Snakes in Myth, Magic, and History: The Story of a Human Obsession 0274979586, 9780313352928, 0313352925

Table of contents :
Cover
Title
Copyright
Contents
Acknowledgments
Introduction
1 The Natural and Unnatural History of the Snake
2 The Cold-Hearted Family of Serpents
3 Snakebite!
4 Mortal Coils: The Big Constrictors
5 Real Charmers: Cobras and Their Kin
6 Generation of Vipers
Afterword
Selected Bibliography
Index
A
B
C
D
E
F
G
H
I
J
K
L
M
N
O
P
Q
R
S
T
U
V
W
X
Y
Z

Citation preview

SNAKES IN MYTH, MAGIC, AND HISTORY

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SNAKES IN MYTH, MAGIC, AND HISTORY The Story of a Human Obsession

Diane Morgan

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Morgan, Diane, 1947– Snakes in myth, magic, and history : the story of a human obsession / Diane Morgan. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978–0–313–35292–8 (alk. paper) 1. Snakes—Folklore. I. Title. GR740.M67 2008 398.24
52796—dc22 2008028206 British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data is available. C 2008 by Diane Morgan Copyright 

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, by any process or technique, without the express written consent of the publisher. Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2008028206 ISBN: 978–0–313–35292–8 First published in 2008 Praeger Publishers, 88 Post Road West, Westport, CT 06881 An imprint of Greenwood Publishing Group, Inc. www.praeger.com Printed in the United States of America

The paper used in this book complies with the Permanent Paper Standard issued by the National Information Standards Organization (Z39.48–1984). 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

In memory of Steve Irwin and his efforts to conserve the wildlife of the world.

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Contents Acknowledgments

ix

Introduction

xi

1 The Natural and Unnatural History of the Snake

1

2 The Cold-Hearted Family of Serpents

27

3 Snakebite!

66

4 Mortal Coils: The Big Constrictors

101

5 Real Charmers: Cobras and Their Kin

119

6 Generation of Vipers

141

Afterword

175

Selected Bibliography

177

Index

179

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Acknowledgments Many thanks to Suzanne Staszak-Silva, senior editor at Greenwood, for taking a chance on this book, Sweety Singh, project manager for her patience and professionalism, and Meigha Rawat for meticulous copyediting. Any errors in the book are my fault, not theirs.

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Introduction While snakes have a fascinating natural history, their supernatural history is equally strange and powerful. Natural history tells us the truth about snakes. Our notions about them tell the truth about us. This odd creature, of only moderate economic or ecological importance, is the very stuff of myth and legend and has wound its long way into the deepest recesses of the human psyche. Indeed, serpents are the cornerstones of our foundational myths. From the primeval Paradise of biblical lore to the plumed serpent of the Aztecs, from the sky-enfolding Cosmic Serpent to the invisible Kundalini coiled in the spine, the cult of the snake pervades every human culture. In India and Egypt, this iconic serpent is the cobra. In Europe it is the viper. In Africa it is the python. In the Americas it is the rattlesnake. Over and over, myths both ancient and modern, reflect our complex, ambivalent attitude toward this most powerful, most magical, and most terrible of all creatures. Snakes are charmed by fakirs, slaughtered by exterminators, embraced by exotic dancers, kept by fanciers, tortured by sadists, and worshipped by millions. Their image is tattooed on bodies, emblazoned on flags, carved out of rock, rooted in myth, and torn out of nightmare. Their true kingdom, after all, is the realm of the human mind. The closer one looks the harder it becomes to disentangle myth from reality or to know the “real” from the “imaginary.” The tale of the serpent is a tangled coil worthy of the most serpentine among us. The serpent was in the Garden of Eden and has joined us in our long exile from it. He watched the birth of the human race. He will undoubtedly be with us at our end.

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CHAPTER ONE

The Natural and Unnatural History of the Snake He has no legs, no ears, no sternum, no eyelids, no diaphragm, no shoulders, no bladder, no eardrums, and only one lung. (Perhaps as a concession to these deficiencies, he does have two penises.) He cannot run, jump, fly, howl, or even chew. He hears very poorly or not at all. He is immobilized by temperatures dipping below 55 degrees and goes positively stiff at 40. And despite his age-old reputation for wisdom, he is not even very smart. A mouse outranks him in the brains department. Despite these drawbacks, however, the snake has managed rather well. He can swim, climb, and strike with remarkable speed. He can be all but invisible, yet has made his home on every continent except Antarctica. (Indeed, if you want to be assured of a snake-free environment, you are limited to Antarctica, the coldest parts of the Northern Hemisphere, and a few islands.) Although we usually think of snakes as ground creepers, they can appear anywhere and are lords over all the elements—having been from earliest times and in all cultures associated with earth, water, air, and fire. They can dangle from trees and navigate lakes, rivers, and even the ocean. Sir Richard Owen, a wellknown nineteenth-century anatomist, observed that the serpent could “outswim the fish and outclimb the monkey.” And lest you think this is a bit of an exaggeration, it is well to recall that some snakes live upon fish and others dine on monkeys—so they have to be able to catch them. Some species even do a fair imitation of flying for short distances, a feat which has helped transmogrify them into the dragons of myth. Although snakes exist almost everywhere on earth, and certainly everywhere in human myth, they live a famously secret (and secretive) life. They are at least as anxious to avoid our presence as we are to avoid theirs. Snakes that live near human habitations are more interested in our unwanted rodent companions than in us. Despite their shyness, however, snakes can appear a lot more often that most people would wish. They can pop out of holes, slither along fences, and

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curl up under your porch. Many species are quite comfortable living in your attic, basement, or walls. Since the 1960s, numerous urban legends have circulated about snakes being found in coat pockets, usually a garment from the Burlington Coat Factory or other discount outlet. They are also periodically said to appear in roller-coaster cars. The fact that these tales are universally shown to be false hasn’t stopped their constant resurrection. We know what we know. Besides, every once in a while, a snake does pop out of someone’s toilet. That always makes the papers. Even though snakes are quiet, unobtrusive, and come in a handsome assortment of colors, almost everything about them strikes fear or revulsion in the human heart—from the feel of their skin to their (literally) creepy locomotion to their bite. According to the Discovery Health Channel, snakes are listed as the Number 1 “extreme fear” by 25% of Americans. The terror most of us feel at the glimpse of one of our legless friends (or even at the mention of one) is immediate, powerful, visceral, and deeply embedded in the mammalian psyche. Monkeys, apes, dogs, and horses often react precisely the same way, so it appears we come by our revulsion naturally. Technically the fear of snakes is called ophidiophobia and is classed as a disease, which makes for a whole lot of sick people. However, even people who escape a morbid fear of the snakes are still unnerved by them. Their sudden appearance (and their appearance is almost always sudden) makes our blood run as cold as theirs does. “But never met this fellow / Attended or alone / Without a tighter breathing / and zero at the bone,” Emily Dickinson shivered in the poem usually referenced “A Narrow Fellow in the Grass.” And she was just talking about an American Garter Snake creeping decently along at her feet, not a Black Mamba. Even places that have no snakes have snake myths. Queen Liliuokalani of Hawaii, while under house arrest in 1895, recorded the creation myth of her people, in Hawaii’s story by Hawaii’s Queen. Part of it centered on a “humpy lumpy” serpent with a “long and waving lengthy tail,” who lived on “dirt and mire” and whose lifestyle consisted of eating, resting, and throwing up. There are, of course, no snakes native to Hawaii. There are no native snakes in Ireland either, as everyone knows. This is not particularly surprising, since many islands are naturally snakeless. However, the Emerald Isle has a famous and beloved myth attached to its situation: St. Patrick drove away the serpents from the island at the same time he banished evil and heresy. He stood on a hill, raised his wooden staff, rather like Moses, and evicted them into the sea. Interpretations of the story suggest that snakes represented evil, and Patrick got rid of the evil, or alternately that snakes were sacred to many ancient pre-Christian religions, and Patrick got rid of them to foil the pagans. For the early Christians, pure evil and pre-Christian religions were pretty much the same thing. According to one twist of the tale, a certain snake declined to leave. St. Patrick outwitted the serpent by constructing a small box and daring the snake to enter.

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The snake insisted the box was too small, and an argument ensued. Finally, the stupid snake said, “Okay, I’ll show you how tight this thing is.” He crept in, and Patrick slammed the lid down on the box and threw it into the ocean. So much for the ancient wisdom of the serpent. Evolutionary herpetologists give St. Patrick no credit. They blame the Ice Age and Ireland’s subsequent separation from the mainland for the island’s being snake-free. You can believe what you want. I am sticking with St. Patrick. It seems safer. Later Irish folklore claims that Irish air is so pure that no snake could live in it. And even today someone from Ireland can simply draw a circle around a viper to immobilize it. So they say. However, we shouldn’t be too tough on snakes; our fear of them is almost completely misplaced. They are not out to get us. Of the approximately 3,000 species of serpents on earth, not one considers a human being ordinary prey. In fact, doctors probably kill more people than snakes do. Putatively friendly dogs, horses, and cattle are each responsible for killing more Americans every year than is the wily serpent. Worldwide, mosquitoes cause millions of human deaths annually. I could say that animals in general have it in for us, but we kill a far greater number of them than vice versa. And in this country more people are injured by golf balls than by snakes. (Golf balls take their toll on snakes, too. Every once in a while a snake attempts to swallow one, probably mistaking it for a succulent egg. Without surgical intervention the hapless snake is doomed. In one case recently, a carpet python pocketed four of them, which were removed surgically and then sold on eBay.) Still, no matter how often we are told that mosquitoes, lightning, and walking across the street are more dangerous than snakes, it doesn’t matter. Snakes are scary and Fords are not. Everyone knows that. Even some herpetologists don’t like snakes, preferring lizards and amphibians. Yet snake terror is not, after all, completely irrational. The snake’s killing potential is legendary. He can do it quickly with a single venomous bite or slowly by constriction—the only vertebrate who makes a regular habit of the latter practice. And snakes do kill people once in a while, usually in a particularly terrifying, spectacular, and painful way, involving lots of bleeding, tissue and cellular destruction, vomiting, spasms, paralysis, massive infection, and seizures. The fact that snakes attack us almost entirely in self-defense does little to relieve our fears. After all, who knows what a snake may find threatening? The Greek fabulist Aesop (sixth century b.c.e.) attempts to explain the age-old enmity between human beings and serpents. Once upon a time, there was a snake that used to lurk around the front door of a farmer’s house. One day the snake struck the farmer’s son, biting him on the foot and killing him at once. The boy’s parents were filled with sorrow, and the anguished father took his axe to deal the snake a lethal blow. However, he missed and managed only to cut off the tip of its tail. The terrified man then regretted his action and offered the snake traditional gifts of cakes and water and honey and salt. (The man might have made out better had he offered the snake a dead rat or two.) In any case, the snake was unappeased

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and hissed, “Man, do not trouble yourself any longer: there can be no possible friendship between you and me. When I look upon my tail, I am in pain. The same is true for you whenever you look upon the grave of your son. Never will we be able to live in peace.” The moral is no one can put aside thoughts of revenge as long as he sees a reminder of the pain that he suffered. To this day, snakes and humans have been at odds. Snakes don’t have to be very big to be effective in the “scaring humans” department. They don’t even have to be real. Here is a case in point, according to widely circulated news stories. In Austria, hardly the snake capital of the world, travelers were getting sick and tired of the pervasive stink of urine in local rest stops and highway restaurant parking lots. It appears that human males had been urinating in the bushes rather than walking a few steps to the free toilets. Officials solved the problem by simply sticking up a few signs in Polish, Czech, German, and English, which read, “BEWARE! MORTAL DANGER! SNAKES!” accompanied by a picture of a cobra. Franz Perder, manager of a motorway restaurant, said happily, “We tried other signs, but they were useless. These signs, though, have really worked. You see men coming up to bushes, getting ready to have a pee and then quickly zipping up their trousers again when they see the signs.” Despite, or because of, the terror and respect we have of each other, snakes and people are old companions. In Brittany, at Carnac, a name which means “hill of the serpent,” winds an 8-mile long sinuous prehistoric “snake” made of stones. The aboriginal Australians portrayed more realistic but equally impressive Water Pythons (Liasis fuscus) and Death Adders (Acanthophis antarcticus) in their strange and powerful “Dreamtime” paintings. The Olmec Indians created a pair of enormous sculptures, probably representing a rattlesnake, of green serpentine rock and buried them in the La Venta ceremonial ridge. Similar snake-shaped structures were the stone “serpent clubhouses” erected in Middle America, which became over time large religio-military centers. Pictographs of serpents appear in Utah, Texas, and other North American locations. In Adams County, Ohio, there is a massive snake, 400 yards long, of yellow clay and stones, created more than 2,000 years ago by people of the Adena or Hopewell cultures. Its tail is coiled, and it appears to hold an egg, the universal symbol of rebirth, in its mouth. It could also, however, be eating something. The ambivalence of the Ohio structure may even be deliberate, as the same ambivalence, the tension between snakes as death dealers and snakes as eternal life bringers, occurs in much serpent myth and art all over the world. Among the first written references to snakes occur in the Rig-Veda, the oldest and most sacred text of Hinduism. Here the serpent is the powerful demon Vritra, who was defeated in battle by Indra, the thunderbolt-wielding king of the gods. This same Vritra had particular charge over the watery deep, which of course represents life as well as death. (Water is as complex a symbol as the snake, and it is not surprising that both are considered life and death forces.) Vritra was especially despised because he held back the waters under his control and caused terrible droughts in the land. According to the Rig-Veda, Book 1, Hymn xxxii,

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“Indra with his own great and deadly thunder smote into pieces Vritra, worst of Vritras.” (A little redundancy is the norm in epic verse.) When the snake was dead, Indra opened its belly, and the pent-up waters poured out. However, I should mention that according to at least some texts, Indra himself suffers for the murder of the primal serpent, is nearly killed, or is forced to give up his throne. In a case of life following myth, in many parts of India it was traditional for one who killed a snake, even accidentally, to pay a penance or be ritually unclean for a period following the incident. The killed snake had to be cremated with honor on a funeral pyre, just like a human being. Vritra is not the only evil snake in the Rig-Veda. Indra also killed Arbuda, a demon serpent of the watery air, by “piercing him with frost” (Book 8, Hymn xxxii). However, although Arbuda is the very personification of evil in this hymn, later Vedas transmogrify him into a wise, powerful lord of the earth, son of the Himalayas, and the king of snakes. He is said to have rescued Nandi, the sacred bull of Shiva, from a chasm, and his sons are depicted as friends of Indra. These lordly beasts are called the Nagas, who have been worshipped since Dravidian times. Eventually the Nagas were fully anthropomorphized into kings. Indeed, Arbuda teaches the sacred “science of snakes” or sarpavidya, a science which is said to be as sacred as the holy Vedas themselves. And who better to teach this knowledge than the king of snakes himself? Although the text, if there ever was one, of the sarpavidya no longer survives intact, parts of it may be found in the numerous charms against snakebite in the Atharva-Veda, another sacred text. Indeed, in traditional Indian medicine, Ayurveda, sarpavidya is coexistent with toxicology. A sarpavid, or snake expert, is just the person to turn to in case of a snake emergency or indeed for any toxicological problem. Turning evil demons into wise and benevolent gods marks an important switch in strategy in dealing with the supernatural power of snakes. Instead of trying to eradicate them, it seemed a much better idea to try to harness those very powers. The sacred snake lords of India took on special duties—protecting the house and its inhabitants, especially protecting the foundations of a home. They also purified the earth and protected their worshippers from the bite of harmful and less reliable snakes. Some authorities divided the supernatural snakes into three classes: yellowish “lord of earth” snakes were associated with Agni, the ancient Vedic fire god; white ones were the lords of the wind and atmosphere; and in a bit of cross-categorization that omitted any color references, the “overpowering heavenly ones” belonged to Surya, the sun god. In Hindu myth, the most important of these eternal, beneficent snakes are the dark blue Anantas, literally the “endless ones,” whose physical form was repeated, so it was claimed, in the island chains south of India. One of the Anantas’ jobs was to help the gods churn up the seas. There is very probably a connection between the phallic shape of the snake, the resemblance between semen and foamy churned-up ocean water, and the idea of creation. Indeed, one Indian legend tells of the giant snake Vasuki, whose body was rolled around the world mountain Meru as the gods churned the primeval milky sea into butter.

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The king of the Anantas is Shesha, the thousand-headed being who symbolizes eternity. He forms the couch of Vishnu, the sustainer god. Vishnu relaxes on this couch during the periods between the dissolution of one universe and the rebirth of the next. Perhaps this is what D. H. Lawrence had in mind when he wrote in a May 14, 1915 letter, “The world of men is dreaming, it has gone mad in its sleep, and a snake is strangling it, but it can’t wake up” When Vishnu is asleep, and Shiva the destroyer god is at work, the cobra goddess Manasa rules the earth. Shesha was a particularly devout Brahmin snake, unlike his “dull-witted” siblings. But he was just as dangerous, since he practiced his religious austerities with such devotion that he created a blazing heat all around him, so powerful it burned up everything and everybody in his path. The kind creator god Brahma asked him what his most “heart-felt desire” was, and the snake responded he just wanted to be rid of his awful brothers and sisters, so that he wouldn’t have to see them ever again, not even after death. He figured the best way to do this was to become liberated. Brahma granted his wish and in return Shesha agreed to bear the earth forever in his endless, comforting coils. When Shesha stirs and yawns, his massive, gaping jaws cause earthquakes. A structure called Shesha’s well still exists in Benares; it contains forty steps that lead to a stone door embossed with cobras. Behind the door? Patala, the underworld of serpents. According to Book 12, Hymn iii, of the Atharva-Veda, divine snakes protect the four quarters of the world: Asita, the “black one,” protects the East; Tirashchiraji, the “striped one,” protects the South; Pridaku, the “adder,” covers the West, and Svaja, the “viper,” handles the North. The glory of snakes, therefore, covers the entire universe. Indeed, exclaims Book 6, Hymn lvi, “The serpents that are sprung from the fire, that are sprung from the plant, that are sprung from the water, and originate from the lightning; they from whom a great brood has sprung in many ways, those serpents do we revere with obeisance.” On the other hand, biting snakes are less fondly regarded. A later passage in the same hymn praises the gods Agni and Soma: “Agni has put away the poison of the serpent, Soma has let it out. The poison has gone back to the biter. The serpent is dead!” There is also a lot of talk about crushing snakeheads and throwing them in the river (Book 10, Hymn ix). Thus the supernatural serpents serve as a boundary between vulnerable human beings and dangerous but mundane snakes, as Laurie Cozad notes in her Sacred Snakes: Orthodox Images of Indian Snake Worship. They are a nexus between the ordinary world and the strange, numinous one of the gods. But it’s a thin and wavering line. You can say all you want about magical serpents, but ordinary snakes have magic in them, too. As the book of Proverbs (30:19) maintains, “the way of the serpent upon the rock” counts among the things “too wonderful” for comprehension. The snake remains the world’s most emotionally evocative—and most ambivalent—of all creatures: the most feared, the most reviled, yet, paradoxically, the most honored among all animals. Perhaps because the snake is so utterly alien, so absolutely “Other” he may be conjured up as anything. We cannot even

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decide if he is beautiful or hideous, god or demon, worm or dragon. He is all these things and more. That is part of his magic. But what we see in the serpent may not be, in the last analysis, totally so alien, after all. Jeremy Narby, in his The Cosmic Serpent: DNA and the Origins of Knowledge, speculates on the deepest connection of all: between the shape of the serpent (whose Aztec name, coatl, means “twin”) and the twinned DNA molecule. From there it was a comparatively short leap to connecting the various spiral ladders, caduceuses, braided ropes, endless knots, twisted vines to the structure of DNA itself. The serpent is in us. He is us. Narby probably goes too far in his analysis, making some rather forward pronouncements about the “mindedness” of nature. However, his work is too important to ignore and too compelling to scoff at. He is only one of many who find in the serpent a jumping-off point for new theories about the mind, the body, and the spirit. Freud had his own ideas on the subject, and so did the ancient rishis of India, the magicians of Egypt, and the shamans and healers of small and remote tribes. If the snake cannot stir one’s spirit, nothing can. Cultures as diverse as pre-Columbian America, India, Egypt, China, sub-Saharan Africa, Celtic Europe, Nordic Europe, and the United States have all accorded the snake a special place in their culture. For traditional African people, the snake is an ancestor. In India, he has been a hero and a villain, sometimes both at once. In South America he is a terrifying lord. The mythic world knows nothing of genotypes, enzymes, and DNA, but it has a lot to say about the origin not only of snakes but also of the universe, and snakes are frequently credited with the creation of all that is. Indeed, the two were curiously entangled. In the beginning, it seems, there were snakes, not only around the world but also literally around the world—enfolding it and wrapping it like a ribbon. This is a motif that occurs all over the planet. The Dahomey people of Africa, for instance, honored the snake god Danh, who carried the creator god in his mouth. He encircled the earth like a giant belt; this prevented the planet from bursting apart into splinters. Danh also pooped so much that he made literally mountains of excrement. This sounds bad, but the stuff was filled with gold. (Something of the same sort happened to the Indian elephant-headed god, Ganesha. He was tripped by a snake and his stomach split open, spilling its contents. Ganesha immediately picked up the snake and used him for a belt, taping himself back together.) Snakes, whether real or mythic, always seem something more than just another animal. Indeed, they even seem to be more than snakes. It is a dizzying, indeed, serpentine path one treads when one gets involved in snake lore. We are never satisfied with snakes’ own natural magic, which is enormous, but are intent upon making them out to be bigger, deadlier, and even more powerful than they really are. In the natural world, for instance, snakes don’t devour themselves or spin themselves into a hoop and go hurtling through the countryside spitting poison on everyone they meet. Yet over and over, this story appears, not just as some mythic motif, but as a sworn-to actual “fact.” And when this circular snake uncoils, it is said to “sting” with its tail, just as it bites with its fearsome jaws. Many myths from

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around the world attest to this behavior, although in actuality no snake stings. And while many natural species of snake inhabit ponds, rivers, and even the ocean, the myths of mankind have transmogrified these ordinary water snakes into huge, fearsome, slithering sea monsters, hundreds of feet long. Many peoples, the world over, have capitalized on the snake’s double nature, imagining him as a bridge or conduit, often representing the “umbilical cord” between human beings and mother earth. The Warao people of the Orinoco delta, for example, tell the story of the Mother of the Forest; her husband is a serpent that forms a bridge from the heavens to the earth. Souls cross this great serpent bridge to the afterlife. In Buddhist legend, a great company of cobras formed a bridge across the Ganges so that the Lord Buddha could cross easily. Since so many snakes volunteered for bridge duty, four separate bridges had to be formed. Which bridge would the “Lord of all Worlds” choose to cross? The compassionate Buddha obligingly became four Buddhas and crossed all four bridges simultaneously so that none of the snakes would feel slighted. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832) also uses the concept of the snake as a bridge in his wonderful short story, “The Green Snake and the Beautiful Lily” (1795). Almost alone among European writers he describes the snake as symbolizing the spread of humanity and of our spiritual development. It should be admitted that Goethe’s snake was an unusual serpent from the get-go, as she dined upon spicy herbs and drank dew. However, her tale really gets going when she swallows some gold pieces and becomes both luminous and transparent. In the story, the snake sacrifices herself, allowing the Prince to marry his beautiful lily. It is a lovely, if rather complicated, tale involving (beside snake bridges) willo’-the-wisps, a ferryman (who wants artichokes, onions, and cabbages rather than gold for transport payment), magical piles of gold, giants, hawks, deadly flowers, and kings made out of metal. Snakes are more frequently presented as demons than as cheerful helpers, however. Indeed, in this guise they are a worldwide phenomenon. For example, demons with snakeheads were said to live in the Guangxi province of China. They had a habit of calling out to people, but one was well advised not to respond if so summoned by them. Nothing good would come of it. The same province boasted snakes so large they could gulp down elephants, although an alternate translation of the same ideogram could refer to government officials, probably wishful thinking on the part of the mythmakers. In Chinese myth, the first legendary ruler was a divine being with the body of a serpent. This was Fu Hsi, who created the first I Ching, the famous collection of Chinese oracles. The snake (she) also occupies the fifth palace of the Chinese zodiac. Just like the Genesis snake, the Chinese serpent was clever but treacherous, and so are people born under his sign. Indeed, in China a traitorous person is said to have a “snake heart.” In more recent folklore, snakes are regarded as one of the “five noxious beings,” although once snakes were worshipped as gods, too—or else gods were portrayed as snakes. The most famous of these was the snake god of

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the Yellow River. He is depicted as being golden in color with a square head and red dots beneath his eyes. He was apparently fond of dancing and plays, so theatrical shows were regularly staged before him to keep him in good temper. Other serpent gods, however, required something more substantial in the way of offerings—such as young virgins. Several folktales tell about how a hero dressed in women’s clothes to get close enough to kill the beast, showing how easily a divine snake can devolve into a horrible demon. Snakes are more generous in other Chinese tales, however, giving away pearls and other jewels to those who rescue them. In one story, a young man who saved a snake asked not for gems but for the snake’s own liver, as the emperor had expressed a wish for just this organ. (The Chinese considered snake liver to be both a prime delicacy and a medicine.) The irritated snake swallowed the stupid lad. In another and similar tale, a boy found an egg and took it home. A snake hatched from the egg and the boy lavished it with love and care. When it came time for the boy to leave home, he asked the snake for a present in return for all the care he had given it over the years. The snake spat up a pearl of tremendous size and value, and the young man took it away with him. When he reached the capital, he decided to offer the pearl to the emperor as a bit of a bribe. It worked; the emperor was thrilled. But now our hero was without his precious pearl, so he decided to return home and get another one. This time the snake ate his benefactor. Generosity has its limits. Lest you think that snake legends are confined to ancient and far-off China or India, it’s well to remember that the mythmaking process is alive and well in contemporary America, too. The first and most widespread of these stories is that of the so-called horn snake. This is one of America’s great legends (which may actually have European origins). It is true some snakes like the Mexican Horned Pit Viper (Ophryacus sp.) have a hornlike appendage on the snout or “horns” above the eyes as in Sidewinder (Crotalus cerastes). But the horn snake is a horse of another color, so to speak, for it possesses a sting in its tail! The English traveler J.F.D. Smyth, in his A Tour in the U.S.A. (1784), writes about a trip to North Carolina in which he almost sees the horn snake. A young boy claimed to have killed one, and Smyth excitedly followed him to the place where it had been left. Alas! [W]hen we arrived there, to my great disappointment, it was not to be found. He assured me that it must not have been quite dead, and had recovered so much as to be able to crawl from the spot on which he had left it. . . . However, everyone . . . avowed their having seen such snake, though very seldom. They represented them to me as the most formidable and direful foes in existence to the human race, and to all animation; poisonous and fatal to a degree almost beyond credibility. He is described as something resembling a black snake, but thicker, shorter, and of a colour more inclining to dark brown. He never bites his adversary, but has a weapon in his tail, called his sting, of a hard horny substance, in shape and

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appearance very much like to a cock’s spur: with this he strikes his antagonist, or whatever object he aims at, when he least expects it, and if it penetrates the skin it is inevitable and sudden death. So very virulent is his poison that it is reported, if he should miss the object he pointed at, and should strike his horn through the bark of a young sapling tree, if it penetrates into the sap or vital parts, the bark or rind will, within a few hours, swell, burst, and peel off, and the tree itself will perish.

