Some of the most memorable experiences of my youth were when we went to visit our Aunt Joan's farm in upstate New York. There was something magical about her farm, whose 200 year old house sat on 188 acres of mostly untouched land. This simple place was like a retreat of sorts, bonding its visitors together through fond memories, with my aunt leading the festivities and keeping some order, ringing a large cowbell to collect everyone for dinner each evening.
There wasn't phone service and the TV would not receive stations so was hardly used. The primitive antique gas stove was amazingly adequate for all our needs. The creaking wood floors on the two story house echoed through the hallways every time someone got up in the middle of the night. There was the rumor of a ghost inhabiting the old house, especially the dusky cellar. I lost about an hour of sleep each night pondering this notion as the house moaned with every movement from its visitors, like an old man's bones after a long nights rest.
The daytime hours were spent exploring. We could look over the two old abandoned cars which seemed to have been there for decades. Or hang on the rafters in the barn, jumping into the hay, or telling stories. We spent hours swimming in the pond or exploring the streams. We would also take group hikes up the "mountain," in our search for raspberries and blackberries to be made into jam. Of course many of the berries ended up being eaten on the way down. Checking for fossils, mostly from the ice age brought our our geological curiosity.
One of my favorite activities was to explore the streams, rock piles, and gravelly roadside areas for Red Eft salamanders and the myriad of snake species. Our older cousin Bobby was like our wildlife guide, who entertained us with stories of cougar encounters, fossil discoveries, and showed us his snake finding secrets in this habitat so suited for the species. I remember him walking up to a rock pile and commenting "I smell a snake." With the first rock overturned a snake shot over the rocks for safety. Another childhood memory is the beauty of a Scarlet King Snake found after lifting a rock, which darted for its hole like a lightning bolt. Bobby got a hand on it and slowly weaved it back to the surface. One large stone held five large garter snakes underneath, which scurried in five directions as we marveled at the find.
Bobby's snake catching method was simple yet effective. When a snake was spotted, it would slide quickly toward cover. Grabbing the tail portion and moving it to an open area without being bitten was the first challenge. Then a quick flip into the open waiting paper bag (held by your snake catching partner) secured the catch, unless the snake was able to curl around for a nice bite, which happened more than I'd like to admit. If we were by the road we would flip the snake onto the road then hold it down lightly with our foot while we grabbed the neck to prevent bites. I remember one snake being especially difficult, striking toward us aggressively, before I finally pinned it down and grabbed it's neck. We showed Bobby our "milk snake," and his face contorted as he replied "That's not a milk snake. I looks more like a copperhead." We released it shortly thereafter. In a weekend we once caught over 30 snakes before releasing them again.
I realize this is a strange tale to be told by someone who is a nature enthusiast. I was expressing my love for nature, but was still unknowledgeable about the impacts from my actions. In my twenties and I was hiking in a favorite natural area by North Salem, New York. I had been told that black rat snakes had been seen recently and went in search of one. After a few miles there appeared a long thick dark hose which extended about 6 feet across the whole trail. I was impressed by the snakes size and a bit intimidated. I jumped on it and grabbed too far back from the head. It looked at me like, "Are you crazy!" before trying to escape. I was able to catch it and hold it behind the head to prevent biting, while trying to control its body. This struggle went on as I walked down the trail.
A man walked up and saw my dilemma, and said, "Here, let me see that snake." I held it out to him, and he gently put his hands under its belly without clamping. As the snake slid through his hands he move the open hand forward in a continual flowing movement. The snake never made a move to bite and seemed very relaxed. He passed it back to me and I continued the hand over hand technique for holding the snake, very much impressed with the new knowledge I had just received. I saw the snake now more as an friend than as an animal to be conquered in sport.
I tested this knowledge on a fishing trip when I happened upon a garter snake. The snake hadn't slid off the trail with my presence so I slowly sat down and held out my hand. I moved it slowly closer to the head until my finger was gently stroking the bottom of its chin. It seemed to like the gentle strokes. Recently in Arizona the technique worked when I wanted to help an injured gopher snake as well. Although I have not tried it on rattlesnakes it is interesting that all my encounters with the species has been positive, even when I accidentally stepped over one, just touching both sides of its coiled body (I would not have even known my actions if my hiking partner hadn't seen the event).
I hope my insight on snakes continues to grow. Its a shame they are persecuted so often even by the most open minded humans. The "not in my yard," phrase is getting so cliche, and has a tremendous effect on the survival of these species, especially since our "yards," are extending further and further into natural areas. So I hope everyone learns a little something positive from this misunderstood species, and there is a collective dissolution of negative myths. We can learn a lot from snakes, and if one offered me an apple of wisdom, I'd accept it. Thank you for appreciating all the natural beings in our neighborhood "Garden of Eden."
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