next they are chasing you with a stick? Oh that's a book in itself.

On one of my first fact finding missions I was traveling down a dirt road that I thought would never end. I was on my way to gather information on the Heterodon family of snakes which this fellow said that he had two in captivity. Now in the late 1970 I also loved to hunt and often had a rifle or shotgun in my truck in case my travels took me to an area with good prospects. It was big game season in Georgia and I had my shotgun and as I drove down this dirt trail, a large tom turkey ran across the road. I pulled over, got my gun and went into the woods following its trail. About 100 yards in, there he was, I fired, he fell and I had a turkey. I chucked it in the truck and drove on. Finally I came to a Mobile home at the end of the road. A man was in the yard and I introduced myself and he said "come on in, the snakes are in the house." As we passed the truck I said "by the way, look what I got on the way down here". I held the bird up and his expression changed , TOM!! you killed TOM!! I had shot a turkey he had raised from an egg. If he had had a gun, I would be dead. He went nuts, my turkey, my turkey was all he said as he carried it into the back yard. To make a long story short, that bird cost my .00, all I had on me and I did not get to see the snakes and was asked to leave and never return. At least that is what the translation seemingly meant, but the message was very clear.

I was walking along the Saranac river in the Adirondacks of New Your on a warm sunny afternoon searching to Timber rattlesnakes. So far I had no luck and it was beginning to get a little warm. I decided to sit on a stump along the river bank and rest for a few minutes. As I sat there a feeling of discomfort hit me like a rocket. Of all the possible spots that I could have chosen to rest along that quaint little river, I had to sit directly on top of a bumble bee nest. I dropped everything that I brought with me, I was stung three times on the face, twice on the left arm and a few on my back. They were in hot pursuit and closing in as I ran. My only hope was to jump off the bank and into the river. I heaped from the bank and was soon about 9 feet above the water below, the shallow water below! My feet hit the water and in less then an eighth of a second I came to a screeching halt, I was up to my knees in mud, bees still buzzed about my head and I fell forward doing everything in my power to get under the water in hopes they would leave. Four more stings and it came to a painful end. I stood up, a tear in my eye to see three lovely young girls on the opposite bank who had witnessed the whole embarrassing event. They held back the laughter as I climbed back up the bank swollen and feeling a tad less then a super hero, that I can tell you with a straight face. I never went back to retrieve my tablet, walking stick and hat, the bees could keep it all.

It goes with out saying, some of my adventures did not go exactly as planed. Back in Georgia one Fall early afternoon I had made plans for a weekend snake hunt at a place called Brasswell Mountain, it was about 20 miles from anywhere. My wife Janice and her sister Gayle were to drive me up to the top of the mountain and down a dirt road to a location I had once deer hunted a few years earlier. It was nearing dark when we arrived at the drop off site and I was in a hurry to get my supplies up to my camp site. I opened the trunk and said I'll see you in a few. I carried all that I could up a steep hill and across a short field that overlooked the valley below. In the distance I saw a set of red tail lights fading in the distance, I paid no special attention to it and continued to my site. I dropped every thin and returned for the second load. It took about ten or so minutes to reach the car only to find there was no car to be found. There I stood, my lovely wife and her sister had been talking and never heard me tell them that I would have to make three trips to get everything. I was left with a tent and no tent poles, A 30-30 with no ammunition, drinks with no opener (1973), no food, cigarettes with no matches or lighter and no bed role. If I could have gotten my hands around their necks, I would be writing this from prison right now. I spent two days in hell. I was frozen stiff during the night and spent the day dreaming of how I was going to get even. Two days I spent on top of that mountain. Sunday late afternoon rolled around and Janice finally showed up. Did ya have a good time she asked? I never answered, I grabbed the keys and drug her to the rear of the car, opened the trunk exposing the 1/2 filled trunk and pointed to it. She said why didn't you take that with you, I bet you could have used some of it? There was such innocence in her voice I could not bring myself to say what I had practiced all weekend, and just said Ya, I wish I had thought. I never told her what happened or how mad I was at her, I still look back on that weekend and it is funny now but when ever I intend on coming back to the car and Janice is with me, I keep the keys in MY pocket until I am sure everything is as it should be. Fool me twice, well you know.

I am now sixty years old and still beat the bushes looking for snakes and still making notes on a small pad but I am close to the end of my life long ambition of writing the perfect Herpetology book. 125.000 words and about 100 pictures. It has been an adventure all the way but I had some real fun collecting the material and meeting new friends. My next adventure will be finding a publisher to spread the word about snakes I have met.