While some snakes do indeed have rather pointed tails, they are not filled with venom, and they don’t sting, despite worldwide tales to the contrary. Smyth also credits the same animal with curling up in a hoop and cycling madly around the countryside, as we shall see later. An even earlier horn snake turns up in a 1688 letter, published in Tracts Relating to America, written by John Clayton to the Royal Society of London. In this case, the writer actually claims to have seen the horn snake; only, unfortunately the actual horn was just out of sight: The Horn snake, is as they say, another sort of deadly snake; I never saw any of them unless once, shortly after my Arrival in that Country, which I cannot attest to being the Horn-Snake, for I could not distinctly view it, being in a thicket of sumach; it was perched up about two feet high in a Sumach Branch, its Tail twisted about the Shrub, and about a quarter of a yard stood bolt forward, leaning over the forked branch thereof: I could not see the Horne, with which it strikes, and if it wounds, is as deadly as the Rattle-Snake’s Bite. The Gentleman that was with me told me it was the Horn snake; but being in hast [sic], and on Horseback, and the Snake in a Thicket, I could not see the Horn.

Things don’t get any less complicated when one considers that normally horns are attached to the front end of the animal and a stinger to the back, but with snakes anything is possible. Robert Beverly, in his History of Virginia remarks, “They have likewise the Horn snake, so called from a sharp horn it carries in its tail, with which it assaults anything that offends it, with that Force, that as it is said it will strike its tail into the But end of a Musquet, from whence it is not able to disengage itself.” Beverly doesn’t claim to have actually met up with the creature. Nor did Alexander Hewatt. However, that didn’t stop him from making claims about it. In his Historical Account of South Carolina and Georgia (1779), he declares, “The horn snake is also found here, which takes his name from a horn in its tail, with which he defends himself, and strikes it with great force into every aggressor. This reptile is also deemed very venomous, and the Indians, when wounded by him, usually cut out the part wounded as quickly as possible so as to prevent the infection spreading through the body.” Even the Romantic poet Lord Byron apparently fell for this snake sting story, writing in his journal on January 11, 1821, “Self-love for ever creeps out like a snake, to sting anything which happens to stumble upon it.” But perhaps he was

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merely exercising poetic license. Of course, no real snake has a stinger or a horn, although some Blind snakes and Thread Snakes do have sharp spines at the tips of their tails that can prick a handler. The function of this thorn or spine is unknown, but it is thought to aid locomotion under ground. There is also a horn snake in Cherokee, Creek, Choctaw, and Chickasaw traditions; it is said to bring rain. Perhaps in aid of this, it makes a sound similar to thunder, although it is stressed that it is not in fact thunder. WHENCE SNAKES? A faultless design (with or without horns) doesn’t happen overnight, and the natural history of snakes is a winding one, although details of its journey are not completely worked out. The Hindu epic the Linga Purana maintains that snakes originated from the creator god Brahma’s tears, which flowed when he realized he could not create the universe alone. This is a beautiful view, unfortunately not universally held by contemporary herpetologists. Most of them believe that snakes descended from lizards. And in this, many myths agree. So in this matter, fable mirrors fact. Snakes used to have legs like the rest of us—in the old days, when they were not snakes but true lizards. The snake’s closest living relative may be the burrowing Earless Monitor (genus Lanthanotus) found in Borneo, which has incorporated several snakelike anatomical features into its skull. To confuse things a little, I suppose I should mention a group of legless lizards, the glass lizards, who look like snakes and pretty much act like snakes but which are not snakes. They have eyelids, thick tongues, and ear holes. And if you happen to turn one of them over, you’d discover not the single row of belly scales characteristic of snakes but several rows of small scales indicative of lizardry. The technical term for scale arrangement is “squamation.” Now you know. Apparently squamation, eye structure, tongue style, and hearing apparatus are more important for species assignment than a minor matter of whether or not someone has any legs. We can get even more confusing, if you like. Some primitive snakes bear “residual” limbs within their bodies. Pythons and boas possess tiny clawlike appendages on each side of the cloaca; these itty-bitty claws are all that’s left of their legs. Blind snakes (typhlopids) and Slender Blind snakes (leptotyphlopids) also have vestiges of a pelvic girdle. No snake, however, has any remnant of front limbs. The myth of snake evolution can be turned around, however; the priests of Thebes in Egypt thought that humanity came from snakes that had grown feet. For most snakes, though, the standard issue skeleton is just a skull, ribs, and a vertebral column. Perhaps we should step back and look at the bigger picture, just for a moment. Scientists believe that reptiles, the large class to which snakes belong, emerged from some archaic group collectively called, rather poetically, labrynthodonts, which means “maze-toothed.” The idea of the labyrinth was called up by the way the tooth enamel all folded in upon itself, creating a mazelike pattern. Reptiles

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managed to get out of this puzzling group and form their own by inventing the amniote, or shelled egg, which depends in turn upon internal fertilization, another important invention of reptiles. The great advantage of this domestic device is that the newly evolved group was no longer dependent upon water for hatching its young, as modern-day amphibians still are. The hard, impermeable shell kept the vital fluid neatly packed within it, and the eggs could be laid on dry land. A corollary benefit was that reptiles were now free to move about the terrain, establishing their presence far and wide. This was a large area, as the major landmasses of earth at the time were joined into the supercontinent Pangaea, a C-shaped landmass spread across the equator. The very earliest reptile fossils we have (and we are talking about 315 million years old) hail, rather surprisingly, from Joggins, Nova Scotia—where they were found in some petrified tree stumps back in the nineteenth century. It is amazing what you can find if you look hard enough. The area today is known as Joggins Fossil Cliffs. The animal was Hylonomus lyelli, the forest mouse. Hylonomus was not a mouse, of course. It’s just some little scientific joke. In 2002, Hylonomus lyelli was named the provincial fossil of Nova Scotia, which shows what can happen when you get desperate enough. The Hylonomus belonged (or belongs— one never knows quite how to refer to extinct animals) to the cotylosaurians, a group destined to give birth to all sorts of diverse animal families: turtles, modern mammals, dinosaurs, snakes, and even birds. As far as snake fossils go, however, we are, scientifically, in rather a dead spot. Dates relying on fossil evidence are pretty uncertain; newer studies for reptile evolution based on DNA analysis may yield clearer answers. In any case, early snake fossils are quite rare, with some dating to the Cretaceous period, about 100–150 million years ago, in the place we now call Argentina. One, the Dinilysia Patagonia, was related to present-day boas, anacondas, and pythons (boids), which are among the most primitive of modern snakes, best known for their large bodies, numerous and rather blunt teeth, and habit of squeezing their prey to death. (“Primitive” is a rather pejorative term, and I don’t like it. The primitive reticulate python can hold its own, almost literally, in a fair fight against practically anything, including highly advanced humans.) And in 2006, also in Argentina, an extremely ancient, primitive two-legged snake was discovered. Named Najash rionegrina, the 3-foot snake has a sacrum, an anatomical feature lost by all other snakes. Apparently it used its back legs only occasionally. Other ancient snake remains have been found in Spain, Madagascar, and the Sahara Desert. Snakes were probably not very common anywhere in the world, until the small mammals that are their main prey emerged on the evolutionary scene. In general, what snake fossils do exist are pretty sketchy, often only a couple of vertebrae or so. This is probably because, first, there weren’t too many snakes to start with, and, second, snakes have delicate skeletons that don’t fossilize readily, unlike those of bulky dinosaurs. Third, snakes often refuse to live and die in places where fossilization is likely. Ancient skull bones in particular are exceedingly rare,

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and that’s a shame, because the skull yields some of the most crucial information about a snake’s life habits. In death, as in life, snakes remain secretive, sly, cunning. A semisolid consensus is that snakes probably evolved from burrowing lizardlike creatures, an idea reinforced by the powerful bony braincase of some burrowing snakes. Many modern snakes make use of burrows, but only a few primitive kinds, the so-called shieldtail snakes, are actually able to dig their own. For burrowing animals, legs are rather a disadvantage than otherwise, and it is theorized that snakes decided to trade in limbs for holes in the ground. Other evolutionary herpetologists (but in dwindling numbers) dismiss this suggestion and lean toward a more aquatic ancestor, perhaps Pachyrachis problematicus, a 100-million-year-old, 3-foot long limbless sea critter whose fossilized remains were found about 12 miles outside Jerusalem in the late 1970s. This creature’s very name suggests its complex and confusing relationship to modern snakes. I have never been an ardent fan of Pachyrachis problematicus myself, but it does have its coterie of avid supporters. In any case, it is generally agreed that the earliest snakes were relatives of today’s large, slow-moving boids. Then, about 36 million years ago, there was a fresh development. A new group of snakes emerged, the vast and vastly successful clan of Colubroidea—smaller, quicker, and more agile than their old-fashioned and bulkier relatives. Their name stems from the Latin coluber, meaning “snake.” Coluber has also entered the English language as a term denoting a wide group of common, usually nonvenomous snakes like garter snakes, also called colubrids. The contest between the rival families remained fairly even until geology and geography asserted their iron rule. To be brief, the Ur-continent Pangaea began to split during the Triassic Age into two constituent continents. Events unfold very slowly in the world of plate tectonics, so the split didn’t happen overnight. The continent subsequently called Laurasia began to drift north. The heavy, heatloving boids couldn’t make the adjustment and surrendered the northlands to their lither rivals, themselves preferring Gondwanaland, the southern continent. The Colubroidea (the so-called advanced snakes) took tremendous advantage of their new world and started creating new species like crazy. Today, the Colubroidea make up the majority of all snake species on earth, and they can be found in both northern and southern areas. However, even Colubroidea have their limits. The further north one travels, the fewer the number both of species and total number of snakes. However, evolution never rests on its laurels. Some members of the Colubroidea clan made further improvements, this time concentrating on dental design and toxicology rather than their slender figures. It is a matter of disagreement among evolutionary herpetologists as to which came first—big back fangs or venom, with the venom-first crowd getting the edge. According to recent DNA studies by Bryan Fry, Deputy Director of the University of Melbourne’s Australian Venom Research Unit and top researcher in the field, snakes began developing venom glands right at the base of the Colubroidea tree, a good deal earlier than previously thought.

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It happened this way: Evolution decided that it might be a good idea for snakes to start digesting their prey before it was even dead. This marks the birth of venom, a toxin injected into the struggling prey animal to incapacitate it further. Snakes already had (and have) the raw materials of venom, as we do. It is nothing more magical than saliva, which contains enzymes to help digest food. With a little more work, enzymes can become seriously deadly, destroying and killing tissue before the prey is officially dead. Most snakes then merely had to build the actual venom-delivery apparatus, consisting of the venom glands (simply modified salivary glands), ducts, and fangs. Venomous snakes have two fangs in the upper jaw and an oval venom gland for each. There are no fangs or venom glands in the lower jaw. While in most snakes the venom glands are confined to the head, some species of vividly colored Asian snakes, collectively known as “long-glanded snakes” (genus Maticora), have venom glands that extend down almost half the length of the body. And one unusual modern snake, the Natrix stolata, of India, Sri Lanka, and Thailand, still has no specialized teeth for delivering venom, although it has plenty of venom. It bites its prey with ordinary teeth and just lets the venom soak into the wound. This is an inefficient plan that was soon abandoned by smarter snakes. The venom glands of certain more primitive types of venomous or protovenomous snakes are sometimes referred to as Duvernoy’s glands as opposed to the true venom glands of vipers and elapids; this distinction has been abandoned by some herpetologists. Garter snakes, for instance, have Duvernoy’s glands, which produce proteins, the stuff of venom, not just harmless mucous secretions. Some snakes also hit upon the plan of enlarging their back teeth to better control their squirmy prey, opting for fewer, but sharper, teeth. In other words, fangs: long, curved, pointy, and dripping with venom. The new teeth came handily equipped with a groove down the side along which the venom was channeled. These rearfanged snakes are called opisthoglyphs and probably appeared about 15 million years ago. Opisthoglyph is a rather old-fashioned term, developed in the nineteenth century; however, modern herpetologists still find it useful. Opisthoglyphs are still considered part of the mighty family of colubrids; however, an important divergence in dental design was taking place. (All nonvenomous snakes are deemed aglyphous, meaning “without a groove,” in this system of classification.) Even while the rear-fanged snakes were glorying in their achievement, the frontfanged venomous snakes appeared: elapids (like cobras and kraits) and vipers, all with canaliculated fangs—that is, with a hollow channel running through the fangs and an opening at the tip, resembling a hypodermic needle, that allows for the most effective delivery of venom. In order to bring their venom-bearing teeth into play, the rear fangers must grasp the victim with their front teeth and work their jaws forward. This may be somewhat awkward. Front fangers can just inject the venom and then let go, leaving the prey to die at its own pace. This reduces the chance of the snake being injured by its own victim. While several families of snakes seemed to catch onto the idea of venom at about the same time, the vipers decided to work hardest on refining the delivery

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system still more. They figured the best way to get ahead in this world was to develop some fangs worth talking about—great, big, huge, long, spectacular ones. There was a momentary glitch perhaps when they discovered that they had made them so long they couldn’t shut their mouths. With anatomy like that, they might have gone the way of the saber-tooth, but vipers cleverly hit upon the notion of creating a rotating maxillary bone so that they could fold their fangs back neatly when not in use. In other words, they invented an oral switchblade. It is one of the masterpieces of evolutionary design. They apparently have voluntary and separate control over these fangs, for yawning snakes have been known to raise first one, then the other. The final touch was developed by the pit vipers, the most advanced and specialized of all snakes. Their contribution was not in superior killing ability (the true vipers had that down pat) but in finding their prey more efficiently—night or day. They developed very large and sensitive heat-sensing pits to make this possible. And that’s where things stand—or crawl—today. It is rather frightening to consider what snakes might think up next. LORD OF WATER, LORD OF SKY Whether natural snakes emerged from land or water, most mythic serpents of origin are intimately connected with the watery deep. The Navajo people, for instance, tell of their great sea serpent Tieholtsodi, who ruled the “third world.” (There were five worlds altogether.) It may seem odd that a desert people envisioned their own sea serpent, but such is the magic of snakes. In the lovely third world, it was said that as long as the great snake was left in peace, all would be well. Naturally, the mischievous Coyote started causing problems. He went exploring in the ocean and was so charmed with the sight of Tieholtsodi’s beautiful children that he carried them away. Tieholtsodi was so infuriated that he decided to flood the earth and thus literally “flush out” the thief. The humans and animals began to climb one mountain after another in search of safety. At last they had to climb a reed to enter a whole new world. The turkey was the last to make it to safety, by the way. The floodwaters actually lapped at his tail feathers, staining them permanently white. Another Indian folktale tells of a river snake who carried a woman across in return for the hand of her daughter in marriage. The promise was fulfilled, and the girl lived with the snake beneath the waters, producing over time four snake sons. Still, she never forgot her original home, and one day went off to visit her mother. Her brothers were taken aback at the sight of her and said, “We thought you drowned in the river.” The girl hastened to assure them that she had not drowned but married to a snake. The brothers demanded to see her husband, and indeed the obliging but na¨ıve reptile left his watery home to pay his in-laws a visit. The brothers got him liquored up on rice beer, and when he fell asleep in a stupor, they cut off his head. The sister went back home, but the fate of the four snake children is not recorded.

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An extremely similar story is told in Russia. In this case the snake persuaded the girl to marry him by refusing to get off her dress left on the riverbank while she bathed until she promised that she would. She promised, got the snake off her dress, and then ran home, assuming she was safe from the beast. However, soon after, not just one snake, but an entire army of them rolled themselves into a massive ball, smashed in the window of her cottage, and bore the girl away. She lived underwater for 3 years and had two children, enjoying herself like anything. In fact she rather reluctantly went back to the old homestead for a visit with mom. But the mother wanted her daughter back, so she took an axe, marched up to the riverbank, and called the snake by his name: “Osip! Come here!” The snake obliged, the woman chopped his head off, and her daughter got so mad she turned herself and her children into birds and flew away. Another water serpent husband comes from the Gongola River region in Nigeria. One day a young girl named Jaliya was pushed into the water by her “friends” and eventually found herself in a splendid underwater palace. The serpent king asked Jaliya to sing to him. As she sang, her sweet voice floated up to the surface, where it was heard by the human king of Gongola. The smitten king ordered a dam to be built so that he could find out the source of the music. As the water level fell, the king discovered the serpent, which immediately unfolded his wings and flew off into a deeper part of the water. (It is frequently asserted that serpents of all habitats can fly when they need to.) They also discovered Jaliya playing upon a golden harp, wearing a golden crown, and singing with her golden voice. She informed the king that the snake had made her queen of the river. However, the realistic serpent allowed the girl to return to land to marry the king, provided the king offered up a sacrifice once a year. Early settlers of the Mekong River basin believed that the beneficent King of the Snakes (a “naga”) was lord of an underwater kingdom called “Muang Badan.” This “city” was so vast that it stretched far beyond the borders of the Mekong region. The kind serpent king guarded not only the local people but also all the coral, shells, and pearls in the river. Indeed he bore in his head a pearl considered priceless. The Lenge people of Mozambique had a water spirit which drew young people and possessed them so that they would throw themselves into a sacred pool where the spirit would teach them sacred lore. They came back from the rite with a snake (ndzundzu) wrapped around their necks. Similarly the Yao people of Lake Malawi honor the tsato (python), king of the rain cult. A statue of the snake is shown to the boys during their initiation rites. The Zimba tribe of Mozambique have a rain-making dancing rite in which they carry snake-possessed women into the forest to pray. These spirit snakes, the malombo, love this dance. In addition to bringing rain, they have the power to utter oracles about the diseases which they themselves have caused. For some reason, the snake spirits mainly attack women. There is also an American legend that hanging a dead black snake on a post will bring rain. This will probably work sooner or later, if you let it hang there long enough. It’s bound to rain sometime.

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While North American water snakes (other than the exceptionally ill-tempered Cottonmouth) are harmless, their mythological counterparts have a dangerous reputation in Native American, especially Lakota, mythology. Premier among them, perhaps, are the Unktehi, the fearsome water guardians of the Missouri and other rivers (and among some people of the oceans as well). The term Unktehi can refer to any large animal, so it is sometimes hard to separate myths properly belonging to the water snakes from those relating to other beasties. It was generally believed that the males lived in the water, and the females on land. They were blamed for floods and polluting water sources. But they were also mentors who taught people valuable lessons such as how to paint their bodies for ceremonial purposes. In his long narrative poem The Song of Hiawatha, Longfellow records this creature as “Unktahee,” the god of water, who ambushed and murdered Chibiabos, Hiawatha’s companion: Unktahee, the god of water, He the god of the Dacotahs, Drowned him in the deep abysses Of the lake of Gitchee Gumee

But enough of that. A very little Hiawatha goes a very long way. Considering their evil reputation, it might be tempting to identify the water spirits with the Cottonmouth rather than the more common water snakes; however, this myth is not found in Cottonmouth territory. The Unktehi was another of America’s mostly mythical “horned” snake varieties. It is said to be as big around as a tree trunk, and has rings or spots along its whole length. It cannot be wounded except by shooting in the seventh spot from the head; under this spot is its heart and life center. It is sometimes said to bear a brilliant crystal on its head, and it has scales that glow like fire. The diamond-like crest is of inestimable value, but whoever glimpses it is compelled to run headlong into the beast—and even its breath is poison. This snake is so dangerous that even seeing it asleep is fatal. The myth of a diamond-bearing snake is still found, however, and its origin may be in India. One can’t talk about water snakes without mentioning the Bear Lake Monster of Utah. In most respects, it resembles a brown water snake. However, it is 90 feet long, and has ears. Some report it also has little short legs that enable it to make brief forays onto land. In the water it swims a mile a minute. It eats a few swimmers every year and playfully blows water on a few more. Some recount how Pecos Bill wrestled with it for days and days; the fight was so furious, in fact, that it created a hurricane around Bear Lake. In the end, Pecos Bill slung the critter so far it landed in Loch Ness, where it remains to this very day. In this case, the connection between the various water monsters is not just thematic but also literal. Skeptics maintain, however, that the Bear Lake monster is merely hibernating and may awake at any moment. The first printed reports about the Bear Lake monster appeared in 1868, published in the Deseret News by Joseph C. Rich. Rich listed

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the story as an Indian tale and reported that Indians would neither swim in the lake nor allow women and babies to sleep anywhere near it. The last reported sighting was in 2002. (There are reports of multiple Bear Lake monsters, by the way, so the last sightings and the Pecos Bill story could both be true. They could also both be false.) Other great serpents were sky dwellers—but they brought the rain. One of the oldest snake deities known is Australian Rainbow Snake/Serpent (also known as Almudj or Kalseru); his story goes back 8,000 years. In some stories, the Mother Creator is Una, but she holds the Rainbow Snake in her arms. Both the Australian Aborigines and the Desana people of Colombia worshipped a form of this divine serpent. In both cases, too, the power of the serpent was associated with quartz crystals, which in turn symbolize rain, as they also do in some European cultures. In Australia, it is an androgynous creator god in charge of rain and fertility, the gateway between the “real” world and the eternal Dreamtime. The Rainbow Serpent haunts deepwater holes and may swallow folks whole; its image can also be seen as a wavy pattern along the Milky Way. The shamans were said to dive deep into these holes to learn the sacred songs of the snake. It was not the Australian aborigines alone who saw snakes in the sky. The Totonac people of the Mesoamerican coast maintained that in the old days, when their ancestors lived in a dark cold world, the only light came from the “shining sky serpent,” the Milky Way itself. The Maya agreed that the Milky Way indeed was a vast serpent, perhaps a Fer-de-lance. It should be noted that there is some argument as to the exact nature of the “Rainbow Snake,” with some pumping for a “Rainbow Crocodile” instead. The connection between snakes and rain bringing is both deep and widespread. Snakes of all species are often credited as rainmakers. Some American myths state that killing a King Snake will trigger a thunderstorm, and even seeing one will bring about the sound of thunder. The connection of snakes with rain, thunder, lightning, or all three is extremely ancient and practically worldwide. Indeed, the snake may have been the first thunderbolt symbol, appearing on the cave walls of our ancestors as a zigzag, the universal symbol for snakes, water, and lightning. The Shoshone people of North America tell a story of a horrendous, prolonged drought. The lakes and rivers dried up; leaves withered on the trees; and people were searching for shade and seeking help. The heat was so intense that only a small and scaly snake could endure it. Snake offered to help the people by using his magical powers. He said he could hold up the sky and use his scales to scratch some rain and snow from the blue icy meadows in the sky. He told the people to throw him into the sky as high as they could. Once he reached the topmost levels of the firmament, he uncoiled himself and grew longer and longer, until his head and tail curled back toward the earth. His spine curved high above, and he began to scrape the blue ice off of the sky. The body of Snake kept changing color from red to yellow, green, and purple. Ice in the sky melted, and the rain began to fall to the earth.

