By Charles Towne
He was warm, and for the moment that was all that was important.
Lying in the grass, he was well hidden, though there were not many that would dare to intrude upon his solitude.
In his six years of life he had rarely been threatened by another predator. There was that time when he was about a year old and eighteen inches in length that the red shouldered hawk had thought to dine on him. The only thing that saved him that day was the fact that the grass was deep, thus impeding the hungry hawk's plunging attack.
Everything in his life was governed by instinct. When he was hungry he went in search of food. This food questing was always a result of instinct, as were those times that he had met and mated with another of his kind. When forest fire threatened it was instinct that drove him down a nearby gopher tortoise burrow, and when the chill of winter embraced the land he sought the warmth of that same burrow, driven by that same primitive life force; instinct.
Now four and a half feet long and heavy bodied he had few, if any, natural enemies and in another day, or two at the most, he would be able to see again.
The most vulnerable time in a snake's life is when it is preparing to cast off its old skin. During this shedding time the snake loses its usual glossy sheen and becomes pale and dull, but its vulnerability comes from being almost blind at the time of shedding.
All snakes shed periodically, and as the old skin becomes loose the entire outer layer, including the old eye coverings or lenses, separate, and at this time they become opaque, rendering the snake almost blind until that time when he sheds and his eyesight is restored once again. In the case of our friend, he may shed as many as six, even seven times in the course of a year, all dependent upon the abundance of food, for as he eats he grows, and as he grows he has to shed because his skin does not grow with him.
Each time that he sheds he adds a new segment to his rattles, thus it is impossible to tell a rattlesnake's age by the number of sections in his rattle, as is the common myth.
As he lays there he senses a nearby movement. His black forked tongue extrudes out and again, by instinct, is instantly withdrawn. Faster than thought, faster than a snake's strike, the forked tip is inserted into the twin orifices of the Jacobsen's organ in the roof of his mouth. From this unconscious act he is informed by a combination of taste and smell that whatever is drawing near is warm-blooded and much too large for him to eat.
Whatever the animal is, it foolishly draws near.
He prepares to defend himself. He attempts to warn the intruder, but for some reason it does not heed this warning.
Though almost blind he can still see movement as a dull blur, and by deadly unerring instinct, mouth agape, he strikes!
I had no clue that the diamondback rattlesnake was even there until he hit me.
The shock of the strike was almost like being struck with a fist, and then almost instantly there was that telltale burning sensation indicating deep envenomation and a bad bite.
Not that there is ever such a thing as a good bite from a poisonous snake.
A large diamondback rattlesnake, such as the one that struck me, would have fangs three quarters of an inch in length and he could dump a pretty dose of venom in your system, so I knew that I was in trouble instantly.
Why had I not heard his rattle? Rarely do rattlers fail to warn an intruder, but I had heard nothing. Why?
There he was, coiled in that typical defensive position, ready for another strike. It was then that I understood why I had failed to hear him. The end of his tail was up and shaking with great vigor but it wasn't making a sound. This diamondback rattlesnake was completely devoid of his rattles. No early warning system! Obviously, as sometimes happens, his rattles had become dry and brittle and had broken away, leaving him as I found him, less his rattles.
The diamondback was where he belonged, in the deep woods. I was the intruder.
The cause for my being bitten was that some hiker had thoughtlessly thrown away a piece of trash, and as I bent to pick it up, my hand was inadvertently placed within the snakes striking range. I walked away and ended up in the hospital, which is another story for another day. Hopefully Mr. Diamondback is still there, but with a new set of rattles!
An outdoorsman’s prayer
Dear Papa God, you have wisely provided each of your creatures with a means of defending itself, and you have also enabled each of us with the good sense - the wisdom if you will - to not fool around with something that we know is very capable of doing us great harm. Thank you for common sense, a commodity it seems that isn’t all that common in our world today. Help us to avoid anything - be it a living creature like the rattle snake, or bad habits - that are capable of great harm. Help us to avoid with great fervor and due diligence any habit that can hurt or destroy. We thank you Father, and we love you. In the wonderful and blessed name of our Lord Jesus, Amen
Charles Towne