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Things came back to life. Rivers filled with water, and all of the animals returned to their native grounds. The flowers began blooming. The people were pleased and joyful as they looked up, while the rain washed them clean. They began to dance in honor of the snake that even now remains in the sky, curving his body and shining like a colored ribbon over the earth each time there is rain on a sunny day. This story is reminiscent of the Cosmic Serpent tale found in many cultures and links the concept of earth lord and sky god. THE SHAPE OF THE SERPENT The snake is a subtle beast, as the Bible notes, and of infinite variety and a shape-shifter of the greatest ability. We ordinarily think of the snake in one of two forms—the line and the circle. In its straightened form, the snake oozes the male principle and its symbols: the phallus, the arrow, the line, the thunderbolt, the spear, the wand, the sword, the lingam, the caduceus. In one North American Indian myth, the masculine symbolism is almost excessively blatant. Gee-chhe Manito-ah, the Great Spirit, was annoyed with his penis because it kept getting in his way. He twisted it off and it turned into a snake. But the snake has its feminine side as well. When coiled, it represents the eternal cycle of life: the woman, the circle, the earth, the moon, the chalice, the bowl, the egg, the ring, the mandala, the mandorla, the horseshoe, the wheel, the globe, the halo, the shell, the crown, the navel of the universe, infinity. The connection between the snake’s fangy mouth and the mythical but psychologically powerful vagina dentata remains relevant. Among the Kwakiutl tribes of the Pacific Northwest, the vulva of one of the ancestors is the mouth of a rattlesnake. A culture hero spits on her genitals, and she turns into an ordinary woman again. Then there is the lamia. The traditional image of a lamia is of a serpent with a woman’s head and breasts, although representations vary. The original Lamia was the serpent goddess of Libya, probably related to the Greek Medusa and Egyptian Neith. Lamia is also a poem by the Romantic poet John Keats, in which the central figure has been trapped in the body of a serpent. Keats never says how she fell into this sad condition, but she is made to say mournfully to Hermes, “I was a woman, let me have once more / A woman’s shape, and charming as before. / I love a youth of Corinth—O the bliss! / Give me my woman’s form, and place me where he is” (I.117–120). Thus the beast asserts its twinship. In one royal myth, to hold a globe in the left hand and a scepter in the other was to claim dominion over all; in its dual form the snake is both the globe and the scepter. (Indeed, the scepter of the Byzantine emperors was actually decorated with a snake.) The snake is always double: real and mythic, male and female, deity and demon, fire and water, circle and line, killer and healer, power and potential, the highest wisdom and the deepest instinct. It is good and evil, wisdom and its shadow,

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cunning. It is both the Yin and the Yang in an eternal, sacred, circular, slithering, weaving dance. It is god and devil, savior and enemy, life and death, creation and destruction, worm and dragon, cosmic and chthonic. The serpent tempted Eve and protected the Buddha. It is death, and it is immortality. It is sublime myth, and it is terrifying reality. Which is the true shape of the serpent? It is the shape of magic, the image of ambivalence. Like light, which is sometimes wave and sometimes particle, the serpent can be arrow straight or completely coiled, drawing its power from both the masculine and feminine archetypes. Together the two images form the coil or spiral: potential becomes power, life dealing death. It is Kundalini, which lies coiled in the pelvis until awakened. Even the word “Kundalini” comes from the Sanskrit and means “coiled like a snake.” The Kundalini represents the vital energy which can be transformed into pure spiritual power. The Kundalini serpent twines upwards through the “mystical spine” or merudanda, the central axis of the human body. By her yogic powers, she pulls herself up in a double spiral. One half of the spiral is the pingala, sunward (rightward) spiral, and the other is ida, lunar (leftward) spiral. The end result looks very similar to the twin-serpented caduceus, the DNA molecule, and other spiraled forms. This is the iconic image of the snake, as the Greek Heraclitus recognized long ago. In its fearsome coil, all contraries are abolished. SNAKES AS VICTIMS While snakes are often depicted as gods or demons, in the real world they most frequently play the role of victims, particularly when human beings are concerned. But they are also prey to fellow animals, including raccoons, weasels, foxes, raptors, alligators, and other snakes. The American roadrunner makes snake eating a specialty. Pigs eat a surprising number of them as well. (The thick layer of fat on a pig protects to some degree even from venomous bites.) Snake mortality rate, as might be expected, is highest during the snake’s first year, when it is smallest and least experienced. According to a myth propagated by the Greek writer Aelian, deer were responsible for knocking off snakes on a regular basis. The deer places its nostrils into the snake’s hole, breathes into it strongly and “sucks the snake out. When the snake appears the deer eats it. This usually happens in winter.” It is true that deer may occasionally kill snakes but certainly not in the manner described. Sheep are also said to kill snakes: the reptiles get “caught up in their wool.” The most famous enemy of snakes, at least of cobras, is the mongoose, which has a partial immunity to cobra venom. (Cobras have a complete immunity to the venom of their own species.) However, the mongoose relies more on its quickness than any immunity to avoid a bite and seize a meal. It doesn’t even seek cobras out, particularly. Most of the encounters are accidental. Sherman S. Minton, in his Venomous Reptiles, reports scornfully about set-up “fights” between mongooses and cobras: “A cobra–mongoose combat may be part of the snake charmer’s

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performance. Rarely does either principal have any heart for this affair, and it usually develops into a real farce with the cobra doing its best to escape and mongoose either sulking or going into an hysterical screaming fit.” The gods were after snakes as well. The Greek god Zeus, it is said, was once represented as a serpent, but about 500 b.c.e., sensibilities changed, and he became instead a killer of snakes. Indeed he assumed his godheadship by defeating Typhon, the terrifying hundred-headed creature whose lower body was that of a serpent— or, according to another myth, from whose thighs were born snakes. Typhon was the child of the Gaia, the earth goddess. Typhon’s wife was Echidna. Together they bred monsters. Snakes are also popular villain-victims in the life of Heracles, the Greek hero and son of Zeus. His other name was Ophioctonus or snake killer. As an infant in his crib, Heracles is said to have strangled two huge snakes (one with each hand). The snakes had been sent by Hera, who was jealous of Heracles’ mortal mother Alcmene. Later on, as part of his “twelve labors,” Heracles killed Hydra, the nine-headed serpent. Well, Hydra started out with nine heads, anyway. Every time one got lopped off, two more grew in its place. For his last labor, Hercules was confronted by the three-headed guardian of Hades, Cerberus (many heads seem to be a motif in Herculean tales). Cerberus was venomous like a viper, but for good measure he wore a wreath of snakes around each neck. In Egyptian myth too, the underworld is guarded by a two-headed serpent named Nehebkau; all over the world, it seems that multiple heads are required for his job. Snakes as guardian, whether good guardians or bad ones, is a worldwide tradition. Using snakes as guardians to ward people away is a practice not restricted to the realm of ancient history or myth. Contemporary criminals have taken a page from a very old book. On June 29, 1993, DEA (Drug Enforcement Administration) agents at Miami International Airport found 36 kilos of cocaine wrapped in condoms and stuffed into 312 living boa constrictors (average length 3.5 meters). A sharp-eyed customs official noticed what he identified as an “unnatural bulge” in one of the snakes and ordered it X-rayed. He must have been highly snake savvy, as most people are unable to distinguish between natural bulges and unnatural ones in our serpent friends. This was the largest recorded discovery of drugs in snakes, but no one was ever arrested. In another case, officials in Denver, Colorado, raided a crack house and discovered some large packages of cocaine placed in the cages of a Western Diamondback Rattlesnake (Crotalus atrox) and an Asian Pit Viper (Trimeresurus sp.). According to Japanese Shinto myth, the storm god Susano-o defeated the immense eight-headed serpent Yamata-no-orochi. He found a sacred sword in the snake’s tail and used it to free the princess Inadahime, who had been held captive by the snake. The couple later married. In a similar trial of courage, recorded in the Ynglinga Saga of Scandinavia, Sinfj¨otli, son of Sigmund, is tested by being ordered to make bread from a sack of flour in which there is a snake. His two older half-brothers failed, but he passed. Sinfj¨otli was supposed to be so “hardskinned” that no venom from without could harm him. So perhaps it didn’t take

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much courage after all. Siegfried was another well-known snake slayer. He killed the dragon-serpent Fafner, ate his heart, drank his blood, and gained tremendous power. (He lured the beast out of his cave by playing his special horn and then stabbed him with his special blade.) Then there is Medusa, who as you may remember is the Gorgon with venomous snakes for hair. She was so scary that anyone one who even looked at her died. Perseus managed to settle her hash by using his polished shield as a mirror, so he was looking only at Medusa’s reflection, not at the old girl herself. He was thus able to cut off her head and carry it home. Every drop of blood from the decapitated Medusa, however, turned into a snake. (He must have been pretty good with a sword to chop off her head behind his back like that.) He eventually gave the head to the goddess Athena, and it became her aegis. Perseus ran into another snake problem later on, when he rescued Andromeda from a giant sea serpent. He decapitated that creature too and later married the girl. The Gorgons, who also wore a belt of two intertwined serpents, may have been feared and hated, but they were also honored. In fact, the Gorgon was placed at the highest point and center of the relief on the Parthenon. Beheading snakes also appears to be a modern pastime. In August 2007 a thirty-three-year-old bricklayer from Northern Ireland named Shane Harte got into a fight with his girlfriend and bit her pet snake’s head off. It was a small Royal Python (Python regius). The snake was subsequently examined by a specialist who said it would “have suffered a very traumatic death and would certainly have felt a great deal of pain.” The judge refused bail. Many people, of course, are prone to kill even harmless and beneficial snakes on sight. But sometimes, their own consciences—or perhaps something else—will haunt them. W. H. Hudson, in his Green Mansions writes about a snake-killing explorer: I found a serpent coiled up in my way in a small glade, and arming myself with a long stick, I roused him from his siesta, and slew him without mercy . . . No coral snake this, with slim, tapering body, ringed like a wasp with brilliant color; but thick and blunt with lurid scales, blotched with black; also a broad, flat, murderous head, with stony, ice-like, whitey-blue eyes . . . “O abominable flat head, with ice-cold human-like fiend-like eyes, I shall cut you off and throw you away!” And away I flung it, far enough in my conscience; yet I walked home troubled with a fancy that somewhere, somewhere down on the black, wet, soil where it had fallen, through all that dense, thorny tangled and millions of screaming leaves, the white, lidless, living eyes were following me still, and would always be following me in all my goings and comings about in the forest.

Still, not everyone has it in for snakes. The environmentally conscious Navajo people said that it was evil to kill a snake; indeed it would make your heart dry up. Charles Manson also forbade his followers to kill snakes: he said it was bad karma, although he obviously had no trouble killing humans.

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But for the most part, especially in the West, snakes are considered evil, and the sooner they’re all killed off the better. Rattlesnake hunts have been popular in this country almost from its inception. These events, which pass for family entertainment, usually occur at the wintering-over spot. It is reported that back in 1849 in Iowa, the participants each put up 2 bushels of corn to be used as prizes for the team who caught most. The yield was ninety snakes within 90 minutes, and the total for the year was 3,750. Even purported lovers of the species do further damage by overcollecting the creatures or housing them in poor conditions. Millions of wild-caught reptiles are imported into the United States every year, to the detriment of the captured individuals (most of whom die from shock) and the decimation of the species as a whole. Currently over 200 species of snake are considered endangered from reasons ranging from direct human predation to habitat destruction. While some of the imports are legal (although they probably shouldn’t be) many others are plain cases of smuggling, often of deadly snakes. And it doesn’t occur just in the United States. In April 2007, environmental inspectors in South Africa discovered ten venomous snakes in video cassette cases, when they searched a suspicious package from the Czech Republic at a post office. Inside were live albino Monocle Cobras (Naja Kaouthia), Arabian Saw-Scaled Vipers (Echis coloratus), Namibian Spitting Cobras (Naja nigricollis), and Australian Taipans (Oxyuranus sp.). No antivenin existed for any of these species in South Africa. The snakes were taken to a zoo. Obviously, they had not only been smuggled out of the Czech Republic but also into it in the first place, as none of these snakes are native to any part of Europe. A Swedish tourist, twenty-eight-year-old Per Johan Adolfsson, tried to smuggle eight baby snakes into Australia in his trousers. The four baby King Cobras had all died, but the four baby Emerald Tree Boas (Corallus caninus) were still alive. He picked them up in Bangkok, although they are native to the New World. He ended up with a 2-month jail sentence. A similar trouser trick killed a Cambodian man named Chab Kear, thirty-six years old, in October 2007. Only this man died after being bitten by a 6-foot cobra, which he had trapped by using his trousers as an improvised snake bag. He apparently planned to sell it. The snake bit him three times and killed him. His last words were reported to be, “Don’t worry: it’s nothing a drink can’t fix.” Imported snakes also created havoc in May 2004 in Little Rock, Arkansas. A delivery driver noticed a wooden box on a street corner whose label read, “Live Venomous Reptiles.” For reason passing all understanding, the driver then lifted the lid, at which point a big cobra launched itself out of the box, prepared to strike. Luckily for him (but not necessarily for the gene pool) the driver was not bitten. He at least had the sense to take the box to the zoo, where competent herpetologists unpacked it to find a Forest Cobra (Naja melanoleuca), a 6-foot Green Mamba (Dendroaspis augusticeps), a 4-foot Black Mamba (Dendroaspis polylepis), and a 14-inch rear-fanged Twig Snake. “I thought, holy cow! We’ve got some pretty serious animals,” said keeper Randal Berry. The case also contained hypodermic needles.

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These very same snakes are also suspected to be behind the mysterious death of a Scottish businessman, forty-eight-year-old Garrick Wales. Wales, a computer programmer, had been found slumped in his rented car near Little Rock International Airport on May 13, pale and spattered with vomit. He had hypodermic needles in his shirt pocket, too. Wales apparently ordered the snakes over the internet from a reptile dealer in Florida and had them shipped to the airport. Wales had ordered other snakes in the past, but no one is sure what he did with them. His wife wouldn’t talk, but neighbors said they had no idea the man was a snake collector. For some reason the mamba got blamed for the bite, although for all anyone really knows it could have been the Twig Snake. It seems that mambas take the heat for everything. Nor did anyone find out why the box was found across town from the airport. The Little Rock Police Department said it didn’t have the time to investigate the case any further. Department spokesman Terry Hastings said, “We still don’t have a clue and probably will never know what he was doing with those snakes or why he threw them out of the car.” So there. Various snake parts are valued in traditional Chinese medicine and are often collected with a ruthless disregard for life. Snakes are stunned and their bodies slit open while they are still alive. The gall bladder, bile, or blood is extracted, mixed with liquor, and drunk. This is supposed to be a wonderful tonic. In Taiwan, snake liver is touted as being good for the eyes. Truly, snake meat is a powerful diet item. The English playwright John Fletcher, in his comedy The Elder Brother (1625), wrote, “You can eat a snake. And are grown young, gamesome and rampant,” reflecting a common idea. The Chinese also make a say gong (snake soup) by boiling up snake bones, flesh, and blood with some bamboo shoots and onions. Supposedly this disgusting concoction is good for you. The Chinese, who are well known for eating anything, munch their way through 10,000 tons of snake meat every year. One of their culinary delights is fancifully named “The Dragon, the Tiger, and the Phoenix” that consists of cobra, sea krait, and rat snake, together with other intriguing items. The Chinese also make various sorts of snake liquor, often using cobra blood as the primary ingredient. They will even rip the living heart out of a cobra and throw it in a shot of vodka for you. This will improve your sexuality. In Indonesia it is even called “Viagra in a glass.” Vietnam is in the same dietary place. Hanoi even has a “Snake District,” where your serpent will be killed right at your table for your additional dining pleasure. Recently, however, China and Vietnam have attempted to put a damper on the culinary snake trade. Local populations of snakes were disappearing, and more important from their point of view, the rat population had tripled. In January 2008, customs officials in Vietnam discovered a ton of live rat snakes on a plane. They were hidden inside sixty boxes marked “fresh fish” and were destined for restaurant kitchens in China. Many of them were already dead—and the rest were taken to the Wild Animal Rescue Center near Hanoi.

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In other parts of Asia, a viper is pickled in whiskey; that is also supposedly good for one. However, the Chinese say that snake fat is a very bad medicine indeed; if a man eats it, his penis will shrivel up and be of no use any more. One cannot help wondering how many overburdened wives served up a little snake fat on the side—or at least were accused of doing so. In actual fact, snakes have very little fat. Snake oil has been touted as a panacea for generations, and the original source of the miraculous oil may be China, where for millennia it was massaged into the skin to relieve inflammation and pain from arthritis and similar ailments. On this side of the ocean, the Nahuatl women of Central America thought that rattlesnake oil promoted healthy hair growth. Chinese laborers working on American railroads brought it along and passed it on to the locals. Snake oil is rendered just like any other fat and has been touted for use in a variety of cures, mostly for arthritis. Presumably the litheness of the snake gave people the idea that consuming its oil or putting it on the joints would create the same effect in them. In 1989, research by Richard Kunin, published in The Western Journal of Medicine, confirmed that the oil from certain snakes includes high quantities of eicosapentaenoic acid (EPA), an important omega-3 fatty acid. While it is not always clear as to precisely what species is being referred to by the term “sea snake” when traditional Chinese snake oil is mentioned, a good guess is the venomous Erabu Sea Snake (Laticauda semifasciata). In this regard it is much superior to rattlesnake, the reputed source of the “snake oil” in the old-time West, and indeed is the richest (20%) source of EPA known. At any rate it was reported in Fisheries Science [68 (2002): 239–240] that feeding the stuff to mice made them smarter and gave them greater swimming endurance than mice fed lard or even fish oil. (Their blood lactate levels were lower and muscle glycogen levels were higher, indicating increased reliance on fat for fuel.) Some spoilsports, of course, would rather eat salmon. The people of Okinawa, by the way, smoke this snake and eat it as food. Eating snakes has been culturally acceptable among many peoples, and snake meat is sometimes marketed in the United States. At one time it was given fanciful names such as “musical jack” or “prairie eel.” However, it is now often sold under its own name, fried, baked, or served in a stew. In 1931, a certain George K. End started a rattlesnake canning enterprise in Arcadia, Florida, advertised as “genuine diamondback rattlesnake with supreme sauce.” A 5-ounce can sold for $1.25, a veritable fortune in those deep Depression days. By-products of the reptile included venom, snake oil, skin, and rattles, all of which were profitably pawned off on the American public. In 1944 Mr. End was bitten by one of his victims and died. Snakes are still on the menu in Florida; Spotos Snake Joint in Dunedin sells appetizers for $10, which are said to taste like a cross between chicken and veal. The snakes are purchased from a rattlesnake farm in Colorado, grilled, and served with tobacco onions. The same restaurant serves Burmese Python, crocodile, and kangaroo with chocolate sauce.

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Yes, in the real world the snake is much more frequently our prey than our persecutor. But in our minds, the snake holds as much power over us as ever. It is curious. We, the big-brained, upright, toolmaking ones, the talkers and singers and striders and riders, who have mastered the seas, flown in the wind, dominated the earth, and even landed on the moon, have not quite yet succeeded in crushing the head of the serpent. Let us hope we never do. Human beings are more than makers of tools. We are the makers of symbol—and in the serpent we have found a treasure thereof.

CHAPTER TWO

The Cold-Hearted Family of Serpents Taxonomically, all snakes belong to the class Reptilia, the order Squamata (Latin for “scaly”) and the suborder Serpentes (Ophidia). Lizards also belong to the order Squamata but have their own suborder. The other reptile orders are Testudinata (turtles and tortoises), Crocodilia (crocs and gaters), and Rhynchocephalia (tuataras). Altogether there are about 7,400 species of living reptiles. The credit for developing a standard format for classifying animals goes to Carl von Linn´e (1707–1778), Latinized to Carolus Linnaeus. Despite the fancy Latinization, Linnaeus was a Swede. Linnaeus was a botanist and particularly despised reptiles, repeatedly calling them “foul, loathsome beings.” To be honest, he felt the same way about frogs. As their name indicates, animals in the suborder Serpentes are snakes, which are further divided into eighteen families, including colubrids, elapids, vipers, boids, sea snakes, sunbeam snakes, blind snakes and worm snakes, thread snakes, shieldtail snakes, and false coral snakes. There are other families, but those are extinct. These classifications are not fixed forever, and there is a push in some quarters to “do something” about the huge colubrid class, which seems to be comprised of a lot of snakes who don’t have all that much in common. Thankfully, that discussion is largely beyond the scope of this book, although I will have something more to say about it when we start talking about venom. At any rate, after family, snakes break down into genus, species, and in some cases subspecies. Take the common American Timber Rattlesnake. It belongs to the family Viperidae, the genus Crotalus and the species (and subspecies) horridus. When scientists write about timber rattlers, therefore, they call them Crotalus horridus horridus. Timber rattlers are not nearly so horrid as other members of the Crotalus genus, but they are stuck with the name, and there is nothing they can do about it. They are horrid enough, anyway. Some groups, such as blind snakes and thread snakes, are rare and unobtrusive. The world’s tiniest snake is the Martinique Thread Snake (Leptotyphlops

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bilineatus); it measures less than 4 inches, even at its longest, and lives mostly on ant larvae. The most well-known of the tribe is the burrowing Brahminy Blind snake, native to southeast Asia. It has spread to all warm climates around the world, including the United States. It has a habit of hiding out in flowerpots and is sometimes even called “the flowerpot snake.” This is one of the species that can reproduce parthenogenically; it can start a new colony by itself. All known specimens are female. Some blind snakes are called minute snakes in French literature because they are so tiny; a linguistic mix-up occurred, however, and the tiny snakes got the reputation of being able to kill a man in a “minute.” This is completely untrue; blind snakes are harmless to people. However, they play an interesting role in the life of the screech owl. Screech owls capture Texas blind snakes whenever they can and carry them to their nests—not to eat but to delouse their nests; the snakes eat the larvae of parasites that plague the birds. The owls leave the snake there until the baby screech owls are fledged. One famous group, the boids, consists of boas, pythons, and anacondas. These are tropical snakes and get really, really big. They kill their victims by constriction and have a mouth full of back-curved teeth to help control their prey. None are venomous. They are featured in Chapter 4. A very large group, composed of several families, of snakes is the Colubroidea; this group includes the most celebrated snakes that are not pythons, boas, or anacondas. (This means all venomous snakes as well as many nonvenomous types.) It includes Atractaspididae (12 genera, 65 species of stiletto snakes); Colubridae (the most familiar types, including garter snakes and rat snakes), placed in 290 genera and about 1,700 species; Elapidae (cobras, mambas, and kraits), arranged in 63 genera and about 300 species; and Viperidae (vipers and pit vipers), settled into 30 genera and about 230 species. Every one of these families includes at least some venomous members, with some being entirely venomous. (It is very easy to get the large group Colubroidea mixed up with its smaller subset Colubridae, but this is not my fault. That’s the way it is. I am sure I could have come up with something simpler.) The Atractaspidids are the burrowing asps or mole vipers. As is the case with most snakes who spend much of their time underground, no one seems to know much about them—or wants to, which is just the way the snakes like it. All members of the family are venomous and have hollow fangs like vipers and cobras. At various times they have in fact been placed in the cobra, viper, and colubrid families. Apparently no one really wants to claim them, and they get shifted around a lot. Most live in tropical Africa or occur spottily in the Middle East. Although their fangs are not very long, their heads are so tiny that their teeth appear very long indeed. Unlike other vipers, they can’t swing their fangs far forward but elevate them one at a time and stab their victims while their mouths remain closed. They also like to “sideswipe” their victim as they approach it from the side. Only one member of the group, however, the Natal Black Snake (Macrelaps microledotus) is considered to be a danger to people. Its venom produces severe local symptoms like

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blistering, pain, nausea, and alteration in the heart rate. One genus, Apparallactus, contains eight species whose diet consists solely of centipedes. It seems like a great waste of perfectly good venom, but there you are. Curiously enough, in Chinese myth the centipede (wu-gong) is considered the archenemy of the snake, and many Chinese folktales concern a hero who is saved from a snake by a centipede. And in ancient south China, it was said that people who ventured into the mountains carried with them a bamboo “rattle,” which imprisoned a large centipede. If a snake was nearby, the centipede warned the travelers by stirring uneasily about in its bamboo prison. The colubrids are the most familiar snake group, comprising about two-thirds of the 2,700 or so snake species. They got their start at the beginning of the Miocene period, about 30 million years ago, and are what you might think of as “typical snakes.” Many of the world’s most commonly kept “pets,” such as King and Milk Snakes (genus Lampropeltis), Garter Snakes (genus Thamnophis), Corn and Rat Snakes (genus Elaphe and others), are colubrids. About a third of the colubrid family developed venom; these are the rear-fanged venomous snakes (appearing in about seventy genera). The most troublesome rearfanged snake is the Brown Tree Snake (Boiga irregularis), a nocturnal, mildly venomous serpent native to Indonesia, New Guinea, and northern and eastern Australia. It kills using a combination of constriction and venom. Between World War II and 1952 this snake was accidentally introduced to Guam, probably from the Admiralty Islands. Soon all hell broke loose. The only native Guam snake is the earthworm-sized Brahminy Blind snake (Ramphotyphlops braminus), who lives its life practically unnoticed by anybody. The Brown Tree Snake, on the other hand, made itself noticed immediately and in a bad way. Straightaway it began to decimate the native bird population and virtually extirpating most native vertebrates. Of the eighteen species of native Guam birds, seven are now extinct, two are extinct in the wild (the Guam Rail and the Micronesian Kingfisher that survive only in captivity), six are rare, and three are uncommon. Five native lizard species have become extinct locally, and many small mammals are gone. However, the introduced mouse and black rat are doing just fine. Despite its name, the Brown Tree Snake is perfectly happy in grasslands as well as forest areas. While normally only 3–6 feet long, the creature reaches a length of 10 feet in its adopted home, due no doubt to the rich supply of food available—prey animals that have no natural enemies. The opportunistic Brown Tree Snakes eat almost anything and have reached extraordinarily high densities of as many as 13,000 per square mile. That is a lot of snakes; in fact, it is among the highest snake densities ever recorded anywhere. It does appear that the larger adults are showing signs of food-deprived stress, but they live long enough to mate and make baby snakes which snack handily off the small lizards, so the cycle continues. (Larger specimens have been documented stealing hamburgers off barbecue grills.) They can be highly aggressive when cornered, lunging and biting repeatedly—and envenomating small children, although no deaths have

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occurred. They frequently play havoc with the electrical grid as well, causing the main lines to be shut down after dusk, when the snakes are most active. The people of Guam would like nothing so much as to rid themselves of this terrible nuisance; however, the snakes are difficult to spot, secretive, and clever at hiding. While many ideas have been suggested as to how to get rid of them, none have proved workable. Most creatures that would eat Brown Tree Snakes would also eat the same things that the Brown Tree Snake does; King Snakes, which may target snakes in their diet, are terrestrial and not successful at climbing up after these arboreal invaders. More than 6,000 snakes are trapped and killed every year, but it’s not making much of a dent in the population. One possible solution involves spreading a paramyxovirus among the snakes; this promising virus cannot survive in animals with body temperatures above 95 degrees, making it no threat to mammals or birds but hard on snakes. It’s a thought. Brown Tree Snakes have also begun to show up on other previously snakeless islands, no doubt stowing away aboard merchant ships. So far more than six have appeared in Hawaii, which has no native snakes—and where it is strictly illegal to keep any species of snake as a pet. There is supposed to be a program in Guam to keep Brown Tree Snakes out of Hawaii, but it has run out of money. It’s hard to say where they will show up next. Elapids (cobras, kraits, mambas, and company) arose from the colubrids but left that estimable family long ago to form their own. There are about 300 species altogether of elapids, most of whom live in tropical areas. All are venomous. The most primitive elapids are burrowers who live in New Guinea and are so little known that they have no common English names. Kraits are short-fanged, vividly colored snakes found in open country throughout Asia; mambas come from Africa. Cobras are found all over Africa and Asia. Australia is the luckless home to the Small-Scaled or Inland Taipan and the Tiger Snake, both elapids ranking among the most venomous land snakes on earth. Altogether Australia has about sixty or so species of elapids, ranging in size from tiny burrowers to huge Taipans. Only one genus of elapids (Micrurus) occurs in North America, which consists of Coral Snakes. The sea snakes (family Hydrophiid), consisting of about fifteen genera of true sea snakes and one genus of Sea Kraits, are not generally well known, although they are common in the warm waters off Australia and Malaysia. Their encounters with people are rare and usually unremarkable, since they feed upon fish and are usually disinclined to bite people. However, all marine species are terribly venomous, so it is well to stay on their good side. Their rare bites are practically painless but frequently lethal. One of the most notorious families is the Viperids, a group containing more than thirty genera and over 200 species. Like the elapids and hydrophiids, all are venomous. Vipers tend to be stocky, heavy-bodied creatures with wide, menacing heads and a nasty expression. Some herpetologists describe them as “plump,” but that doesn’t seem quite right somehow. Despite their fearsome appearance and deadly capabilities, most have a fairly nonaggressive nature. About fifty of these

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(grouped into twelve genera) are “true vipers,” lacking a facial pit. There are no true vipers in the New World, but they are widely scattered throughout Europe, Asia, and Africa. Indeed, the widest ranging snake on earth, the common European Viper (Vipera berus), is a member of this group. The pit vipers, or crotalines, are noted for their eponymous heat-seeking organs—although some boids have them too, in a slightly different arrangement. Pits are a subfamily of vipers, although some taxonomists insist that they should have their own family, the Crotalidae, based on those extra holes in their heads. Others insist that true vipers and pit vipers should respectively be classified as Viperinae and Crotalinae and that are both subfamilies of Viperidae. This all gets rather wearying, since we are just rearranging snakes. Pit vipers occur in North America, South America, and southern Asia. Altogether, there are six genera of pit vipers: Crotalus (most rattlesnakes); Lachesis, with the Bushmaster (Lachesis muta) formerly as the sole member of the genus but now split into three or maybe four species; Agkistrodon (Moccasins/Cottonmouths and Copperheads); Bothrops (about thirty-one other New World pit vipers like the Fer-de-lance); and Trimeresurus (Asiatic pit vipers). Things are on the move in taxonomy, by the way. The class of Reptilia is getting bigger, not because new species are being discovered but because of some classification shuffling. For example, Reptilia now includes not only turtles (Testudines), snakes and lizards (Squamata), crocodiles and their relatives (Crocodilia) but even—gasp!—birds (Aves). It is the addition of birds that has caused such a stir, especially among people who can see little resemblance between a hummingbird and a boa constrictor. If asked, most birds would probably not like to be hooked up with snakes, either. Nonetheless, that’s the way it is. SNAKES 101: WHAT SNAKES DO In the natural world, snakes have a simple mission. They are designed to seek prey, kill it, swallow it, relax, and then repeat the process. However, since one meal lasts a snake a good long while, snakes spend a lot of time doing nothing at all—apparently. They spend little time on love and none on parenting. They have no hobbies, make no art, and are not capable of returning the affection of those who claim to love them. If they philosophize, we have no way of knowing their thoughts or theories. Perhaps it is enough that they have inspired in human civilizations great myths, wondrous tales, and even entire religious cults devoted to their worship. For themselves, snakes concentrate on being snakes. There may be little to love, but there is much to admire—and something to fear. BODY DESIGN: THE LEGLESS WONDER Snakes are most famous for their revolutionary body design—at least revolutionary for vertebrates. The most notable feature about snakes is that they have no

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legs, and the most famous story of how the snake ended up legless occurs in the second chapter of Genesis, along with an explanation of why people have to work and why childbirth is painful. (Eve and the Snake get the blame, but an objective reading of the story casts a dim light on God as well.) In any case, the snake’s temptation of Eve is one of the world’s great stories, not least because people cannot agree about what it means. The most curious thing about the temptation is the nature of it. The snake didn’t tempt Adam and Eve to have illicit sex, get drunk, smoke pot, or even indulge in a high-fat dessert. He simply invited them to nibble on some fiber-filled fruit, which is supposed to be good for you. Western tradition has generally depicted the forbidden fruit (hanging from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil) as an apple, but that is probably wrong. Apples don’t grow well in the Middle East. A pomegranate, or perhaps a nice persimmon, would be a more likely choice. The Bible simply tells us that the forbidden fruit was a tappuach, which isn’t very helpful. It must be that the tappuach was some kind of magical fruit, since neither apples and persimmons nor pomegranates wise you up any. At any rate, the snake told Eve to go right ahead and eat the fruit and that God forbade it only because he was afraid it would make the First Couple wise. The snake was telling the truth, but he got into trouble anyway. The same cannot be said for God. God told Adam not to eat the fruit of the tree, since, if he did, he would die that very day. This turned out to be a blatant falsehood. Adam not only did not die that day but actually hung on till the ripe old age of 930, an impressive record even by biblical standards. Some people try to make the case that if Adam and Eve had not eaten the tappuach, they would have lived forever and that God only doomed them to die at some (later) point in their lives. But that doesn’t make sense. It’s the fruit of the Tree of Life that gives immortality, not the Good and Evil Tree. However, the Bible lays the blame squarely on the snake. His punishment was to crawl on the ground forever and have his head bruised by the heel of the woman. More than one person has met death by stepping on snakes, but the Bible doesn’t mention any of that. In any case, the Genesis story is one of many that show up the serpent as being smart enough to trick people but getting his comeuppance anyway. Myth is just not usually kind to snakes. While Christian exegesis usually identified the famous tempter of Eve with Satan, the author of this section of Genesis, usually simply identified by the letter “J,” makes no such assumption at all. The snake is wise, crafty, and possibly deceitful, but he is no Devil. The Devil is not even mentioned in the story. Indeed, the writers of the Hebrew Bible had not discovered Satan yet and wouldn’t for centuries—until after the Babylonian Captivity. The symbolism of the biblical snake has haunted both laymen and biblical scholars from that day to this. Was the snake meant to be an emblem of sexuality, immortality, evil, wisdom, or all four? Was it the Devil? Or was it simply a snake? Were its intentions good or evil? Was it lying or telling the truth? Was it treated

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fairly by God—and consequently by us? Is its blackened reputation undeserved? (Later on, people identified other entities with the Devil, including, at divers times, Jews, Muslims, Haitians, Mormons, Catholics, Procter & Gamble, and various heads of state, including past and current presidents of the United States.) The early Christian work known as Physiologus drew a strange conclusion from the Genesis story. Noting that Eve seemed to get along well with the snake while in a state of undress, it concluded that just as snakes bite only people who are dressed and stay away from naked people, Christians should shun lust and presumably stay clothed. An alternate interpretation of this obviously silly story is that naked Christians would remain safe from snakebite. One early Gnostic group, active until Roman times, took the snake as their mascot and even named themselves the Ophites (“serpents”). They honored the Genesis snake and viewed him as the hero of the story. God, or the “Demiurge” as they called him, was the villain. A Talmudic tale adds some interesting details—and does bring in the Devil. According to the story, Satan (or Samael) entered the Garden on the back of a snake. As soon as the other animals got wind of the creatures, they sensed the presence of immense evil and took off. Then Satan began to sing some of the hymns he recalled from heaven. His voice was so sweet that even Eve stopped to listen to him. In such a way Satan was able to tempt her to take a bite out of the fruit, and she in turn tempted Adam. Snakes also make an appearance in Exodus. Moses and Aaron battled with the Egyptian magicians, turning their rods into serpents and so on in what was apparently a rather common parlor trick of the day. However, Aaron’s rod-snake won: “For they cast down every man his rod, and they became serpents: but Aaron’s rod swallowed up their rods.” Later, in the same work the story of the brazen serpent appears, which is probably a remnant of a snake worship cult. A later Israelite king finally destroyed it. The Bible is not alone in its portrayal of snakes hiding out in the Tree of Life. Snake-infested, magical trees appear in other mythologies as well. In Norse myth the Nidhogg (the “dread biter”) lies coiled around one of the three roots of Yggdrasil, the Norse version of the Tree of Life. Nidhogg attempts to either choke the tree or chew the life from its roots. Yet another Life Tree is found in the old Slavic religion. Here the snake god Volos reigns over the underworld, watching over the roots of the Tree of Life. (In some renditions Volos is more properly a dragon than a snake, a confusion appearing worldwide.) The Maya also had a world tree, in whose branches lived the Cosmic Serpent Kukulkan. What snakes lack in legs they make up for in vertebrae. They are a snake’s forte, with most species owning about 120 of them; the Oenpelli Python (Morelia oenpelliensis) boasts 585. This large number is necessary to give the snake its tremendous flexibility; the vertebrae interlock in a sort of ball and socket joint. In addition, each vertebra possesses bony prongs called zygapophyses which stretch forward to touch similar prongs in the vertebra just in front. This jigsaw-like arrangement means the joints are terrifically strong but does limit twisting to

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about 25 degrees between individual vertebrae. (The Navajo make necklaces of snake vertebrae.) Every vertebra except the first two and those in the tail has a pair of ribs that encircles more than half the trunk. To make things match up even more neatly, most snakes (except the Typhlopidae or blind snakes) have a pair of ribs for each belly scale—so if you count the belly scales you will know how many ribs the snake in questions has. Technically, belly scales are known as scutes, which indeed help the snake “scoot” along the ground. The vertebrae and free ends of the ribs are linked by powerful muscles that aid locomotion and in some species help kill prey. While to the casual onlooker, snakes seem all in one piece, they actually have tails. Vipers tend to have short tails, while elapids and colubrids have longer ones. But that’s a generalization, and it requires looking more closely than most people want to. The subject of the snake’s tail or lack of it has churned up a good deal of folklore. A Romanian folktale about Noah’s flood addresses this topic. It seems that while Noah was afloat on the high seas, the Devil was busy below drilling holes into the ark so that it would sink. The cunning serpent, however, slid up to Noah and said, “What will you give me if I stop up these holes? You know what a good swimmer I am. I can do it from beneath the ark. Otherwise, I’ll just jump ship and swim away.” “What do you want?” cried the desperate Noah. “After we land, you hand over one person every day for me to eat.” “All right,” murmured the defeated sailor. The snake swam under the ship and neatly plugged up each hole with a bit of his tail, which he then cut off. This explains why snakes have no tails now. Some people might say that snakes have nothing but tails, but everyone is entitled to his own view. Anyway, the ark landed, and Noah made his famous burnt offering to the Lord in thanks. At that inopportune time, the snake appeared demanding his first course. “You must be crazy,” said Noah. “One person a day! There are only eight people left in the world now!” He grabbed the snake and threw it into the fire, where it burned up and began to stink something awful. “Goodness, what a stench,” thought God. He rustled up a big wind, which blew the snake ashes all over the globe. The ashes hatched into billions of fleas which together, so the tale says, drink up enough human blood to supply one person to make the snake’s original demand come true. Actually, fleas probably consume a lot more than that. THE REAL SKINNY ON SCALES Contrary to popular opinion, snakeskin is not in the least slimy; it is dry and smooth and feels more like cheap plastic than anything else. But it’s pretty magical stuff. It protects the snake from bacteria and other insults, helps control body temperatures, produces sex-related hormones, and even regulates water and gas exchange. Unlike mammals and birds, snakes have neither fur nor feathers, although hairy, bearded, and feathered snakes turn up with unnerving frequency in

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mythology. In some parts of Africa, special “snake hair” can be used as a powerful charm. The trick is trying to get the hair: the snake has to be made drunk on beer first. As snakes are both hairless and teetotalers, there is real magic involved in this pursuit. Despite the natural fact that snakeskin is dry and often rough, the notion that snakeskin is slimy is perpetuated among many cultures. The Lakota people, for example, tell of a one-horned snakelike beast, Uncegila, 30–50 feet long and cunning beyond measure. A “bad witch,” she could move both on the ground and beneath it, oozing a deadly slime the whole while that was lethal not merely to human flesh but also to plants and even the earth itself. Uncegila could swallow people whole, suffocate them with her weight, kill them at a glance from her single eye, or at the very least make them crazy. This is proved by the fact that today people who have claimed to see her are universally considered mad. Since snakes are not able to control their own body temperature, they often feel rather cold to the touch, which is not, for most people, a pleasant sensation. But the real miracle of snakeskin is that it has to be smooth and rough at the same time— smooth enough to glide effortlessly along the ground but rough enough to take advantage of uneven ground to help move them along. This is why overlapping scales, characteristic of most snakes, are such a great invention. Blind snakes and other burrowing snakes, however, have smooth, shiny scales all over, to help them slide through the ground with ease; they lack the wide ventral scales that other snakes use to move along with. The Royal Python, although not strictly a burrower, does spend a lot of time underground and also has distinct, nonoverlapping scales. Other species, like Puff Adders and Wart Snakes (and indeed most vipers), have rough or keeled scales that aid in gripping surfaces. Real snakeskin consists of two (or three, depending on how you are counting) layers. The inner layer, or dermis, is loaded with blood vessels, glands, and nerve endings; it is soft and pliable. This layer contains the pigment cells that give each species its unique color. The Roman naturalist and historian Pliny the Elder, in his monumental Natural History, reported that “ordinarily” snakes “are of the color of the earth wherein they lie hidden.” As is generally true of serpent lore, sometimes this is true, and sometimes it isn’t. And while many are indeed cryptically inclined, other blaze with glorious and terrifying color. Pigments in snakeskin are black, yellow, and red, all created by color-producing cells called melanophores, xanthophores, and erythrophores respectively. Melanophores are the most numerous of pigment cells, and the amount of black pigment (melanin) they produce creates the overall color pattern. Melanin also acts to protect the internal organs from solar radiation. It is quite common for snakes to be born with differing amounts or none of some of these pigments. A snake lacking melanin, for example, exhibits a pattern called “amelanistic.” Those lacking red are “anerythristic,” and those without yellow are “axanthic.” Those with no pigment at all are true albinos, a rare phenomenon. Such snakes have pink eyes. White snakes have long been thought to be magical; the thirteenth century occultist Michael Scott (the so-called border wizard of Scotland), for example,

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tasted the “juice” of a white snake and acquired wisdom. The Mensa Bet-Abrahe people of Ethiopia tell a tale about a pure white snake known as heway, which has huge eyes and a lethal stare. It’s safe enough if you see the snake first: just close your eyes and run away. But if the snake sees you first, you’re a goner. And if you drink from a well the heway has drunk from, you’ll die from the poisoned water. Luckily, say the old-timers, the heway is seldom seen these days. Blue is a trickier color to come by. “If snakes were blue,” wrote Robert Penn Warren in his poem of that title, “it was the kind of day / That would uncoil in a luxurious ease.” In fact, snakes can be blue, although it is not common. A set of cells called iridophores contains purine crystals. These crystals refract light to make blue, an interesting process usually called Tyndall scattering, after John Tyndall took the first steps in 1859 to study it. He wasn’t interested in snake coloration, though. Like everyone else, he wanted to know why the sky is blue. He didn’t get it exactly right (Einstein explained it correctly in 1911), but it was a start. Yellow pigment is a fat-based compound. It breaks down when the snake dies, so that the snakeskin changes from green to blue or gray. Snakes have no “green” pigment; yellow and blue have to be combined to form it. According to Robert Beverly (1722) the color of a snake becomes more vibrant as it “charms” its prey. Even more remarkable, according to a very early (1642) account reported by Kauber, a person who is bitten by a rattlesnake will acquire the very colors and patterns of that snake. One of the most interesting color tricks is possessed by the nocturnal Green Tree Python (Chondropython viridis), which lives in Papua New Guinea and the tip of northeastern Australia, spending its entire life in the tree canopy. It is born either bright yellow or brick red and may stay that color for 2 to 3 years, although some change within a few weeks after birth. Different colors can appear in the same clutch. Then, over the course of just a few weeks, it changes into its green adult color and not by shedding. Instead, a green spot appears in the center of each scale and gradually spreads until each scale is bright green. A few adults, however, remain yellow or turn blue. This snake is endangered because of habitat destruction and the skin trade. Juvenile snakes of many species are colored differently from their parents, although the reason is not clear. In addition to ordinary color pigments, a few snakes such as Rainbow Boas (Epicrates cenchria), Sunbeam Snakes (Xenopeltis unicolor), and Reticulated Pythons (Python reticulatus) possess a special layer of smooth scales that creates a shimmering, iridescent effect. The Western Rattlesnake (Crotalus viridis) is known for being able to change its color from dark to light and vice versa within the space of a minute or two depending on its surroundings. Other species such as Dwarf Boas (genus Tropidophis) and Madagascan Boas (genus Sanzina) are able to darken or lighten with change in daylight, but the process takes longer. Some species of snakes such as Garter Snakes (genus Thamnophis) sport a wide variety of spots, stripes, and blotches, depending on the individual and the geographic region. An Okanagon myth explains one color pattern of the common Garter Snake: Every winter the fearsome Thunderbird of the north demanded the sacrifice of a beautiful maiden from the Indian villages. As everyone was

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rightly terrified of the Thunderbird, Garter Snake (Sku-qua-wel’hau) decided to do something about the yearly virgin sacrifice. (The young lady chosen that year was one of whom the snake was particularly fond.) As the maiden, crying and wailing, approached the monster to be eaten, Garter Snake crept quietly behind her, wearing his best war bonnet. The maiden caught a glimpse of her friend and begged him to return to the village lest he too be killed. “No deal,” said Garter Snake grimly. “I go where you go.” Soon the roar of wings announced the arrival of the dreaded Thunderbird, spitting fire and lightning in all directions. Garter Snake held firm and even spat fire back at Thunderbird. Thunderbird hung fire, confused. Then he inquired what Garter Snake did fear. “Nothing!” spat the snake, filled with bravado. “You want a fight, big guy? You got one!” And he spat some more fire at Thunderbird. That did it for Thunderbird, who, like all cowards, was unable to back up his threats, and he hightailed it back north, chased by the spitting Garter Snake, who yelled at him the whole way: “And you know what else, Thunderbird? You will never terrorize my people again! From this day on, you’ve got to stay in the sky and fly through space. The earth belongs to us, to the human people and the snake people.” It should not be surprising that Garter Snake was able to chase the Thunderbird so far north. In general they are among the most cold tolerant of snakes, being among the last to go into hibernation and the first to emerge in the spring. The villagers were so grateful to their little snake champion that they gave him a beautiful green stripy blanket to wear—and he has proudly worn it ever since. Indeed, the humble Garter Snake has played a surprisingly large role in Indian legend. These ubiquitous creatures (among the most widely distributed snakes in the United States, occurring from Canada to Mexico, and the only snake found in Alaska) generally have a benevolent role in Native American tales. The Arapaho people tell the legend of the Sun Dance Wheel, in which the Garter Snake created the wheel that symbolizes all creation. To this day, the Sun Dance Wheel features the image of this snake. Among snake fanciers, they are rather commonly kept as pets; they are handsome, tough, resilient snakes adaptable to a wide variety of environments, tame quickly, and are not fussy in their eating habits. With a little patience they can be induced to dine upon bologna and hot dogs, although this isn’t any better for them than it is for humans. Possibly because they are so cold tolerant, they have a higher metabolism than other snakes. In any case, they need to eat on a regular basis; fasting seems to wear them out. I should point out that there are Garter Snakes and Garter Snakes: common names can be deceiving. There are Garter Snakes (genus Elapsoidea) in Africa, for instance, but unlike the American species of the same name, these are semiburrowing elapids. All are venomous. Still, you never really know about snakes. Naturalist and African snake expert Stephen Spawls, in his Sun, Sand, and Snakes, recounts how his friend Matthew Parker was bitten in the hand by an African Garter Snake; Parker suffered only minor pain, but the snake died 4 hours later. Modern snake hobbyists and commercial breeders are very keen on developing unusual color patterns in snakes, including albino. The Corn or Red Rat Snake (Elaphe guttata), native to the southeastern United States, is probably the most

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widely bred commercial snake in the world. This lovely nocturnal snake comes in several designer patterns; the name “Corn Snake” derives from the appearance of yellow or parti-colored “corncobs” on its side. Tasty-sounding color varieties such as “butter corn,” “caramel corn,” and “snow corn” are on the market. Popular patterns include motley, striped, Aztec, Creamsicle, and candy cane. These snakes are highly desirable “pets,” as they are beautiful, docile, and eat their dinners without complaint. (Despite the fact that so many people fear being devoured or at least bitten by snakes, captive specimens of many species are reluctant to eat anything at all.) The skin’s outer layer of cells, or epidermis, is much thinner than the dermis, only about two-thousandth of an inch thick, but it’s very tough. Its main job is to produce waterproof scales made of keratin, a hornlike substance. Human nails are also made of keratin; we have more in common with snakes than you might imagine. Keratin itself does not stretch, but there are thin, flexible, stretchable areas of interstitial skin between the scales that do this work. Snake scales protect against rough ground, parasites, predators, and even would-be victims. They also aid in locomotion. Despite the toughness of snakeskin, it is as sensitive as human fingertips. A snake can respond immediately to being tickled with a feather. Snake scales are merely folded skin—not individual scales such as fish have. The largest scales are generally located on the top of the head; body scales occur in regular rows, with a fixed number for each row. The number is usually odd, ranging from thirteen to twenty-seven. This number is fixed for each species and remains the same throughout the life of the snake. Each scale has an outer surface, an inner surface, a “hinge zone” (where the actual folding happens), and an extra piece that usually overlaps the next scale. Some scales have apical pits. The function of these pits is obscure, but they have nerve endings, so presumably they do something. They may be light sensitive, or they may play a part in chemical communication. However, not all species have them. A few snakes, such as Sidewinders, possess specialized scales above the eyes. They look like horns and are sometimes even called horns, although the technical term for them is “supraoculars.” The very outer layer of snakeskin is dead and must be shed if the snake is to grow. This happens up to six times a year, depending upon many factors. (Snakes do not shed during hibernation, however.) In one myth, rattlesnakes shed their skins once a year for 7 years and then stop forever. The technical name for shedding is ecdysis, but the terms “molting” and “sloughing” are also used. Of course, we human beings shed our skin as well: we just do it constantly in little bits instead of in one big piece. In myths all around the world, it is the snake’s ability to shed his skin that has intimations of his immortality. The Wafipa and Wabende people of East Africa tell this story. One day the great god Leza stepped down to earth and asked all living creatures, “Who wishes never to die?” Unfortunately, everyone was asleep except for the eyelid-less snake who immediately responded, “I do!” It is he therefore who never dies but who gains renewed life and strength every time he sheds his skin. In an American Indian myth, the friendly Garter Snake wants men to shed their skins as he does and thus live forever, but the other snakes want humans to

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die, and they win. In modern Egyptian myth, snakes never die. When they grow old, they sprout wings and fly away, yet another version of the ubiquitous winged serpent story. There is a Welsh myth to the effect that snakes who drink a woman’s breast milk that has spilled on the ground and then eat sacramental bread will sprout wings and fly. This is such as unlikely combination of events that it may as well be true as not. According to the ancient Epic of Gilgamesh, snakes developed this remarkable ability when Gilgamesh discovered a magical plant that conferred eternal life. (In modern Arabic the words for “snake” and “life” are very similar—el-hayat for life and el-hayyah for snake.) While Gilgamesh was washing himself at a pool, a snake rose up out of the water and ate the plant, thus acquiring the immortal gift for himself, a gift manifested every time the snake sheds his skin and acquires “new life.” The connection to the snake in Eden, who in a way stole the gift of eternal life from Adam and Eve, is pointed. It is especially so when we know that the writer of the Genesis tale was well acquainted with the Gilgamesh story. Despite being a symbol of immortality, real snakes don’t have a preternaturally long life. While we can only guess at the lifespan attained by wild snakes, the record for a captive snake is a Ball Python that arrived at the Philadelphia Zoo as a young adult and lived for 47 years afterward, nothing compared to the vast ages attained by some large tortoises. Other captive snakes have lived for 15–30 years. There seems to be no relationship between size and length of life, however, at least judging by the little data we have. Nor will an injured snake die before sundown, as some folktales claim. An injured snake will die in its own good time or heal and get on with life, just like the rest of us. Another story centering on ecdysis comes from Vishnu Sharma’s the Panchatantra, an Indian collection of ancient animal fables. A Brahmin named Devasarman and his wife were childless. He offered up a sacrifice for the birth of a child and was promised a son of surpassing beauty and virtue. Imagine how surprised the couple was when the wife gave birth to a snake. Still, she loved her scaly son dearly and kept him in a large clean container. He dined upon milk and fresh butter and attained his full growth within a day. She began to think of marriage for her son and sent her husband out to look for a suitable wife. He returned with, not a snake as you might expect, but a beautiful young woman. The girl was somewhat taken aback when she met her snaky fianc´e but bravely went through with the ceremony. “A promise is a promise,” she said, and in fact the girl became a model wife to the serpent. One night as she lay sleeping in bed, a handsome man climbed in beside her. “Heavens,” she said. “Remove yourself immediately from my bed. I am a married woman!” The young man said, “Indeed, honored one, I am your husband.” “You cannot be,” she insisted. “My husband is a serpent.” The husband obligingly went back to his container, wherein lay a snakeskin, entered it, and then reemerged as a handsome Brahmin adorned with glittering jewels and gold, thus proving to his wife his dual nature. They then enjoyed a night of love. The husband’s clever father, when he discovered what was going

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on, quickly threw the snakeskin into a fire, so that his child would remain a human being and ideal son forever after. No complaints from the wife either. There is a similar folktale from Germany, in which a servant girl is chosen to marry a snake that is, of course, a prince in disguise. (He was born a snake because his parents were very disagreeable.) In this case his princeliness was revealed on their wedding night. “Get undressed,” he told his bride. “You first,” said the shy girl. He stepped out of his skin. This is repeated until he stepped out of seven skins, but eventually his true self was revealed, and they lived happily ever after. The Hitchiti Indians of Mississippi tell a tale of a hunter who also turned into a snake—on purpose. This is rather a “reverse shedding” myth. He apparently just wanted to see what it would be like, so he ate the magical transformational formula—the brain of a black snake, the brain of a wild turkey, and the brain of a black squirrel. Sure enough, he felt himself slowly turning into a serpent until he was a 100% bona fide snake. He regretted the experiment of course, but it was too late, and there was nothing to be done about it. He crawled sadly up to his distraught parents, who had learned what had occurred, and lay his head against his mother’s cheek. He wrapped himself around both parents, snuggling up as close as possible, but it was useless. A snake he was, and a snake he would remain. Slowly and sadly he crawled back into the forest lake. This is the origin of the so-called “Tie” snake, considered by the Hitchiti more “human” than other members of the serpent clan. In the days before shedding, the snake becomes lethargic and its colors dull. (The Roman naturalist Pliny stated that snakes eat or rub themselves with fennel prior to shedding to help the process, although this is a phenomenon never observed by anyone else.) In order to prepare for the big event, the snake secretes a special fluid between the old and new layers. The fluid darkens the skin and turns the eye caps blue. The blood vessels in the front of the head become engorged, and the whole head of the snake swells. As the swelling starts to go down, the paper-thin skin starts to detach, beginning right along the edge of the jaws. The snake then rubs his head on a jutting root or rock and crawls out of the old skin, turning it inside out in one piece. If the skin is shed in several pieces, it may be a sign that the animal is not in good health. A Pennsylvania Dutch legend says that shedding snakes pull themselves through briar patches; the briars act like hooks to help pull off the snakeskin. The shedding process takes several hours, and the resulting product is an exact copy of the snake’s scale pattern. Held up to the light, it is almost transparent. The shed skin is somewhat longer than the original snake, since it stretches as the snake sloughs it away. This has led to several exaggerated accounts of various snake sizes. The brand new snakeskin is glowing and very impressive, possibly one reason for the many stories told about snake shedding their ugly skins to reveal a glorious being within. In Chinese lore, a snakeskin should never be thrown away, for if kept it will bring riches. The Galla people of East Africa tell this story about snakeskins and their connection to immortality. God wished to grant his people eternal life, and he sent

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down the Holawaka bird to spread the good news. The intended message was, “When men grow old, they will be able to slip out of their wrinkled skin and begin life again.” He even gave the bird a crest as a badge of office, which it carries to this day. However, as the bird was flying along, he came upon a snake devouring a meal and begged some. The snake refused. Flustered with greed, the bird said, “I will tell you a secret if you share.” “Okay,” agreed the snake. However, the bird, his brain confused by greed and hunger, mixed up the message, and said, “When people get old and wrinkled they will die, but snakes will be able to slip out of their skins and start life anew.” And so it was. Sometimes skin shedding is presented more allegorically. The unknown author of the early Christian work Physiologus, for instance, taking for a model the snake’s shedding its old skin, urges Christians to slough of the “old age of this world” and become rejuvenated. Snakeskin has some economic importance, too. For example, the nocturnal Elephant’s Trunk Snake, also known as the Javan Wart Snake (Acrochordus javanicus), belonging to a family not closely related to other snakes, provides leather under the name karong. (Other snakeskins used in the leather goods business include that of the huge Reticulated Python.) Besides its importance in the leather trade, the most interesting thing about this aquatic Javan Wart Snake is the loose, saggy skin that does not bulge after a big meal the way those of other snakes do. While it seldom grows longer than 6 feet, its girth measure a foot. Although it is not venomous, it has a reputation of being rather ill-tempered with a nasty bite—enhanced by the fact that its teeth often break off into the wound. Its bad nature is probably the result of being the target of the handbag industry. This snake is becoming increasingly rare—as it will not breed in captivity. Fortunately, countries such as India and Sri Lanka have banned the sale of snakeskins altogether, although plenty of poaching occurs. GETTING A MOVE ON: REALLY CREEPY LOCOMOTION Snakes employ a variety of ways of getting along (literally) in the world, although most people simply designate their movement as a crawl. Actually, it is a lot more complicated than that. The word “serpent” derives from the Sanskrit word sarpa, which has its roots in the sr.p, which means “to glide.” Their motion is indeed a glide, sometimes seen as sensual, sometimes as disgusting, depending upon the observer and his feeling about snakes or sex. In one of his lectures, S.T. Coleridge actually compared the work of Shakespeare to the movement of a serpent, “which makes a fulcrum of its own body, and seems forever twisting and untwisting its own strength.” Movement type is partly indicated by body shape. In general, vipers and boids are bulky types, while colubrids and elapids are slender. Ground-dwelling species have a flattened underside, but burrowers are cylindrical. Tree snakes, as you might expect, tend to be light, with long pointed heads that won’t “weigh the snake down” as it proceeds up to the next branch. Other species, though, are flat

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to give them both rigidity and lightness as they glide from branch to branch. Some arboreal snakes may be more “loaf-shaped”; this gives them an extra “edge,” as it were, to grip bark as they climb. Kraits are triangular in shape—but no one is sure exactly why. Snakes have a choice of four major perambulatory styles, sometimes dictated by species, although many snakes use different methods, depending on terrain and circumstance. The most popular style is the eponymous serpentine (undulatory or sinusoidal) movement, a series of S curves, and nearly all terrestrial snakes use this movement at least sometimes. Herpetologist Clifford H. Pope once wrote, “A crawling snake suggests a stream of water flowing along a winding bed.” The Pima Indians tell a folktale in which Rattlesnake was called “Soft Child,” because his movements were as soft as a breeze. But there is really nothing soft about it. The snake uses powerful muscles that alternately contract and relax to bend the spine. The forward thrust is localized on the outer rear edge of each curve of the snake’s body, so the snake pushes and pulls at the same time. As the snake undulates, the track left behind is a straight line; indeed each part of the body passes along the same points on the surface. The snake can employ this motion while swimming, climbing, or moving along the ground. Long, thin snakes are most efficient at this kind of movement. They get sufficient traction by pushing off from a pebble or other slight irregularity in the terrain. If a snake were placed on a plate of smooth glass it would not be able to proceed. Even swimming snakes perform essentially this same kind of locomotion, using the back edge of the body’s loop to throw themselves forward. All snakes, including desert varieties, can swim. It comes naturally to them. Sea snakes, however, compress their bodies in a more marked S, which gives them even greater speed. They also have vertically compressed tails, which gets them through the water faster. A second way of making progress is the accordion or concertina method, used primarily by tree-dwelling snakes. A form of this motion is also used by burrowing snakes when digging. When the tunnel is actually built, snakes use a serpentine motion to get through it. The arboreal Green Whip Snake is an example of such a mover; perhaps the Garden of Eden snake, who lived, one assumes in the branches of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, was a member of this species. In this movement style, the serpent concentrates the S curves, so they are bunched up like an accordion. From the bunched, stationary position, the snake shoots out straight, using its tail as a sort of “anchor.” When the snake’s front end hits the earth, it acts as the new anchor while the rear drags along behind and forms a new series of bunched S curves. Both burrowing and arboreal species have a penchant for this movement, as they can use a branch or the side of the burrow for additional purchase. Tree snakes may also use a more conventional locomotion method, when it serves their needs. And while the majority of tree-dwelling snakes have small, light heads, some, like Chunkhead (Blunthead) snakes have heavy heads that permit maximum body extension across gaps in the branches. (The Rough Green Snake is the only U.S. species that regularly lives in trees.)

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Most curious perhaps is a third locomotive method—the famous sidewinder movement employed by desert snakes around the world, even ones not closely related to each other. The sidewind is actually a combination of swimming and crawling motions. This movement is necessitated when the ground surface gives no real purchase. Sand, for instance, never stays where it is supposed to but keeps shifting beneath the snake. In sidewinding the “resistance points” are yielding, not rigid. The snake throws his head and upper part of his body forward and then presses them down to gain a hold. The snake loops the middle part of his body both forward and sideways, pressing the body down again at the new “anchor.” The rest of the body is then twisted forwards. Only two short parts of the snake are touching the ground at any one time. It not only solves the shifting-sand problem but also allows minimum contact with the blazing hot desert floor. The snake seems to move sideways, although he isn’t really, and the tracks left behind look like the letter J. The “cross piece” of the J is made by the tail as it pushes free of the ground. For reasons not clearly understood, sidewinders seem to have more endurance and tire less easily than other snakes. This is important, as they must frequently travel long distances to find food in the desert. Sidewinder tracks can sometimes be traced for hundreds of meters. Noted sidewinders include the Sidewinder Rattlesnake (Crotalus cerastes), the Desert Horned Viper (Cerastes cerastes), and Peringuey’s Death Adder (Bitis peringueyi). Peringuey’s Death Adder has another remarkable ability as well, also conferred by the necessity of living in the desert. It actually raises and flattens its neck in order to condense coastal desert fog—then drinks it. Another desert dweller, the Rosy Boa (Lichanura trivirgata), is known for its amazing ability to climb straight up vertical rocks; indeed it is seldom found away from them. It is not really “rosy,” as its common name suggests, however. But many individual have wonderful orange stripes, and that makes up for a lot. There might be something truly magical about sidewinders and their tracks. Julian Hayden, an old time desert rat and collector of archaeological materials, recounts that in the 1960s he was traveling through the volcanic cones of Mexico’s Pinacate region and admiring the multitude of sidewinder tracks. Then he noticed something strange—small human footprints among the tracks appearing suddenly in the smooth sand, then just as suddenly disappearing. He never found an explanation, but it is likely that the snake had some reason to assume human shape as least temporarily. It seems to be a common occurrence. Snakes can also move in a straight line without the handy S movement. In this fourth type of movement, they shove themselves along by using their large belly or ventral scales. These scales protrude just enough for the snake to use the scale edge like a tractor tread. Each rib is pulled forward by the contraction of muscles on the vertebrae immediately in front of the rib. There is no sideways (lateral) motion at all; the contractions are symmetrical. This is really stranger than it seems, because the snake literally moves its scales forward and then sort of slides the rest of his body into them to “catch up” in a straight line. Contractions pass rearward

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toward the tail. This is called rectilinear crawling or creeping and is favored by big heavy snakes who don’t want to expend a lot of energy. It is also sometimes used by smaller snakes when stalking prey and during the cool of the evening or when the snake is crossing a road or other smooth surface. Rectilinear crawling is slow, purposeful, and just as creepy as every other kind of snakey movement. Sometimes this kind of motion is called “walking on his ribs,” although the ribs are not actually employed. While some slender colubrids do attempt to chase down their prey, their failure rates are very high. It’s probably not worth the effort. Snakes do better sneaking up on or ambushing their prey. However, even the fastest snakes are not generally very fast—and most move at the rate of about 2 miles per hour, although an irritated Black Mamba can skip along at 10–12 miles per hour. The American Black Racer (Coluber constrictor) is another aggressive snake that may in fact occasionally chase people. It can move at the pace of a very fast walk for people. However, it does not target pregnant women, as is frequently asserted in folklore, although women in late pregnancy are somewhat slower than they might be if unencumbered. Nor under any circumstances do snakes outrun horses. It is sometimes said that if chased by a Black Racer, all the runner needs to do is to change directions quickly and the snake’s back will be broken. To complete the picture (and to possibly add a fifth movement), we have only to mention the tree snakes of Borneo and southeast Asia (genus Chrysopelea), who in their leaping from branch to branch, flatten out their stomachs and glide downwards. These snakes have specially adapted ventral scales that create a “pocket” along the full length of the trunk to make a kind of full body parachute. They actually “swim” through the air in an undulating movement and can travel over 330 feet in this way. There is a myth that such “flying snakes” can pierce the eye of an innocent victim; if anyone does get bopped by a gliding snake, it’s just an accident. The gliding snake is possibly the source of some “flying snake” myths. According to Greek lore, for example, the agricultural goddess, Demeter, pursued Hades in a chariot of winged serpents. As a typical earth goddess, it seems fitting that snakes should be her special animals, although of course these were special snakes too. In more ordinary times, Demeter was the patroness of pig farmers. It is well known that pigs hate snakes. It’s an odd world that we live in. There is a bit of an argument going on in herpetological circles as to whether or not snakes can jump. The Navajo people warned that if you do run across a snake, it’s wise to keep your mouth shut. If you open it, the snake will jump in. Normally, we should say this is a myth, but there is the odd case of the Jumping Viper (Bothrops nummifer), affectionately known as the Tommygoff, which lives in Mexico and Central America. It is able to hurl itself at its enemies by springing off its tail, which it also may raise above the ground a couple inches. Despite this fearsome show, the Tommygoff is not very dangerous, although it can certainly give someone a scare. No discussion of snake movement can be complete without mentioning the hoop snake. The hoop snake is a creature “known” to grasp its tail in its mouth

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and form a hoop with its body—then escape by rolling away. (This motif is as old as time; indeed there is a Gnostic image of a world serpent who forms a circle in just this way. According to the English traveler J.F.D. Smyth, whose Tour in the U.S.A. I previously mentioned in connection with his lies about horn snakes: [a]s other serpents crawl upon their bellies, so can this; but he has another method of moving peculiar to his own species, which he always adopts when he is in eager pursuit of his prey; he throws himself into a circle, running rapidly around, advancing like a hoop, with his tail arising and pointed forward in the circle, by which he is always in the ready position of striking. It is observed that they only make use of this method in attacking; for when they fly from their enemy they go upon their bellies, like other serpents. From the above circumstance, peculiar to themselves, they have also derived the appellation of hoop snakes.

In a more startling and expanded version of this notion, it is stated that the hoop snake kills everything in its path as it rolls ferociously along. Sometimes it accomplishes this feat by straightening out at the last second as it whirls by and stinging or skewering the victim with its tail. One’s only chance is to hide behind a tree and hope the snake stings it instead. If it does, the tree will wither up and die. The relationship between hoop snakes and horn snakes is complex, as often happens among mythical animals, with some people claiming they belong to different species and others, like Smyth, maintaining that they are one and the same. Since both are imaginary it’s impossible to say who is right. Every once in a while someone claims to have seen a hoop snake rolling across a pasture, just as people claim to see yetis and the Loch Ness Monster. In the early part of the twentieth century, the famed herpetologist Raymond Ditmars placed $10,000 in trust at a New York bank for the first person to provide real evidence of a hoop snake. It went unclaimed. One species of hoop snake apparently lives in Pennsylvania, according to a story retold by S.E. Schlosser, author of the Spooky series by Globe Pequot Press: One feller I knew, he was hoeing in his field when a hoop snake came rolling towards him. He ducked behind his hoe, figuring he was a goner, but the snake’s tail hit the hoe instead of him, and there it stuck. Well, he just high-tailed it out of there right quick and headed for home. He knew he had to wait until dusk to get his hoe. Hoop snakes what get into fights never die before sundown. Sure enough, he went back after sundown, and that hoop snake was as dead as your average doornail. The handle of the hoe was so swollen up with poison that the farmer had it cut up and shingled his barn with it. ’Course, I happen to know that they all fell off after the first big storm because the rain washed the poison right out of them. But you can’t blame a feller for trying.

Stories of the hoop snakes are found in the Pecos Bill legends, and the animals supposedly reside along the Minnesota–Wisconsin border, in the St. Croix River

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valley. There is a strong but probably not derivative connection here with the ouroboros, or tail-swallowing snake, of Greek mythology. Some experts believe the hoop snake is just another version of the Sidewinder (Crotalus cerastes), Rainbow Snake (Abastor erythrogrammus), or Mud Snake (Farancia abacura), the last two of which are indeed known in parts of the South as “hoop snakes.” However, this attribution is doubtful, as many hoop snake tales emerge from regions where these snakes are unknown. In any case, no snake of any species makes hoops and rolls around. Back in 1925, Karl Patterson Schmidt, assistant curator of reptiles and amphibians at the Field Museum of Natural History, offered his own theory in “The Hoop Snake Story: With Some Theories of its Origin” in Natural History magazine (January–February issue): “The habit of the common black snake of eastern North America of gliding along at great speed over the tops of bushes, without descending to the ground, may have a bearing on the origin of the belief in the hoop snake’s rolling method of progression. Where Rainbow Snakes do not occur, there seems to be a tendency to identify the hoop snake with the Black Snake or Blue Racer.” He also suggests some scorpion mythology got mixed up in all this. However, no snake, hoop or otherwise, no matter how talented, can crawl backwards. Worms can but not snakes. There’s a limit to everything. THE COLDEST BLOOD Like all reptiles (indeed like all animals except birds and mammals), snakes are saddled with the unattractive moniker “cold-blooded.” The technical name for this sort of creature is “ectotherm,” a term derived from the Greek, meaning “outside heat.” Birds and mammals, by contrast, are “endotherms,” which means we can use our internal metabolic heat to maintain a comfortable and consistent temperature. Snakes must have an external heat source. The main external heat source, naturally, is the sun, and for most snakes the ideal temperature is a balmy 85 degrees or so, somewhat lower than for lizards. A warm temperature is critical for their digestive process, which stops when the snake cools down too much. Of course, the temperatures can get too warm as well; about 104 degrees is the upper limit most snakes can stand. The snake’s long body creates both problems and advantages, ectothermically speaking. Because of its high surface area–body mass ratio, temperature extremes can be truly dangerous. A body can heat up really fast in the desert, which requires most desert snakes to be nocturnal. However, the rapid warming can be very useful on an early spring day in temperate zones. The long body shape also enables snakes to expose just parts of themselves to gain needed warmth, with the rest of the body conveniently hidden. Desert snakes, when not on the prowl, often bury themselves partly or completely in the sand, which keeps them cooler during the day and warmer at night.

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Snakes of a more northerly stripe, so to speak, resort to ingenious methods to keep alive. In the first place, they tend to be more conservative in size and coloration. Smaller size means less heat needed to maintain life, and darker colors enable the snake to absorb sunlight more efficiently. A really big northern snake would take so long to heat up that it wouldn’t have time for its hunting activities. Snakes living in colder climates also tend to bear live young, keeping the eggs within the body until they hatch. They are thus able to provide their developing embryos a more favorable environment. Second, snakes take advantage of basking in the daytime in order to soak up enough heat to provide energy during the cooler evenings. The yellow-bellied sea snake (Pelamis laturus) floats very close to the surface of the water and stays perfectly still, soaking up the rays. Desert snakes need to be particularly adaptive. Many of them hide in burrows during the summer days and become active only at night. In the winter, on the other hand, the same species may be active only during the day. The European Viper or “Adder” (Vipera berus) and American Garter Snake are the snake champions for handling cold, with some individuals found almost as far north as the Arctic Circle. The former is the only snake found in Scotland. Scotland therefore has the honor of being the one of the few places in the world where all the native local snakes are venomous. Another record setter is the Himalayan Viper (Gloydius himalayanus), a rare pit viper native to Pakistan, India, and Nepal, which has been found at elevations up to 9,000 feet. Possibly due to its chilly surroundings, it is generally reported as being “sluggish” in temperament. Aesop tells this Tale of the Farmer and the Freezing Viper. One winter, a farmer found a snake that was frozen stiff from the cold. Compelled by compassion, the farmer took it home. The warmth quickly revived the snake, and it instinctively bit the farmer, inflicting a mortal wound. “Oh,” cried the farmer with his last breath, “I am rightly served for pitying a scoundrel.” The moral: the greatest kindness will not bind the ungrateful. This is a cross-cultural tale (sometimes featuring a scorpion rather than a snake) found in India and the United States as well, in almost endless variations. A LONG WINTER’S NAP The snake’s cold blood makes necessary one of his more pleasant habits—to disappear during the cold winter months. Snakes dwelling in the so-called temperate climates, although there is nothing temperate about Montana, for instance, that I can see, hibernate, slowing down their metabolism and surviving on glycogen reserves stored in the liver. Some technically minded people insist that the proper term for reptile hibernation is “brumation” and that only warm-blooded creatures “hibernate.” This is a little too finicking for my blood, and in this book we’ll continue to refer to winter sleep as “hibernation.” Most snakes seek out a winter den, technically called a hibernaculum. These are frequently caves or

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rock crevices. The idea that snakes prefer caves is of long standing, and the early Christian work Physiologus claims that snakes leave their poison behind in their cave when coming forth to drink from a spring and so leave the water pure. In the same way, it counsels, the Christian in search of eternal life should leave behind the sins of this earth. It appears that some species of snake are “facultative” hibernators, who use external clues such as dropping temperatures to know when to hibernate. Others, such as European Asps (Vipera aspis), are “obligate” hibernators and rely on internal cues to head into winter sleep regardless of ambient temperatures. Garter Snakes, the first to wake up in the spring and the last to enter hibernation in the fall, can survive with 40% of their cell fluid turned to ice crystals. This talented creature has managed to produce a substance that prevents tissue damage from freezing. Once a snake has found a good wintering-over spot, it may return to the same den year after year. It has been suggested that the same rock dens have hosted snakes for literally thousands upon thousands of years. Good dens are not that easy to find. Almost any shelter that reaches below the frost line will do, and snakes have been known to travel more than 10 miles to find the right spot. Hector St. John de Cr`evecoeur (1735–1813) in his Letters from an American Farmer (1782) wrote of a rattlesnake den: “I once saw, as I was traveling, a great cliff which was full of them; I handled several, and they appeared to be dead; they were all entwined together, and thus they remain until the return of the sun.” It is quite true that rattlesnakes will gather in large numbers, and some species even twist themselves together in a companionable ball. It’s still not a great idea to handle them, however, no matter how tired they appear.

Garter Snakes may ball up in the hundreds, and some snakes are willing to share winter sleeping quarters with snakes of other species. One study in Pennsylvania, reported by Donald W. Linzey and Michael J. Clifford in Snakes of Virginia, noted sixteen snakes of several different species plus four salamanders cuddled up together. It is unknown which critter arrived first. Some American rattlesnakes were discovered hibernating underwater at the bottom of a well; it is not known whether they made periodic trips to the surface to breathe or actually stayed underwater for the entire period of their hibernation. According to one Amish tale, snakes will not emerge from their winter dens until after the first thunderstorms in the spring. This is one of many myths associating snakes and thunderstorms. VISIONARIES Snakes probably had to reinvent vision. That’s because their immediate ancestors, the burrowing lizards, had useless or rudimentary eyes, and so snakes, as they emerged into the daylight, had to start all over again, using bits of this and parts

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of that, jerry-rigging the entire apparatus. The problems went far beyond having no eyelids. Snakes are lacking the muscles most other animals use to change the shape of the lens to focus; the lens is hard and round and cannot easily change shape. Instead, snakes have to move their whole lens forward to change the focus, rather like a zoom lens in a camera. The lens is also yellow and apparently works as a sort of color filter. In like manner, most snakes lack the muscles used to swivel their eyeballs around to look at something: they have to move their entire head to look in a different direction. This accounts for the swaying motion you observe in a cobra being “charmed.” He is not swaying to the music (which he probably cannot hear) but is instead following the movement of the flute player, whom he regards as a threat. If the charmer sat perfectly still while playing, so would the cobra. Even cleverer is the Eastern Tiger Snake (Notechis scutatus) of western Australia. About 10% of these snakes are blind because their eyes have been pecked out by birds defending their nests. (The snakes eat birds’ eggs.) Yet they function very well, sightless though they are, and can even find mates with ease. This ability probably harks back to their burrow-dwelling days. Most snakes also lack the fovea, the tiny pit that serves as a focusing point in the retina for most animals, which limits the snake’s ability to detect forms. The exception is a few tree snakes, who do possess a fovea, however, another reason that their eyesight is superior to that of most snakes. Snakes have a difficult time separating focus objects from their background as long as they are stationary (and it is not clear how well they can discern shapes, if at all), but they have a quick eye for movement. Most prey animals are not identified as such until they start to move. Thus it is advisable to stand still around dangerous snakes. Snakes do have pretty good short distance vision. However, snakes do not have true binocular vision—and they have a hard time estimating distance. This is another reason you might see snakes on the prowl moving their whole head around: they are triangulating distances. Again a partial exception is a few species of arboreal snakes. The Long-Nosed Tree Snake is unique in that his eyes can see forward along a groove in his nose. A few tree-dwelling snakes in Asia (genus Ahaetulla) and Africa (genus Theoltornis) have elongated, horizontal pupils. This feature gives them a nearer approximation of true binocular vision—something they need as they chase their prey through the trees as well as to be able to judge distances when moving from branch to branch. The pupils of the snake’s eye reflect their function, no pun intended. Nocturnal snakes often have slit-like pupils similar to cats—and for the same reason. This arrangement allows them to open the pupil to its widest extent and gather the greatest possible light. These snakes often have larger eyes than other snakes as well. Diurnal snakes, on the other hand, usually have round pupils that can contract to pinpoints to exclude excessive light. And one group of snakes, burrowers like blind snakes, lack externally visible eyes. They are effectively blind, although they can probably distinguish light from dark. However, there is an old Albanian tale that maintains they can see for just a few hours on Fridays only. This idea probably

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harkens back to the notion that snakes are related to the Devil, who seems to gain temporary ascendancy on Fridays during the hours in which Jesus was being crucified. Snake eyes possess both rods and cones, so they presumably can see in color, although boids (pythons and boas) have fewer cones than do other snakes and so probably have more limited color vision. Some experiments done at the San Diego Zoo, involving dyeing mice a variety of colors, indicate that snakes don’t seem to care what color their dinner is: green eggs and ham would suit them just fine. Although snakes cannot blink, their eyes are protected by a transparent covering called an “eye scale,” spectacle, or eye cap, also technically known as a brille. This is a modified version of a body scale and is in fact sloughed off with every shed. It may be a remnant of the days when snakes lived a more burrowing life, and its function was to protect the eye from particles of dirt. It has recently been discovered that at least one species, the Olive Sea Snake (Aipysurus laevis), has a light wave sensor in its tail, whose use is, at present, a matter for conjecture. It has been suggested, for instance, that the receptor serves to let the snake know when its tail is sticking out of the water. This seems a bit far-fetched to me, but you never know. The Pomo Indians of California believe that if one removes the eyes from a rattlesnake just before it sheds and rubs them on an abalone shell, the shell will turn into a magical amulet. Simply shine it into an enemy’s eyes, and he will become blind. DEAF AS AN ADDER Can snakes hear? The answer depends upon how you define sound. If you define sound as a vibration that strikes the eardrum, the answer is no, since snakes don’t have eardrums or even an external ear opening, which seems to make the whole enterprise rather futile. They do, however, have a middle and inner ear. Mammals have more “ear bones” than snakes do: we borrowed some little reptilian jawbones we didn’t need and turned them into the vibration-carrying malleus, incus, and stapes. Snakes have only the last named and the small jawbones. They need them to eat. Indeed there is an old saying: “Deaf as an adder,” but like most old sayings, it’s misleading, if not outright wrong. All you need to do is to define sound a little differently, leaving out the eardrum part. Snakes can hear, not just ground vibrations but also low-frequency airborne sounds, and they do it as miraculously as they do everything else. Credit goes to the snake’s remarkable jawbone. Mechanoreceptors in the skin of their bellies (and perhaps their venter) pick up vibrations and transmit them via the spinal nerves to the stapes bone, which in turn pushes against the quadrate bone in the skull, which transfers them to the inner ear and auditory nerve. It is not true that the lower jawbone has to be in contact with the ground, as was previously thought. The sound route is thus skin–muscle–bone. This works best for low-frequency sounds—like approaching

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footsteps, perhaps. Most snakes hear best in the 300-hertz range, but their range is apparently from 100 to 1,000 hertz, compared to about 20 to 20,000 hertz for humans. There is also a theory that the lung can act as a receptor when a sound strikes the body wall, but no one is sure how this vibration gets transmitted to the inner ear. In Korea, it is said that whistling will draw snakes. This is a myth, but the Modoc Indians have a similar one: if you whistle around an elderberry bush, you’ll be bitten by a rattlesnake. (This is false too, although interestingly enough some European myths claim that elderberry bushes themselves are capable of whistling—and hearing one will keep you awake.) In brief, ophidian hearing apparatus is a fairly crude arrangement that won’t permit a snake to enjoy Beethoven. Still it is better than nothing. In medieval times, it was claimed that while devious humans attempt to lure serpents from their holes, the snake, according Isidore of Seville in Book 12, 4:12–16 of his Etymologies (and repeated all throughout the Middle Ages in countless bestiaries), “presses one ear to the ground and closes the other ear by sticking its tail in it, to shut it up. Thus, not hearing the magical noises, it does not go forth to the chanting.” It is probable that in a quiet room, a snake can “hear” a person speaking in a normal tone at a distance of about 10 feet. Whether they understand what they hear is another matter. SMELLING A RAT (AND PERHAPS TASTING ONE TOO) Snakes are masters of smell, largely because their olfactory powers are augmented by clever use of their forked tongue, which literally can “taste” the air by picking up the chemicals floating around in it. The tongue isn’t actually smelling anything, just transferring odors around. Later legend connects the forked tongue, which points in two directions at once, as the symbol of deceitfulness—there being only one truth but many lies. This clever piece of equipment sends the information about the picked up particles to the brain via a branch of the olfactory nerve, which analyzes them for evidence of potential prey or danger. All done in the flick of a tongue, which occurs every few seconds if the snake is hunting or senses any danger. Any sort of movement near the snake will elicit this quick response. (Chinese folklore says snakes are drawn to the smell of women’s underwear—and in fact this was considered to be the best way to catch them.) Just the opposite, declared the Hopi people. The smell of a woman is enough to anger a rattlesnake and make it bite. Tasting is a slightly different matter. Snakes do not apparently possess taste buds on their tongues the way lizards and people do, although they may have a few in other places in the oral cavity. This is probably a good thing, considering the amount of hair and other nasty diet items they must consume. The Greek philosopher Aristotle, in his Parts of Animals, Book II, thought that snakes had forked tongues so that they would get “double the pleasure” from their food, but considering what they eat, this seems a weak conclusion at best. Again I refer you to the contents of their diet. In the seventeenth century, the Italian naturalist

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Giovanni Hodierna (1597–1660) suggested that snakes use their forked tongues to pluck the dirt from their noses. A legend from India explains the forked tongue in this way. Serpents were charged with guarding the prison cell of demigoddess Vinata. They agreed to free her in exchange for amrita, the drink of immortality. The snakes had just had time enough to lick a few drops of the stuff before it was snatched by other gods, but the drop they got to taste was enough to make snakes immortal. Amrita, however, is strong stuff. The very taste was enough to split their tongues. The mythical Asclepius and his followers were said to use snake tongues in their healing arts. Blind people, for instance, could recover their sight just by touching a snake’s tongue. It is not clear if the tongue was still attached to the snake. An alternate story claimed the snake had to crawl over the bodies of the sick at night to heal them. Possibly many people claimed they were healed to avoid the whole procedure. Another Greek myth said that people could acquire extrasensory sight or hearing if their eyes or ears were licked by a snake. Indeed this miraculous piece of equipment imparted prophetic powers on the prophetess Cassandra—as when a serpent licked her ears, she received the gift of foreknowledge. Alas, Apollo cursed her at the same time by making it so that no one ever believed what she said, even though she was always right. The Romans also thought that snake licking had therapeutic powers, especially for ulcers of various sorts; they even wore serpent rings as amulets against ill fortune. The so-called Aesculapian snakes (Zamenis longissimus) were placed in bathhouses or other houses of healing, and many escaped and set up housekeeping nearby. In fact, the species is known for is spotty distribution around places of old Roman temples, even in Germany and Austria. It is not clear how many people were brave enough to attempt the cure, although apparently only nonvenomous snakes were employed. Even today, in some parts of Turkey, wrapping a snake around your head is considered good for what ails you. The most famous snake wrapping image is that of the caduceus. The most ancient image of two serpents entwined around a staff is that of the Sumerian deity Ningizzida, lord of magic and healing. He himself is often depicted as a snake with a human head. In Western culture, the caduceus is a confusing object which has two definitions. It sometimes refers to the emblem of Asclepius, the Graeco-Roman god of medicine, who learned his art by watching as one snake used special herbs to restore another to life by reuniting its chopped up body. In like manner the Roman goddess of health, Hygeia, is also depicted holding a snake. This caduceus properly has only one snake, usually identified as a nonvenomous rat snake, probably the so-called Aesculapius Snake of Italy. However the caduceus is sometimes identified with the winged staff, entwined with a pair of snakes, which Apollo gave to Hermes, the messenger of the gods. An ancient altar to Hermes exists which has on one side a caduceus-like image of entwined snakes and on the other an erect phallus. According to some mythographers, Hermes himself was once a snake. However, over time the two forms of the

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caduceus had been confused to such a point that both are usually portrayed with two snakes. The myth of segmented snakes being able to restore themselves to their apparently immortal life is an old motif. A German folktale tells of a husband entombed with his wife. (He had promised to stay with her even in death.) While he himself was waiting to die, a snake slithered into the tomb, apparently to attack his wife. “No, you don’t! Stay away from my wife!” shouted the husband and chopped the snake into three pieces. However, soon another snake showed up with three magical leaves in its mouth, which it placed carefully on the wounds of its friend, restoring him to life. The amazed husband soon realized that he could use the same left-behind leaves to restore his wife to life. It worked. Unfortunately, the wife had lost all her love for her husband during death and came to a bad end herself. But that part of the story has nothing to do with snakes. One cannot help wondering if these leaves were from the very plant that an ancient Mesopotamian snake nabbed from Gilgamesh. Certainly they were the ones Aesculapius saw. The name Aesculapius actually means “cut up.” Zeus got mad at him for something or other and killed him with his thunderbolt—then placed him in the sky as the constellation Ophiuchus (“serpent bearer”). We have gotten rather far away from snake tongues, however, and now it is time to return to them. It was formerly thought that, using its tongue as a vehicle, the snake deposited the scent particles directly into two (hence the value of the forked tongue) saclike organs located toward the front of the roof of the mouth. This twinned structure is the famous fluid-filled Jacobson’s organ, also called the vomeronasal organ. Now, however, the received opinion is that the tongue transfers the scent particles to a pad on the roof of the mouth first, which serves to scrape off the scent particles. Some scientists refer to the Jacobson’s organ as a “chemoreceptor”: whether or not this can be called “tasting” is a matter of dispute. Snakes also smell via the normal route—through their noses. The scent particles are transferred from the nasal passages into the olfactory chambers. The Jacobson’s organ, nasal passages, and the olfactory chambers possess sensory cells that transmit the chemical reaction of the odor particles with the cell surfaces as nerve impulses. The impulses are sent directly to the brain for reading and interpretation. Herodotus reported that in Arabia the frankincense trees were always surrounded by winged, brilliantly colored serpents, which were apparently drawn to the trees’ delicious perfume. Snakes can smell so well that it is reported that when newborn Queen Snakes (Regina septemvittata) are presented with extremely tiny dabs of various odor samples on cotton swabs, they are quick to home in on the one item in their diet—crayfish—and ignore everything else. Contrary to legend, snakes generally do not lick their prey before swallowing it, although the African Egg Eater will use its tongue to check out the freshness of an egg. Snakes are not capable of “stinging” people with their tongues any more than with their tails, despite persistent myths on both counts. Nor do they use

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their tongues for lapping up water (as they don’t drink that way) or to aid them in hissing. The tongue’s only purpose seems to be as an accessory to smelling and to aid in threat posturing. The snake thrusts its tongue out very far when threatening. Considering the amount of attention that has been lavished on this tiny organ, it has succeeded in that role. EXTRA SPECIAL SENSORY APPARATUS Since snakes are so special, it should not be surprising to see that some species have special senses, beyond the five possessed by ordinary mortals. As mentioned, the highly evolved pit vipers use pits on each side of the face (located between the eye and nostril) to detect heat. This fact was not discovered until 1937; until then the function of pits was a source of controversy among herpetologists. These heat-sensing pits consist of inner and outer cavities separated by a membrane. The rear part of the pit records ambient temperature, and the front part senses the heat of a prey animal; this helps the snake not only locate the prey but also strike at it. The pits are lined with a thin layer of cells richly endowed with nerve endings that connect to the brain via the optic nerve. The fact that it’s the optic nerve at work here suggests that snakes somehow “see” what is giving off the heat, much like infrared goggles. This is a handy trick for snakes that live upon warm-blooded prey and is especially important for those snakes that hunt at night. Pit vipers can can detect subtle differences in temperature (less than an eighth of a degree) from as much as a foot away. The pits seem to act in stereo to exactly target the prey animal’s location. This apparatus is so sensitive that it can distinguish between the main body of the prey and an appendage. One experiment with rattlesnakes showed that even under conditions of total darkness, a rattler scored a direct hit on its prey 98% of the time. However when its pits were covered, its success rate was only 27%. (I wonder how much the experimenter was paid for that part of the procedure.) In parts of Latin America, pit vipers are even nicknamed cuatro natrices (“four nostrils”) on account of their prominent pits. Some boas and pythons, mostly the arboreal types like the Green Tree Python and Emerald Tree Boa, also have tiny heat-sensitive pits that are lined up in a row right above the upper lip. Herpetologist pranksters like to call them “hot lips.” Sometimes these pits are covered with scales, but they are still quite functional. However, the pit vipers are better endowed in this regard; their sensitivity to heat radiation is five to ten times higher than that of boas and pythons. A TIGHTER BREATHING Reptiles invented the modern lung, but serpents, due to their unique body shape, have had to make some radical adjustments. Two normal lungs just don’t fit into a serpent body, so some snake species have elected to retain a large right lung and let the left one dwindle down to next to nothing.

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In some snakes, especially sea snakes, the hind part of the right lung acts as an air reservoir, while the front part and windpipe take in oxygen. In aquatic snakes, the right lung may be so long that it extends back almost to the tail. In this case, one of the lung’s purposes is to make the animal more buoyant. Some species have a third “tracheal lung” that helps the snake keep breathing as it swallows its oversized prey; this lung is really just an extension of the right lung. This lung has no respiratory pulmonary epithelium to absorb oxygen; the air reservoir maintains the oxygen supply while the snake is engulfing its prey. Snakes can also extend their epiglottis (a muscle in the windpipe) to help take in air while eating. The snake windpipe is a curious organ as well. Most vertebrates have complete rings of cartilage around their tracheas, but in snakes these rings are incomplete. In addition, the membrane of the windpipe near the lung has a porous lining, so it acts like an auxiliary lung. Some desert snakes can even breathe under sand. They can hide there and spring up on their prey, a rather unnerving thought. Other species have decided to forgo the left lung altogether. Even those snakes that retain a left lung don’t usually make use of it. It’s just taking up room. The exception is the boas and pythons who use both lungs—although even in them the left lung is a lot smaller than the right. Like all reptiles, snakes lack a diaphragm; they use the muscles in the body wall to do the same job, which is to push air in and out. As ectotherms, snakes don’t need to breathe as often as warm-blooded creatures. Breathing occurs in a two-step process—ventilation and pause. In snakes the pause period or apnea can last for several minutes if they are quiet or resting. Freshwater snakes can go for more than 10 minutes underwater without drawing a breath, and sea snakes can go for 30 minutes to an hour while hunting. VOICELESS? Although snakes have larynxes, and some species even possess vocal chords, the only sound regularly made by snakes is the hiss and, in rattlesnakes, the rattle. The former is produced by filling the lungs with air and then forcing it out quickly by constricting the body and expelling the air out through the glottis. Generally, the snake has his mouth open when he does this. Different species make somewhat different sounds, which an expert can distinguish between. Rattlesnakes, of course, vibrate their tails when annoyed or threatened, and even rattleless snakes stir their tails menacingly about in the leaves, perhaps hoping the intruder will think they are rattlesnakes. The Saw-Scaled Viper (Echis carinatus) makes a scary and distinct f-f-f-f sound by rubbing its coils together—hence its name. To some it sounds like water sizzling on a hot plate. It is sometimes claimed that certain snakes whistle. They don’t, unless they are suffering from a respiratory infection. However, myth supplies snakes with powers that natural snakes do not possess. One interesting desert elapid of Egypt and Arabia is the Desert Black Snake or Desert Cobra (Walterinnesia aegyptia). The Bedouins say that it calls with the tempting voice of a young woman—but those who answer the summons will meet

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their deaths. At other times this animal remains silent but appears in the form of a mirage—a camel full of milk. When the thirsty traveler approaches, however, it bites him. Either way, it’s a killer. One Romanian legend declared that wearing a chrysoprase would enable one to understand the language of snakes; however, some critical details as to how this is done appear to be missing. HEARTLESS? Snakes are not truly heartless, of course, but their hearts do lack a ventricle, and hence they have an only three-chamber heart (like most reptiles) instead of a four-chamber heart like mammals. (The snake has two atria, and a ventricle that is almost but not quite divided into two chambers.) The three-chamber heart is not very efficient. Blood going to the lungs is mixed with blood returning from the lungs, so the blood supply to the tissues is not fully oxygenated. This is one reason why snakes get tired easily. Their heart rate depends almost entirely upon the ambient temperature. Most animals, including us, have two arteries that carry blood to the brain. Snakes have only one, the left one. The most famous snake heart belongs to Uncegila, the mythical serpent mentioned earlier. According to legend, she bore within her body a ruby red freezing cold heart which would grant its bearer all his wishes. Two brothers killed her and took away her heart, but eventually they found that having every wish fulfilled was a boring existence, so they broke the heart and returned to their normal lives. John Josselyn (1608–1675), who gives his occupation only a “gentleman,” wrote in his Two Voyages, “The heart of the Rattlesnake, dried and pulverized, and drunk with beer or wine is an approved remedy against the biting and venom of the rattlesnake.” Josselyn also reported seeing sea serpents off the shores of Cape Ann but was dissuaded from bagging one by his Indian guide, who told him it would be bad luck. THE MIND OF THE SERPENT While snakes are supposed to represent unutterable wisdom, in the real world, they are none too swift. They survive primarily on instinct. Jesus of Nazareth’s injunction to his disciples to be “wise as serpents” (Matthew 10:16) reflects folklore rather than fact. The snake’s brain is remarkably primitive. The snake does possess a competent “interbrain” or diencephalon, which connects the midbrain and forebrain and is concerned with processing information about the external environment and temperature. Right behind the diencephalon is the midbrain, which handles sensory information. Then there is the cerebellum which controls muscular movement. At the very back is the medulla oblongata, which is responsible for automatic functions like heart rate and breathing. Occasionally, a two-headed snake shows up. In such cases, one head is “in control”; the other one requires no care at all. However, if one head is eating something and the other head finds out

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about it, the second head will attempt to eat the first one, much to the subsequent detriment of both heads. The areas of the brain in charge of learning are small and lack the folds and ridges that characterize smarter beings. Snakes are not good learners and will make the same mistake over and over when transferred from their natural environment. For instance, they will repeatedly hit their heads against a glass barrier in an attempt to go through it. Sometimes, of course, this persistence pays off. As any experienced snake owner can attest, unless extreme care is exercised, a captive snake will eventually get out—simply because he never manages to learn that he can’t. In other words, he never gives up pushing against a door. However, many captive snakes do seem to learn a routine and to recognize their keepers. Some snakes allow certain familiar people to handle them but try to bite strangers, although this may be a function of how nervous the handlers are. And it is true that snakes can to some extent be acclimated to human beings and tamed by gentle and repeated handling. (It was said that Native Americans could tame snakes by wrapping them in fine linen, although the details about why this would work are not clear.) However, it should be emphasized that snake taming is a matter of “to some extent” only, especially with generally nervous and reactive species. They only need to forget they are “tame” once to deliver a painful and possibly lethal bite. It happens all the time to people hubristic enough to suppose they can forge a special alliance with snakes. And for every myth about the cunning of the snake, there are numerous folktales to show his other side. Here is one of my favorites, “The Dueling Water Snakes” from Oklahoma: A rabbit had a favorite drinking spot on a bend along the river. Two snakes lived in the river, too, one on each side of the bend, unknown to each other. This gave the mischievous rabbit an idea. He walked up to the snake who lived on the upper bend and challenged him to a game of tug-of-war. “You can’t outpull me,” said the snake. “I challenge you,” insisted the rabbit. “Just let me get a grapevine for the rope. If I pull you onto land, I win. If you pull me into the water, then you win.” “Oh, all right,” said the snake. The rabbit next went to visit the lower bend snake and arranged for a similar contest. Then he took a long grapevine and strung it across the bend, giving one end to each serpent. The snakes began tugging fiercely, disconcerted at the supposed strength of the rabbit. Then the rabbit started to laugh. This alerted the snakes to the fact that something was amiss. They both released the grapevine and swam to the middle where they met for the first time. Furious at the rabbit for making idiots of them, the snakes agreed that the rabbit would have to find himself another river to drink out of, or they would bite him in the nose whenever he came by. The clever rabbit avoided the consequences of his mischief by turning himself into a fawn whenever he got thirsty, thus fooling the snakes again.

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ROMANCE AND CHILDREN Like the rest of us, snakes are anxious to reproduce their kind. And while the Greek historian Diodorus Sicculus (d. 21 b.c.e.) reported that the deserts of Egypt generated serpents spontaneously, most herpetologists agree that snakes reproduce in more conventional fashion. For them, the age of consent is generally between 2 and 5 years. Northern snakes usually mate in the spring, tropical serpents before the rainy season. For humans, it is not always easy to tell lady and gentleman snakes apart, although females are generally larger. Often the most distinguishing characteristic is the tail. The male tail base is wider, since the hemipenes are stored within it when not in use. Females tend to have a narrower, shorter, more tapering tail. In pythons and boas, the claws apparent at the cloacal opening are bigger in females. And some male cobras have longer fangs than the females of the species. Since none of these differences afford much help to a casual observer, you often just have to guess. It is not wise to go around checking cobra fangs and searching python cloacas just to satisfy your curiosity. During the mating season, male snakes will often closely follow the females, giving rise to the myth that they “travel in pairs,” which is not exactly true, or that if one of them is killed the other will seek revenge. This is not true at all, although there are some movies such as the Indian blockbuster Nagin (1976) sporting the theme that an injured snake will gain its revenge sooner or later. The male follows his lady friend because she secretes a strong odor from glands at the base of her tail, and he uses his Jacobson’s organ to track her. As is so often the case, males seem much more excited about the prospect of mating than females. Male rattlesnakes have been known to travel as many as 8 miles in search of a female. (Sometimes they can make an error in this regard. W.H. “Marty” Martin, a renowned expert on the Timber Rattlesnake, told me that one time a ready-to-mate female slid across the top of his boots. He was then followed by a male for about an hour, which had to have been a somewhat unnerving experience.) When the male snake does catch up with his lady, he lovingly rubs his chin along the supple length of her body. (And if he is a boid, he scratches her gently with his claws to stimulate a breeding response.) The snakes may also tap their heads together in a friendly way. If more than one fella wants to breed with the same lady, the two rivals may engage in ritual wrestling in which the combatants entwine and try to press the rival’s head into the ground. The loser is not injured during this test of strength. Not all kinds of snakes engage in this behavior, although it has been seen in mambas, adders, Bull Snakes, and rattlers. According to Mexican folklore, this is all a very civilized process, and the male rattlesnakes politely remove their fangs before engaging in ritual courtship, so that no real harm comes to their rival. If the lady snake accepts his advances, she distends her cloaca and may wave her tail around provocatively. As I mentioned earlier, the male has two identical reproductive organs called hemipenes, one of which transports the sperm into

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the female’s reproductive tract. Sperm is carried from the elongated testes to the hemipenes via the ureter. Each hemipene receives sperm from the testis on its side of the body. These handsome objects are covered with a special arrangement of knobs and spines which help lock the male into the correct position during mating. The snake pushes them out from its vent by a combination of muscle action and hydraulic pressure. However, the snake uses only one hemipene during the actual mating. The female has a corresponding set of grooves in her cloaca. (And yes, if you must know, she also has a twinned clitoris.) It is presumed that this arrangement keeps snakes of different species from falling in love successfully. Medieval folklore maintains that snakes mate when the male places his head into the mouth of the female and spits semen into it. His annoyed wife then bites off his head. The mating snakes may stay in position for several hours. They generally stay quite still with the exception of some jerking and twitching on the part of the male. Eventually the female decides she’s had quite enough and moves on. The male is rather forced to follow the female’s every movement, although he sometimes seems to take revenge by biting her neck. Or perhaps he’s just hanging on. Killing copulating snakes may have unintended consequences. The Greek prophet Tiresias, for instance, killed such a pair with a stick, and thereafter he was turned into a woman and cursed with the power of second sight. He came across another pair, 7 years later—and he wisely left them alone and returned to manhood. At least that’s one story. There are others. After copulation, the male’s equipment is retracted into its original position behind the cloaca. He has a special retractor muscle in the tail just for this purpose. In snakes, the testes and ovaries are arranged like the kidneys—with the right one in front of the left one, instead of side-by-side. Both male and female snakes of some species may seek other partners after mating with their first love, and a brood of offspring may have more than one dad. Common Garter Snakes have a different strategy. They have been known to engage in group sex (called “balling,” and I am not kidding). Large numbers of them, emerging from hibernation, get all vamped up and ready for love. They may all stay entwined for up to a month. However, the first guy to get his gal follows the seminal ejaculation with a strange fluid that hardens into a contraceptive plug, effectively ensuring that no other males will be allowed to penetrate the sacred space. The female snake has a sac called the seminal receptacle in which she can store the sperm for months—or in some cases even years, giving her a good deal of decision power about when to start her family. The semen-retention record is about 7 years. It is sometimes claimed that Bull Snakes crossbreed with rattlers. The progeny of these encounters are venomous and fanged like the rattlesnake but have the color pattern of the Bull Snake. And they have no warning rattle, so they are especially dangerous. None of this is true, although Bull Snakes do possess a vaguely rattlesnake-like color pattern. Similar myths are told of Garter Snakes crossbreeding with Copperheads.

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Regardless of how they act in real life, in the world of fiction, snakes make superior lovers. One very ancient Chinese tale has been translated to the silver screen. Green Snake (1993), directed by Tsui Hark, tells the ancient tale of two snake spirits, White (played by Joey Wong) and Green (played by Maggie Cheung), who wish to become human beings, so that they can experience the joys of romance. As we have seen, snakes are not too competent in this department. White in fact falls in love with a teacher, and Green becomes jealous—showing that snakes may know more about love than they give themselves credit for. And so on. In a related version of the myth, an old Buddhist monk tells a young man that his wife, Lady White, is an evil 1,000-year-old snake, who will eventually reveal her true nature and devour him. (The husband was wondering why sleeping with his wife seemed to be emasculating him.) Her true character is revealed during the Dragon Boat Festival, where everyone drinks nasty-smelling realgar wine (flavored with arsenic) to drive away snakes. The major ingredient of this beverage is arsenic ore. The husband forces his wife to drink the wine, and she turns into a big white snake coiled up on the bed. She reverts to human form after a while, and there is a lot of shape-shifting back and forth. Eventually he has her shut up in a pagoda or in some versions under the pagoda—which actually stood until recently on the West Lake near Hangzhou. The woman was expecting at the time, and when her son was born, the husband made her regular visits, which was very nice of him. The pagoda was burned down, however, and Lady White eventually broke free and flew away. There are dozens of versions of this tale, one of which became a Chinese opera. In most versions, Lady White becomes a perfect wife and mother who protects her family from all sorts of calamities. It is the usual respect–revulsion attitude typically awarded snakes. About 25% of snakes bear live young. They are still technically egg layers, as the snakelets are not nourished by a placenta but develop inside a thin membrane rather than a shell and “hatch” internally. These kinds of snakes are called ovoviviparous; the process usually takes 4–6 months, depending on the ambient temperature. As with alligators, the temperature determines gender—with higher heat producing males and more moderate temperatures producing females. Some live-bearing snakes, like European Vipers and common Garter Snakes, even have a kind of “placenta” to help nourish the young. All the boas are ovoviviparous, and so are a great many vipers and pit vipers. These snakes eat little or nothing during their pregnancy and are emaciated when the young are finally born. It may take the mother a year to regain condition and be able to become pregnant again. The young of these snakes have a better chance of “making” it than do the more oldfashioned egg layers (oviparous species), but there are fewer live offspring than hatchlings. Alone among snakes, mom and pop cobras are monogamous; they will also at least attend to and guard the nest. Female egg-laying snakes usually take the time to look for a safe place to hatch their young and will then cover them with moist leaf litter or soil. The eggs cannot be completely buried, however, since the young need to breathe the air through the

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shells. Cobras will actually dig out a nest. All cobras are egg layers except spitting cobras, for some reason. The female Indian python (Python molurus) molurus, who may lay over a hundred eggs, coils herself around her clutch, and by twitching her muscles, she warms up her body; the extra heat helps the young snakes develop. This is very nice of her and probably the ultimate in parenting skills among snakes. Once the baby pythons hatch, however, they’re pretty much on their own. A few members of the viper clan do seem to hang around their live-born young for several hours after the birth and may be protecting them to some degree. However this is debatable. Perhaps the mother is just tired. Other snakes, like King Cobras, choose piles of rotting vegetation, which also provide extra heat. Tree snakes give birth in the branches of trees; the young snakes have a sticky membrane that keeps them attached to the leaves, while they are still finding their sea legs, so to speak. Most sea snakes are born live; the advantage of this is that the young can swim immediately to the surface for air. The Sea Krait (genus Laticauda), however, which is less aquatic than other sea snakes, lays eggs, usually in caves above the high tide level. A Medieval Latin bestiary lists yet another way snakes—at least vipers—give birth. According to the text, the young, instead of being born via the natural route, gnaw through the mother’s side and burst out. At this point, the mother snake perishes. Since, according to the same folklore, the father’s head has already been bitten off by the mother, all the snakelets are orphans. The same text also informs us that the vi in “viper” stands for violent. A tradition of the Paraguay Indians is that the young snakes emerge from the bodies of dead adults, and so they always advise dragging dead snake bodies far away. For egg layers, the incubation period is usually 2 or 3 months, mostly depending upon the temperature. The number of eggs laid is variable partly according to species, with big snakes laying, on the average, more eggs. Snakes in tropical lands tend to lay more than one clutch a year, while snakes from more temperate zones produce only one. Snakes also seem to adjust their reproductive habits to the abundance of prey animals. When there are fewer rats and mice, for example, there are fewer snakes. Just before hatching, the white, leathery eggs become wrinkled, and several marks made by the egg tooth of the snakelet become visible. These cuts turn into gaps through which the young snake will emerge. Once out in the world, young snakes grow rapidly; rattlesnakes can double their length in a year—and some pythons can triple theirs. Of all the snakes that hatch, fewer than 10% will survive into adulthood. One myth claims King Snakes (genus Lampropeltis) or (in another version of the myth) Garter Snakes swallow their young to protect them. This is a very old story told about many snake species and has been traced back to ancient Egyptian sources. In some cases the snake hisses at her young first, to alert them to the danger. None of these stories are true. Young snakes are generally in a great hurry to get away from their mothers. This is probably especially true in the case of King

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Snakes, which feed upon other snakes and anything else they can get their mouths around. It is crocodilians that sometimes take their babies into their mouths, not snakes. ONE IS WHAT ONE EATS As a group, snakes eat a wider variety of foods than any other carnivore, although individual species may have quite specialized dietary habits. Their main feeding strategy is to eat a lot but infrequently as opposed to, say, herbivores, who are always munching down on something. Arboreal snake species tend to eat more frequently and with less of a tendency to gorge themselves than terrestrial species; one has to be light on one’s feet, so to speak, when skimming along the tree branches. Snakes, like other ectotherms, require relatively little in the way of food, compared to a mammal of equal size. The average size Corn Snake, for example, needs about one mouse every 2 weeks. Bigger snakes need bigger, but not more frequent, meals. Captive pythons are rather notorious for fasting for extravagant lengths of time and then suddenly starting to eat again for no apparent reason. Some snakes have been known to fast a year between meals, but this is not good for them. Gilbert White (1720–1793), a British clergyman who sometimes ventured to jot down his opinions (and they were no more than opinions) on reptiles, suggested, “The serpent kind eat, I believe, but once in a year; or rather, but only just at one season of the year.” For those interested in more of White’s opinions, see The Natural History and Antiquities of Selborne (1789). Herpetologist Sherman A. Minton reports that once his captive rattlesnake bit a mouse prefatory to eating it. Just as he was about to swallow his dinner, however, the mouse made an unexpected recovery. The disconcerted snake lost all interest in the mouse and refused, in fact to eat anything. Unlike mammals, snakes continue to grow throughout their lives, although growth is rapider when they are young. Smaller snakes species generally mature faster than bigger ones. Snakes also have the ability to stop growing when the food supply is short, which is a definite advantage over mammals—who have to grow (and perhaps starve) even when there’s nothing to live on. Sexual maturity is more a function of size within any species than of age. All snakes are obligate carnivores. This means they must eat meat; in fact they cannot eat vegetables or fruits. Little snakes eat little animals like insects, worms, snails, and centipedes. Bigger snakes eat bigger things. Some snakes prefer mammals, others reptiles (even other snakes), or eggs. The Cuban Boa (Epicrates angulifer) eats bats. Many snakes like fish and frogs. A Palestinian folktale explains how snakes came to like frogs. The story begins when God shut the devil out of Paradise. He was desperate to get back in, so he bribed the serpent with the promise of the sweetest food. “Which is?” hinted the snake. “People,” whispered the devil. The snake was intrigued and hid the devil in the hollow of his fang and crept into Paradise. Then came all that business

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about the Tree and whatnot. You see, all the time Eve thought just the serpent was jabbering, but it was really Satan. At any rate, the snake was about to claim his free dinner (Adam) when the human-loving swallow found out what was going on. “Hsst,” she whispered. “You’re not going to eat that man, are you?” “Yep,” said the snake. “It’s the sweetest flesh. The Devil told me so.” “Are you dumb enough to believe that lying scoundrel?” asked the swallow. “Right!” said Adam desperately. “Everybody knows the Devil is a big-time liar. Let me ask the mosquito what flesh is really the sweetest. She drinks blood, and I’ll send her around the world to find out the truth.” “All right,” the snake grudgingly agreed. “But tell her to hurry up. I can’t fast forever.” Off flew the mosquito, but the swallow tailed her closely. At the end of a year, the swallow said, “Well? What’s best?” “Oh!” said the mosquito. “Human flesh, by far!” “What?” said the swallow. “I’m a bit hard of hearing.” “It’s hum . . . ” At that point the swallow snipped her tongue right out of her head. And to this day mosquitoes can only hum. The swallow went to the snake, and said, “Oh dear, I’m afraid my little friend has quite lost the power of speech. But just before she did so, she begged me to tell you that the sweetest flesh is that of frogs.” The snake didn’t believe any of this and took a bite of the swallow’s tail (which explains why it is forked). However, he was condemned to eat frogs anyway. Very often snakes are reputed to drink milk. Until recent times, it was said that the peasants of Greece had a “snake door” in their homes down which they poured milk in service to the snakes who lived nearby and kept their houses free of rats. Cobras are said to enjoy a bowl of cow juice now and again, but in the United States it is the Milk Snake (Lampropeltis triangulum) who does the honors. Milk Snakes are common around barns, but it’s not the cows they’re interested in—but the mice and rats. They also like cool, dark places. While the story goes that Milk Snakes can actually suck the udders of a cow at night, it is totally untrue. It’s what I call milking a good story. Milk Snakes are not capable of suction. (Even most mammals cannot after infancy.) Snakes can’t even digest milk properly. Besides, a cow would hardly permit her teats to be gnawed on by a sharp-toothed snake. Nor will Milk Snakes drink milk from a bowl, as portrayed in the Sherlock Holmes story “The Speckled Band.” There is also a tale about a boy who periodically disappears into the forest; when he is followed he is discovered giving milk to a snake. The snake is killed and then the boy dies as well. More myth. A bigger problem for Milk Snakes is that people may mistake them for copperheads. Actually, Milk Snakes are not only not Copperheads but will even eat them if they can. The Pueblo Indians tell the story of Coyote, the Trickster, and Rattlesnake, who had a trick focusing on food choices played on him by Coyote. Coyote invited Rattlesnake over for dinner but probably regretted it, as the constant rattling was

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getting on his nerves. Nonetheless, he cooked up a pot of rabbit meat and offered it to the snake. “No, thanks,” said Rattlesnake. “I don’t understand your food. I eat the yellow flowers of the corn.” “Really,” said Coyote. “That’s a new one.” “No, really,” insisted Rattlesnake. “That’s what I eat.” “Fine,” grumbled Coyote, and went out in search of some of the desired flowers. When he returned, Rattlesnake asked him to place the flowers on the top of his head, so he could eat them by flicking them into his mouth with his tongue. Coyote nervously obliged. “Very good,” Rattlesnake announced. “Come to my pad tomorrow. I’ll feed you.” “Great,” thought Coyote. “Just what I need, going into a rattlesnake den. Well, I’ll just make me some rattles by putting some pebbles in a gourd. Then I’ll tie the gourd to my tail. That will get that snake to sit up and take notice.” When he arrived, Rattlesnake had a nice fat rat barbequing on the fire, but Coyote said, “Sorry, friend. I don’t eat rats. But maybe I’ll try the cornflowers.” Rattlesnake obligingly placed the flowers on Coyote’s head, but the animal’s tongue could not reach them, so he went without dinner that night. It is unclear as to exactly what this tale is trying to show, but it is in error about the feeding habits of rattlesnakes. Although different species have different killing or even dining strategies, it all goes to the same place afterwards. Snake tummies have the same expansive properties as do their mouths and throat. The stomach is extraordinarily elastic, expanding to accept the bulkiest of meals. It is also surprisingly short, considering his body is so long. It is really just an enlarged portion of the gut. The snake possesses powerful digestive juices that can melt down even teeth and bones, although they may be regurgitated along with the other indigestible ingredients like hair and feathers. The actual speed at which digestion occurs depends on ambient temperatures. This can be a problem if the weather is too cold: the food can actually start to rot inside the stomach before it is digested, and that is not a good thing, even for snakes. When conditions are right, digestion may proceed rapidly, although when conditions are unfavorable, the process can take months. The so-called light foods like fish and amphibians are digested more quickly than are mammals. And since the food requirement of snakes is low, they can skip meals without harm, going for days or even weeks without eating. If the food is not forthcoming, the snake simply “shuts down” until dinner is ready again. The record for between-meal fasts is 3 years, recorded in a captive snake. In the wild, who knows? Because snakes live on meat, a high-value food, rather than the nutrient-poor grass the way cows do, they don’t require a complex digestive system designed to gain every last iota of nourishment. They take what they need, store the extra as fat in special cells along the intestines, and get on with life. Snakes do have two kidneys—and, in fact, they are quite large, considering the size of the snake’s body. The long, narrow kidneys are richly lobed and lie staggered, one behind the other, as the snake’s body doesn’t allow for much left

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and right sidedness. The left kidney is located behind the right one. And while all kidneys perform the same task—removing toxins from the blood—in snakes the protein waste is converted into a uric acid crystal (a dry white paste) rather than water soluble urea. There is no urinary bladder; the ureters empty directly into the cloaca, which discharges urine and feces together. In other words, snakes don’t pee. The advantage of this arrangement is that snakes can conserve their water, always a good idea. (Some snakes further reduce water loss by “coiling” which reduces the surface from which water can evaporate.) Snakes also don’t distinguish between reproduction and elimination as clearly as they might. Both the digestive and reproductive tracts open into the cloaca, which in turn opens to the outside world via a slit located just in front of the tail. Snakes possess a liver, which is, as you might expect, long. It has a highly developed right lobe and an almost nonexistent left lobe. Snakes also have a gall bladder (which is more than you can say for horses) and a pancreas located between the stomach and the proximal segment of the small intestine. Snakes have a large intestine too; it is short and only slightly coiled near the region of the small intestine. In general, the entire alimentary canal is a straight shot from the mouth to the vent. All this is actually a great advantage for snakes. The animals of more conventional shapes have to make do with a many-coiled intestine that can get into all kinds of shenanigans. Snakes are capable of drinking as well as of eating, although they meet a good deal of their water requirement through food. They are able to sip water collected in small hollows or depression and, most wonderful to behold, may even drink dew.

CHAPTER THREE

Snakebite! Baron Georges Cuvier (1769–1832), the great French naturalist, once reportedly remarked, “Show me your teeth and I’ll show you what you are.” Snakes have truly amazing and terrible teeth. But their number, and even function, varies from species to species. While normal people have thirty-two teeth and dogs forty-two, the number of teeth possessed by snakes is variable, even among members of the same species. Many species have more than 200. Venomous snake have only a few, but the ones they have really do the job. Only in legend do snakes kill in ways other than biting or constricting. I’ve already mentioned stinging snakes, but the Coachwhip Snake, whose amazing scientific name is Masticophis flagellum flagellum, has his own share of mythology. The common name for this diurnal snake is said to derive from the fact that its scales resemble a braided whip. This is one of the fastest of all snakes and found over much of North America in diverse habitats. Apparently because of its active lifestyle, it eats about twice as much as a Rattlesnake of similar size. Not that many rattlers approach the Coachwhip in the length department, which is one of the largest U.S. snakes and can attain a length of nearly 10 feet. The Coachwhip is said to bind a person with its coil and then whip the victim to death with its tail. Finally it will stick its nose up the person’s nose to see if he is still breathing. This is not true, of course. However, it is true that the Coachwhip Snake has an extraordinarily nasty disposition and is fond of biting its keeper as often as possible. It is only fortunate that it is not venomous. Another story about Coachwhip Snakes avers that they will suck the breasts of a nursing mother and poison her nipples. The baby will then get very sick. This is another tale that combines two common pieces of misinformation—that coachwhip snakes are venomous and that they or any snake imbibes milk. Nonmythological snakes have to rely on their teeth to catch their prey. Snake teeth are not set in sockets like ours but attached directly to the inner side of the jawbone. These teeth have no roots. The technical term for this sort of teeth is

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“pleurodont.” Curiously, some teeth are actually lodged in the bone on the roof of the mouth. And when a snake loses a tooth, a new one will grow to take its place. This phenomenon is called polyphyodonty. Snakes use their teeth to grasp their prey, not to chew it. Snakes can’t chew and indeed have no “chewing teeth.” Nor do they have hands or claws or paws to hang onto their prey, while they rip it into tidy pieces. They are condemned, if that is the right word, to eating their prey whole and entire, usually headfirst. It’s safer for the snake that way; it helps prevent being bitten while eating. The fur or feathers of the victim also lie down flatter, making it easier to swallow. They devour their prey (and now this is the really creepy part) by literally grabbing it and crawling slowly over and around it. The teeth are backward curved to help the project. The whole prey body goes in—hair, teeth, horns, everything. As mentioned earlier, snakes can protrude the glottis to keep their air passage open, so they can breathe and eat at the same time. The fact that the snake is a great “swallower” is yet another unnerving aspect of this all-too-creepy creature. Jim Morrison (1943–1971) of the Doors, himself an iconic, almost mythic figure to those of my generation, said in a 1970 interview with Salli Stevenson for Circus magazine, “I used to see the universe as a mammoth snake, and I used to see all the people and objects, landscapes, as little pictures in the facets of their scales. I think peristaltic motion is the basic life movement. Swallowing.” The image of the snake holding its tail in its mouth and continually swallowing it is the ouroboros (also spelled ourorboros, oroborus, uroboros, or uroborus). It is a universal element in our dreams. It is both bounded and infinite, enclosing and never-ending, protecting and imprisoning, the atom and the universe. This is one of the most powerful and ancient of all symbols, being at least 20,000 years old, making an appearance in Africa, Europe, and India. In 1890, the German chemist Friedrich August Kekul´e (1829–1896) insisted the hoary old symbol appeared in his dreams—divulging the secret of the structure of the benzene molecule. Later, he claimed he saw “long rows . . . all twisting and turning in snakelike motion,” adding, “One of the snakes had seized hold of its own tail, and the form whirled mockingly before my eyes.” (He revised this story several times, so it is hard to know what really happened if anything.) Some later commentators have doubted the truth of the whole tale, but it is probably best not to judge another man’s dreams or visions. However, few people, it seems, can dream simply of snakes, without any symbolic or prophetic attachments. In Western civilization, for example, snake dreams are often supposed (by Freudians anyway) to represent sexuality, usually repressed. In other cultures they bear other meanings. In China, it is said if a pregnant woman dreams of a black snake, a son will born; if the snake is gray or white, the child will be a daughter. In Taiwan, dreaming about a snake of any color means you will lose your fortune. Another Chinese story claims that if a man dreams of a single snake, he will acquire a new woman friend. If the snake is coiling around your legs or body, a change is coming. (The S shape of snakes

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almost universally symbolizes both energy and continuance through time.) The Cherokee thought that dreaming of snakes was a harbinger of sickness, but the California Pomo believed that dreaming of a rattlesnake or a Bull Snake was lucky. If the snake abandoned the dreamer, however, it was bad luck. These things can get complicated. For the Maya, a snake dream meant a quarrel with one’s spouse. On the other hand, as Freud is reputed to have said, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. We may add that sometimes a viper is just a viper. But that can be bad enough. Film director Oliver Stone said in a 1997 interview with Harry Kreisler, “We all have nightmares, we all have really horrifying fears. Mine may be being eaten by a giant snake or something.” Snakes are experts at gulping down victims who seem surely too large for them. But snakes are deceiving in this matter, as in so much else. First, their mouths are a lot bigger than they look, extending back beyond the eyes. The jawbone can literally dislocate from the skull. Each half of the lower jaw is attached to the rest of the skull by means of two moveable bones (the same bones that became inner ear bones in mammals) giving even more flexibility. This allows them to open wide. In addition, the halves of the lower jaws are not conjoined, as is the case with other self-respecting animals. Instead the halves are connected by a stretchy ligament that allows each half of the jaw to move independently at the corners— forward, backward, up, or down. In snakes, the lower jaw is actually a series of bones—and only the foremost bone, called the dentary, sprouts teeth. When a snake eats, the jaws on one side of the head open and those on the other side bite down. While one side is biting, the other side moves forward, so the snake begins to slide relentlessly over its prey. As if this is not enough, the tooth-bearing bones of the upper jaw can move independently too. The exception here is the blind snakes whose skull bones are fused, so they have a stronger head to burrow their way through the earth. These snakes generally take only very small prey anyway, like ants and their pupae. (The Greeks had a mythical anteating snake, Amphisbaena, with a head at each end and who could walk both ways with equal ease. She was spawned from the blood that dripped from the head of Medusa.) Like the jaws, the snake’s esophagus is also flexible, and the ribs are not attached ventrally, so they can expand to let the food slide down. The average snake can swallow prey up to three times the diameter of his head. After dinner, snakes yawn vigorously a couple of times to reset the jawbones, and then it’s off for a nice long after-dinner nap. In case something untoward happens, such as being surprised at dinner, a snake coughs up its prey alive, allowing itself to make a quick getaway, without the hindrance of a large meal in its gut. The snake’s brain, what there is of it (which is not much as revealed by the example of Houdini), is cushioned by lots of fluid, so that it doesn’t get slammed against the skull while the snake is dining. One of the most spectacular eaters is the Common African Egg Eater (Dasypeltis scabra), which distends its mouth and jaws to an almost unbelievable degree while engulfing his only food item—birds’ eggs. (There are five other species of African egg eaters, who perform the same incredible feat.) To save itself

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discomfort later on, it checks the egg with its tongue first to make sure that it is fresh. It takes about half an hour to get the thing down. Once swallowed, the thirty some spines that jut into his belly from his backbone pierce the shell and break it. The snake will later eject the intact shell with a single “burp.” The entire process is worked out so neatly that not a single bit of eggshell is retained—and not a bit of the nutritious contents of the egg is regurgitated. The Egg Eater gorges during the egg-laying season and then fasts the rest of the year. These snakes have very rudimentary teeth and are unable to eat anything except eggs. Another eating skill is possessed by the members of the Dipsadidae clan, a group of South American and Asian snakes who specialize in escargot. These animals (whose Greek name literally means “thirst” snakes) carefully extract the snail from the shell by biting down on the exposed part and thrusting their lower jaw between the shell and the body of the victim. They then quickly retract the lower jaw and allow the upper jaw to “rachet” the snail from the shell. It takes between 2 and 3 minutes. In these snakes the lower jaw may be three times long than the upper one. Another snail-eater, the North American Brown Snake (Storeria dekayi) twists the prey right out of its snug little home. As for hunting strategies, the myth has developed that snakes somehow “hypnotize” their prey into immobility. Actually, snakes do not rely on their considerable charm to get dinner. They either sneak up on their victim, as many nocturnal snakes do, or lie in wait and ambush them, the custom of most day hunters and big slow snakes like pythons. The lither colubrids cover considerably more distance in their hunt for food. Most prey animals, if they observe the snake, fly or hop away. They do not wait around to be snatched and eaten. It is not in their best interest. While it is true that some prey animals do seem to freeze before a snake strikes, the likelihood is that they freeze as a survival tactic—as snakes work best if they observe movement. It should also be said that snakes are clever enough to adjust their hunting tactics when needed and move to new hunting grounds when old ones prove unproductive. In case you’re wondering, most snake hobbyists buy prekilled rodents for their charges, although sometimes they kill their own. For this procedure, Lenny Flank, Jr., a snake owner of many years’ experience, suggests in his Snakes: Their Care and Keeping “placing the rodent in a plastic or cloth bag, grasping it by the top and whirling it in a circle one or twice to build up some momentum, and then bringing it down quickly and firmly on a table top.” Because a snake’s skull is so flexible, it is also weak. You can’t have everything. And so while some snakes (mostly colubers) simply grab and bite, other snakes have to make up for the weakness of the jaws by alternate strategies. The most notorious of these are constriction and poisoning. That’s up next. THE POISONERS The poisoners are a very elite group. Only about 10% of snakes worldwide are venomous; about 200 are considered dangerous to people. However, that seems

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a sufficient number, when you stop and think about it. While many people use the term “poisonous” to describe a venomous snake, the more correct term is “venomous.” The word “venom” is derived from the Latin venenum, meaning a “magical charm” as well as “poison.” These connections run very deep indeed. (The word toxin comes from the Greek toxikon, a poison applied to arrows.) Venom is defined as a particular kind of poison—animal rather than plant or mineral in origin and typically administered by a bite or sting. Scorpions, spiders, lionfish, bees, and some snakes are therefore said to be venomous. Tiny shrews are venomous (with toxic saliva), and the platypus carries venom in its spurs. The slow loris, a primate, secretes a toxin in the sebaceous tissues on the inside of its elbows, which it applies to its teeth. It is generally considered that poison is a substance harmful if ingested or inhaled. An animal which is merely poisonous, however, like some fish, is harmful only if eaten. The secretion exuded by certain species of toads is also considered a poison. The Hawksbill Turtle is a poisonous reptile—and eating it can be lethal. But you can eat a rattlesnake, if that sort of thing appeals to you. On the other hand, sixty-four people were hospitalized in Somaliland after they devoured the meat of a camel which died of snakebite. It has been estimated that venomous snakes bite at least 300,000 people every year, but some estimates go as high as 5 million, with 4 million in Asia, 1 million in Africa, and 350,000 in the Americas. Snakes kill more people in India and Burma every year (both in absolute numbers and per capita) than any other place on earth, but estimates of exactly how many vary widely—from 12,000 to more than 50,000. Not all venomous snakebites result in symptoms of envenomation, but as many as 125,000 people die annually from snakebite. However, statistics are very hard to come by, as many bites and even deaths go unreported. Many people, especially in rural Asia and Africa, who are bitten do not receive competent medical aid. They try to recover at home or seek the aid of a native healer. In Asia the chief culprits are the Asian Cobra (Naja naja) and Russell’s Viper (Daboia russelii); in Africa it is the Puff Adder (Bitis arietans). The high death rate is due partly to the highly toxic nature of the venom, of course, but is also helped out by the comparative lack of quick medical care and the habit of the residents to walk around shoeless at night. How bad a venomous bite will be depends on many factors, including the type and amount of venom delivered, the condition of the victim, and the site of the bite. Humans are generally bitten below the elbow or knee, areas not well supplied with blood; they are thus likely to recover from bites—if they are treated promptly. Very many, if not most, snakebites are termed “illegitimate,” meaning that the bitee has been doing something to the snake he shouldn’t have, such as handling and molesting the animal. The fact that most victims in the United States are young males, bitten between the hand and the elbow, provides a clue as to how the bite was obtained. In other words, they didn’t step on the snake. Other bites occur when people do step on snakes, stick their hands into holes (as when retrieving

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golf balls), pick up “dead” or presumably “harmless” snakes, or turn over rocks or logs just to see what’s underneath them. Snakes don’t content themselves with biting mere mortals, however. They go after the gods, too, as an Egyptian myth shows. Isis wished to dethrone the aging sun god Ra by putting forward her own son Horus. She caught Ra asleep and fashioned the drool leaking out of his mouth into a large venomous snake, and breathed magic into it to make it come alive. She then left the snake on a path Ra frequented, and sure enough, it worked. Ra was bitten by his saliva/snake and cried aloud to the nine gods of the Ennead to help him. But the other gods were powerless, and the poison began working its way through his system; Ra became feverish and started to sweat. Isis then appeared and told him that she could help him—in return for Ra’s disclosure of his true, secret name. This, in accordance with ancient custom everywhere, would give her power over him. Ra agreed, and Isis spoke, “Flow, poison, come out of Ra. Eye of Horus, come out of Ra, and shine outside his mouth. It is I, Isis, who work, and I have made the poison fall on the ground. Verily the name of the great god is taken from him, Ra shall live and the poison shall die; if the poison live Ra shall die.” Isis in turn revealed the secret name to her son Horus, and thus he gained power over the old sun god. Ra later bitterly complained about being bitten by a snake before he had even finished creating the world. Being a god is not as easy as it seems. This may have been the impetus for Ra’s being so murderous to the chthonic serpent Apophis, as we shall see, but it’s hard to say. These Egyptian myths get terribly confused, and the Egyptians didn’t seem anxious to reconcile them. Ra later gave mankind a handy magical word to protect us from snakebite. That word is hekau. The charm works best if written on papyrus or linen over a figure of Temu (also known as Heru-hekenu) or Isis or Horus, then steeped in water and drinking that water. In modern times, some Egyptians Muslims believe a verse from the Quran will work even better. Venomous snakes come in several varieties, and from the earliest times, naturalists have attempted to categorize them. One such attempt was made by the Englishman Edward Topsell (1572–1638) in his wonderful (and wonderfully illustrated) Historie of Foure-Footed Beastes, Describing the True and Lively Figure of Every Beast. “There are many kinds of asps,” he cautions: One kind is the dry asp. This is the longest of all other kinds, and it has eyes flaming like fire or burning coals. Another kind is called asilas, which does not only kill by biting but also with spitting, which it sends forth while it sets its teeth hard together and lifts up its head. Another kind is called hirundo, because of the similitude to swallows, for on the back it is black and on the belly white, like a swallow.

It’s pretty obvious he correctly identifies the Spitting Cobra, but what the dry asp and hirundo are is anyone’s guess. He then adds a fourth kind of asp—the

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hypnale: “It kills by sleeping, for the wound is given, the person falls into a deep and sweet sleep wherein he dies.” He also suggests this is the very snake that killed Cleopatra, of whom more later. Contemporary herpetologists hypothesize the creature referred to was some sort of cobra, perhaps the Black Desert Snake, both of which have potent neurotoxic venom. There is a Hump-Nosed Viper (Hypnale hypnale) who also goes by this name; but it is unlikely this is the animal Topsell meant. It is a biter though and attacks Sri Lankan farmers regularly although usually without fatal results. However, Topsell seems to be thoroughly mixed up about asps (vipers) and cobras: “The asp is a small serpent like a land snake but yet of a broader back. The neck of asps swells beyond measure, and if they hurt while in that passion there can be no remedy.” (He seems to be referring to cobras here.) He also thought that the asp was poor of sight but quick of hearing. It was also of a sluggish temperament. All this, he claimed, prevents her from “many mischiefs and are evidence of the gracious providence of Almighty God, who has given as many remedies against evil as there are evils in the world.” His theology may be imperfect and illogical (and makes one wonder why God wouldn’t just skip the snake part altogether or make people immune from their venom), but it is charming nonetheless. The most famous venomous snakes belong to one of three families: the Viperidae (true vipers and pit vipers), the Elapidae (cobras, mambas, kraits, and taipans), and Hydrophiidae (the sea snakes). There is also a class of venomous snakes called Atractaspididae which includes Stiletto Snakes and Mole Vipers, but since they live underground and hardly ever bite anybody, they are largely overlooked. It’s too bad, in a way. They have their own special brand of venom that contains a unique and potentially very dangerous cardiotoxin. Every species belonging to the viper, elapid, hydrophiid, or atractaspidid family is venomous. Rear-fanged venomous snakes are yet another group, but they colubrids, a large class that also includes many harmless varieties. VENOM: THE SPICE OF DEATH We all know that some snakes produce venom, but precisely what is this terrible concoction? What’s it made of, and how does it work? It’s not much to look at, resembling viscid, watery orange juice. Some venoms are cloudy, others clear. It also appears to be a pretty stable substance. Experiments confirmed that the venom from a certain cobra that had been stuffed years previously was still potent enough to still kill mice and presumably people, and it is well known that snake venom can be powdered and kept for decades without noticeable change in its composition. It is conjectured that most venomous snakes have a high, but not complete, immunity to their own venom, although this is a point of controversy, and probably differs between species. Venom is probably secreted even before birth, since one-day-old rattlers have a large amount of it. Rudyard Kipling wrote a story called “The King’s Ankus” about a snake outliving its venom supply. In the story, which features a white

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cobra, Mowgli “caught the snake behind the hood, forced the mouth open with the blade of the knife, and showed the terrible poison-fangs of the upper jaw lying black and withered in the gum. The White Cobra had outlived his poison, as a snake will.” Do not be misled. Snakes do not outlive their venom. It was not always apparent, either, that venom was the cause of a snake’s deleterious effect upon its victims. Moyse Charas (1619–1698), a French Jewish chemist, in his Royal Pharmacopoea, Galenical and Chumical, According to the Practice of the Most Eminent and Learned Physitians of France, suggested that it was the beast’s “enraged spirits” that brought death. (He got into some trouble with the Inquisition over the origins of venom and made a hasty conversion to Catholicism just in time.) It is true that angry snakes probably deliver more venom than calmer ones. And big snakes, logically enough, produce more venom than small snakes. The actual amount of venom produced also seems temperature dependent. Snakes living in temperate zones produce the most venom during the warmer months and almost none during hibernation. Even in torrid zones, the hotter it gets, the more venom seems to be produced. It was once supposed, too, that vipers emitted cold and “irritated spirits” when they bit their victims. In fact, the venom was so cold that it coagulated the blood. This seems like an odd conclusion, not only because viper venom usually does exactly the opposite but also because it is almost universally described as feeling “hot” to the victims when first injected. It took the brilliant medical doctor Francesco Redi (about 1670) to discover that the cause of death from venomous snakes was venom, not spirits of any kind. He was unable to pinpoint the source of the venom, however, and believed it came from the membrane covering the fangs of vipers. It is produced in glands located near where the upper and lower portions of the jaw join. In fact, the structure of the venom glands differs slightly between vipers and elapids. Elapid venom glands are divided into two parts: the rear main gland and the anterior mucous gland, which has a secretory duct. The venom is produced in the main gland, then stored in a saclike structure called the lumen. Viper venom glands are divided into four parts: the main gland, an accessory gland, a primary duct, and a secondary duct. Leave it to vipers to make things more complicated. Snake venom is the most complex of all poisons, containing some mightily charged-up enzymes that play an important part in hemorrhaging, blood clotting, and shock. Snake venom is not an alkaloid, as was first thought. It is a mixture of enzymatic and nonenzymatic compounds, as well as other nontoxic proteins, carbohydrates, and metals. At least twenty-six different enzymes have been isolated so far in snake venom, ten of which are shared by all venomous snakes. Some of the most common are phospholipases A2, B, C, and D and hydrolases, phosphatases (both acid and alkaline), proteases, esterases, collagenase (in pit vipers), acetylcholinesterase, transaminase, hyaluronidase, phosphodiesterase, nucleotidase, ATPase, and nucleosidases. (These are all enzymes; you can spot an enzyme every time because its chemical name ends in -ase.) The yellow color of venom is

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due to the enzyme L-amino acid oxidase, whose other name is ophio-amino-acid oxidase, to honor its snakey origin Proteolysins, a hemotoxic ingredient found in vipers and pit vipers, spread the venom by breaking down cell walls, destroying body tissues, and causing local cell death. This can lead to necrosis and massive secondary infection. In fact, this is one of the most common causes of death in snakebite patients. Hemorrhagins, present in true viper, pit viper, and King Cobra venom, break open blood vessels and cause internal bleeding. In other words, protoeolysins and hemorrhagins serve to start digesting the meal before it is even killed. Thromboses (present in vipers) have the opposite effect; they coagulate blood and foster clots. Hemolysins (elapids, vipers, and pit vipers) destroy red blood cells. Cardiotoxins (elapids and vipers) destroy the nerves and muscles of the heart. Cytolysins (vipers and pit vipers) break down white blood cells. Hyaluronidase, contained in most snake venoms, promotes rapid diffusion of venom. (In a more benign usage, this substance is employed in medicine to promote the better uptake of other drugs.) Some South American Rattlesnakes (namely Crotalus durissus terrificus) have an additional ingredient called convulsin that causes seizures. Quite a menu to choose from. Traditionally, snake venom has been divided into hemotoxic (acting primarily on the blood) and neurotoxic (blocking transmission of nerve impulses). However, now we know that most venom contains both kinds in varying proportions, although often one type predominates and masks the symptoms of the other. Snakes with mostly hemotoxic venom include rattlesnakes, copperheads, and cottonmouths. The Mojave Rattlesnake (Crotalus scutulatus) is one of the very few pit vipers that have chosen to use primarily neurotoxic venom. This snake has a limited range; otherwise it would certainly be credited with more bites and even fatalities. Venom composition also appears to differ in type consistency between land and sea snakes. It is hypothesized that since terrestrial snakes devour a diverse array of prey, they need a wide range of toxins in their venom. Sea snakes however, tend to feed only on fish or eels and tend to have a less diverse venom than do land snakes. However, they have enough to do the job. Hemotoxic venom may affect the clotting mechanism in blood; some kinds of venom prevent clotting, while other types magnify the clotting mechanism. Some have no effect on clotting at all. Anticoagulant and hemorrhagic venom produces hemorrhaging all around the bite site. Envemonation also causes swelling because the capillary permeability is increased, leading to blood leaking into the extravascular space. This accumulation of fluid is responsible for edema. In some cases the hemorrhaging is so severe that it compromises circulation and brings on shock. The venom may also have neurotoxic effects leading to paralysis and respiratory arrest, cardiotoxic action effecting cardiac arrest, as well as effects on the kidneys. There are also necrotic agents that destroy tissues; victims who survive may lose a limb because of the massive tissue damage. During the 24 hours following the bite, a whole arm or leg may turn black. The heart rate speeds up and the victim may develop gastrointestinal bleeding. The bite of the South

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American Rattlesnake (Crotalus durissus terrificus) causes permanent blindness in about 60% of its surviving victims. This is surely the most dangerous of all rattlers due to both his large size and the amount of venom it produces. Snakes with largely neurotoxic venom include cobras, mambas, sea snakes, kraits, tropical and Mojave Rattlesnakes, and coral snakes. Neurotoxic venoms interfere with or block the transmission of nerve impulses in the central or peripheral nervous system, causing paralysis of skeletal muscles, including the diaphragmatic muscle groups. These bites are less painful but just as deadly. The victim often feels drunk or very tired. Other types may produce a general excitation of cardiac muscles leading to cardiac arrhythmia, often leading to heart or lung failure. Cobra bites can also result in tissue destruction. In short, snakebite envemonation is not a pleasant experience. While symptoms can differ markedly depending on the type of venom, what is described next is a pretty normal sequence: The first reaction is usually terror, which has the added benefit (for the snake) of enhancing the spread of poison throughout the system. Fear also produces symptoms such as sweating, nausea, and vomiting which may have nothing to with the actual snakebite. On the other hand, some venoms do produce just these effects as well as others. Most snakebite fatalities occur 18 to 32 hours after envenomation. However, death can occur within an hour; on the other hand, it may take several days. Cobra venom works the fastest, often within 5 minutes. Viper venom takes a little longer, about 20 minutes, but in both cases the first systemic symptoms may take hours to develop. Cobra venom is fifteen–forty times more potent than tubocurarine (the stuff anesthesiologists use to paralyze people undergoing anesthesia). And it does not help that some people are actually allergic to snake venom and suffer anaphylaxis in addition to the run-of-the-mill poisoning effects. These symptoms take effect within seconds of the bite. In viper bites, the victim experiences immediate and severe pain, while some cobra bites are nearly painless. The area around the wound, especially in viper bites, may grow painful, deadened, or just “creepy.” The world may look yellow to the victim, probably because of liver damage. Lymphatic vessels are destroyed, and the blood pools in the tissue spaces, causing exquisite pain. Blood may pour continuously and profusely from the wound due to the anticoagulants in some venoms. Hemotoxins, contained in many snake venoms, especially vipers’, seriously disrupt the blood chemistry, with various types having various effects. And any particular effect, such as hemorrhaging, can be caused by one or more mechanisms in the various types of venom. Some kinds, such as that of the particularly nasty Russell’s Viper (Daboia russelii), cause intravascular coagulation, followed by kidney failure. Other sorts produce massive bleeding from multiple sites, including the gums and urinary tract. Some victims develop a cerebral hemorrhage; this can occur as late as a week after the actual bite. As the heart races (up to twice its normal tempo) and circulation speeds up, the venom circulates faster and faster. The heart may also be affected, with victims suffering tachycardia, dangerously low blood pressure, and similar ominous

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changes in heart activity. About a quarter of the people bitten by vipers actually have heart attacks. Pain is usually immediate, followed by redness and tenderness within a few minutes. Then the swelling begins, which increases the normal size of a limb many times. A Puff Adder (Bitis areitans) bite can make the entire body swell. Along with the swelling comes the blistering, which in some cases involves the whole body. In most snakebite survivors, the swelling usually disappears within a week or two, although in some cases it may last up to 3 months. In a few people, it never goes away and the muscles may twitch continuously. As necrosis sets in, tissue damage becomes apparent. Eastern Diamondbacks, Cottonmouths, the African Puff Adders, and the Urutu Pit Vipers (genus Bothrops) of South America are particularly known for the necrotizing effect of their venom. In 2004 a forty-four-year-old Ohio woman named Alexandria Hall was killed by her “pet” South American Urutu. She was illegally keeping it and ten other venomous snakes in her home. She had some alligators running around loose as well. Cobra bites can be almost painless, unlike viper bites. Carl F. Kauffield, director of the Staten Island Zoo from 1936 to 1973, reported after being bitten by a cobra, “I was sinking into a state that could not be called unconsciousness, but one in which I was no longer aware of what was going on about me. . . . I felt no anxiety; I felt no pain; it did not even strike me as strange that the darkness was closing in on the light. . . . I only felt a complete and utter lassitude in which nothing seemed to matter.” In 2007, the Zoo named part of its exhibit the Karl Kauffield Wing in his honor. The victim’s tongue may feel numb or tingly, almost like after an electrical shock. Elapid bites generally produce a wet, rapid onset of gangrene; vipers a slower onset of “dry” gangrene. The gangrene may occur in a limb other than the one bitten, an interesting if disconcerting phenomenon. Tetanus can also occur. In cobra bites, the first symptoms are often drooping eyelids, followed by weakness or paralysis in the muscles that control eye movement. Paralysis then proceeds to the muscles controlling the jaw, tongue, larynx, and swallowing, not always in that order. There may be repeated vomiting, blurred vision, dizziness, and headache. Almost all species of venomous snake can cause renal failure. Chest and diaphragm muscles are the last to succumb, but when they do, the victim stops breathing. The victim’s reflexive ability remains until complete paralysis and coma set in. This may come within 2 hours after the bite. Sea snakes and some Australian species have a myotoxic venom, attacking nerves and muscles, causing headache, thirst, chill, and progressive paralysis. Venom researcher Bryan Fry was bitten on the finger by a Horned Sea Snake (Acalyptophis peronii) and not only spent several anxious hours in the ER but also suffered agonizing muscle pain for months afterwards. Edward Topsell, in his bestiary previously mentioned, has his own description of what it was like to be bitten, much of which indeed accords with the symptoms of cobra envenomation: “After a man has been bitten by an asp, his eyes straightway

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grow dark and heavy, and a manifold pain arises all over his body, yet such as is mixed with some sense of pleasure. His color is all changed and appears greenish like grass. His face or forehead is bent continually with frowning, and his eyes or eyelids move up and down in drowsiness without sense.” He also mentions the stupor and “heaviness” that the afflicted feel. It used to be thought that venom was a more recent (evolutionarily speaking) invention than it turns out to be. The latest research, done by Bryan Fry, discovered that snake venom developed only once in evolution, about 60 million years ago, millions of years earlier than previously thought, and well before modern “nonvenomous” snakes appeared. The basic criteria for a venomous bite, powerful enzymes, were already present. According to Fry’s Web site, Venomdoc.com, “[t]he first venomous snakes evolved from the heavy-bodied swamp monsters similar to the anacondas of today. These snakes traded in their heavy muscle for speed and agility. Venom rather than muscle became the tool necessary for these snakes to capture their prey.” He also remarks: It has become recently evident that the evolution of the toxins in the advanced snakes (Colubroidea) predated the evolution of the advanced, front-fanged delivery mechanisms . . . Isolation and characterisation by us of a potent postsynaptic three finger (3FTx) neurotoxin (alpha-colubritoxin) from Coelognathus radiatus (radiated ratsnake), an archetypal “non-venomous” snake species, forced a fundamental rethink of venom evolution. The toxin is homologous with the 3FTx previously thought unique to elapids and supports the role of venom as a key evolutionary innovation in the diversification of advanced snakes. LC/MS (liquid chromatography, mass spectrometry) was used by us to analyse a large number of venoms from a wide array of species representing the major advanced snake clades. The results demonstrated a hitherto unsuspected diversity of toxins in all lineages, having implications ranging from clinical management of envenomings to venom evolution to the use of isolated toxins as leads for drug design and development.

Thus it turns out that some commonly kept “nonvenomous” snakes actually possess venoms as complex as that of cobras, vipers, and taipans. They don’t have as much, and they don’t have as efficient a delivery system, but it is present. It may account for the numerous nasty wounds people receive even from “nonvenomous” snakebites, which have previously been attributed to infection. (Pythons and boa constrictors are completely devoid of venom, however, if that’s any comfort.) During his research, Fry traveled the world, milking the venom from over 2,000 snakes a year for evidence. “It was extreme science, but I had a complete blast doing it,” he says cheerfully. To each his own. Fry’s findings appeared in the journals Rapid Communications in Mass Spectrometry, The Journal of Molecular Evolution, and Molecular Biology and Evolution. While snake venom can be extremely powerful, its effects are just as often overrated—as in the case of the “Asian Two-Step Viper,” which is said to be so

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deadly that a person can take only two steps after being bitten before succumbing. No snake kills a person that fast—unless the victim dies of a heart attack, in which case the “Asian Two-Step Viper” could be any tiny, harmless variety of snake. In cases such as these, fear is more deadly than fangs. Most experts identify the “Asian Two-Step Viper,” which is always said to be small, as a Saw-Scaled Viper (Echis sp.) or Snorkel Viper (Deinagkistrodon acutus). Both these snakes are also known more moderately by locals as “Hundred Pacers” or “Fifty Pacers,” again referring to the number of steps the victim can take before keeling over. And, in truth, these are both small but dangerous snakes. Edward Topsell has his own version of a Two-Step Viper, identified only as an “asp.” “So great is the effect of the poison of asps that it is worthily accounted the greatest venom,” he writes somberly. “In Alexandria, when they would put a man to sudden death, they would set an asp to his bosom or breast, and then, after the wound or biting, bid the party walk up and down, and so immediately within two or three turns, he would fall down dead.” Still not everyone buys the idea that snake venom is such a big deal. Take the case of thirty-year-old snake catcher Dijen Laishram from Manipur. His theory, reported in the Calcutta Times (January 28, 2008), is that snake venom won’t kill you if you just have enough faith it won’t. “When I was a child, my parents used to say that I would die if bitten by insects. They told me not to touch them. But I did not believe insects could kill us. So to prove that insects are harmless I started catching them,” he said in an interview. It wasn’t long before he progressed to snakes. “I tried keeping the snakes at home for my zoo, but I had to release them because my parents would not allow me to keep them,” he complained. He also enjoys guzzling snake venom. “Once I caught a cobra and ate its venom. I felt sick for about one week, but nothing happened,” he said. This is probably what would happen to anyone, however. The truth is that snake venom taken internally is almost harmless, as the poet Roman Lucan, in his Pharsalia, recognized thousands of years ago: Mixt with the blood, the serpent’s poison kills. The bite conveyes it; death lurks in the teeth. Swallowed it works no harm.

In 2004, Laishram let a medium-sized cobra chomp down on his thumb, reporting, “The cobra did not leave my thumb for about eight minutes. I again fell sick and recovered after taking some painkilling tablets. You will die if you think you will. But nothing will happen if you believe that nothing will happen.” For more on this ridiculous assumption, see Chapter 6. THE DEADLIEST Which snake is the deadliest? This is a question that requires so much hemming and hawing that a true answer is not possible. Some snakes have run-of-the-mill venom but inject so much of the stuff that their victims are in a great deal of

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danger. Some very deadly snakes are usually too lazy to attack human beings. The Gaboon Viper (Bitis gabonica), for example, is not inclined to bite, but its 2-inch fangs can inject a lot of nasty venom very deep when it gets the urge; its venom attacks the central nervous system as well as everything else. Gaboon Viper victims usually die if untreated. The Eastern Brown Snake (Pseudonaja textile) of Australia is regarded as two-and-a-half times more venomous than the Coastal Taipan (Oxyuranus scutellatus), but the latter may inject thirty times more venom, making it much more dangerous. Other snakes have highly potent venoms but are disinclined to bite or stay well away from people. The venom of King Cobra (Ophiophagus hannah) is no worse than that of any other cobra, but this huge snake injects a lot of poison. However, it tends to be shy and unaggressive. Sea snakes are very venomous but not apt to swim up to divers and bite them. The same is true of many Australian snakes who are deadly but live in the outback where they encounter no one and are shy when they do. And the Russell’s Viper (Daboia russellii) is fond of civilization and hangs around dwellings, killing more people than any other kind of snake, about 20,000 a year in India alone, mostly agricultural workers. The Black Mamba is highly excitable and highly aggressive, a bad combination. So my vote goes to these two—the Black Mamba and the Russell’s Viper—with a nod to the Gaboon Viper for Miss Congeniality. Partisans of New World venomous snakes should take heart, though. We have plenty of nasty snakes in this hemisphere as well. Most of them have rattles attached. For scientific purposes, the toxicity of any particular kind of venom is denoted by a number called LD50. This is the “lethal dose” at which 50% of the experimental victims (usually mice) die within 24 hours. Obviously there’s a big difference between mice and humans. A famous example is the venom of the Sydney Funnelweb Spider (Atrax robustus); mouse tissue is about fifty times less responsive to it than is human tissue. If we had only mice to go by, no one would worry about this creature. Human beings, though, by some sort of evolutionary quirk, are very sensitive to it and can die if not treated promptly. Another factor to take into account when determining the LD50 is the route of injection: subcutaneous, intramuscular, intravenous, or intraperitoneal. Different venoms act in different ways, depending on how they are introduced. While the pure lethality of any particular venom might be best discovered by injecting it intravenously, that would be a lucky hit for a snake. Most snakebites are subcutaneous, with a few big vipers managing an intramuscular shot. Very few snakes manage an intraperitoneal hit. In almost every case the subcutaneous route is the least lethal and the intravenous one the most. However, the ratio of lethality between the various routes of injection is not constant. Besides, even a bite from the deadliest of snakes is not always fatal and can sometimes produce no consequences at all. Sometimes the snake may deliver what is known as a “dry bite,” in other words, without injecting any venom. The snake may either decide to save its venom for a prospective dinner, or perhaps it is about

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to shed its fangs. In that case the venom apparatus is connected to the emerging fangs, not the soon-to-be-discarded ones. Dry bites occur with enough frequency to ensure the success of many a folk remedy for snakebite. Other factors come into play as well: the size of the snake, how deeply the bite penetrates the body, the condition of the fangs, the amount of venom injected, the number of strikes involved, where the bite occurs, and the victim’s size, age, calmness, and overall health. The number of microorganisms in the snake’s mouth is not an inconsiderable factor either, as infection alone can be quite serious. Venomous snakes are sometimes categorized according to their fang arrangement rather than their venom type. Among the earliest of truly venomous snakes are the rear-fanged (opisthoglyph) serpents. These snakes have large fangs embedded in the upper jawbone. In this dental arrangement, the venom comes into play only after the prey is seized and somewhat under control, but the poison itself is sufficiently potent to kill whatever needs to be killed. The rear-fanged snakes most dangerous to people are Boomslangs (Dispholidus typus), Twig Snakes (Thelotornis capensis), and Mangrove Snakes (Boiga dendrophila). Rear-fanged snakes that may occur in the United States include the Lyre Snake (Trimorphodon biscutatus), the Texas Cat-Eyed Snake (genus Boiga), and the Mexican Vine Snake (Oxybelis aeneus). Their fangs have deep grooves along which runs the venom. Only the rear-fanged venomous snakes have grooved rather than hollow teeth. Other venomous snakes have hollow teeth. Using a different and probably more advanced strategy, the so-called proteroglyphs, including today’s cobras, kraits, and sea snakes, moved their fangs to the front end of maxillary bones. They can stab as well as grab. Why not be versatile? Instead of using venom just to subdue and digest, why not use it to kill the prey before eating? So much safer and less trouble. These snakes then made the grooves deeper and closed, so that they formed a syringe. However, there is no clear demarcation between a regular tooth and a venom-delivering, poison duct fang. All sorts of gradations occur, but elapid fangs tend to be small and rigid. The most “advanced” group (although not in every case the deadliest) is the solenoglyphs, whose name means “moveable fangs.” This group includes true vipers like the Puff Adder (Bitis arietans) and pit vipers like rattlesnakes and Copperheads. These snakes have hollow fangs that are much longer than those of their fellow poisoners, and they can hence inject poison very deeply into the victim. They are also moveable and can click into place like switchblades. When the snake’s mouth is politely closed, the fangs fold neatly back, sheathed in a protective tissue. When the snake opens its mouth to strike, the fangs automatically click into striking position. These fangs can actually extend out 180 degrees, so that the victim may sometimes truly be said to have been stabbed rather than bitten. It appears that vipers can use either a biting or a stabbing motion as it suits them. When the snake strikes, its jaw muscles squeeze out the venom into ducts that lead to the base of the fangs; the operation is very much like a hypodermic syringe.

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Like all snake teeth, these fangs are completely replaceable. It is estimated that they last 6–10 weeks before they are replaced. The superannuated fangs are apparently simply swallowed, as they turn up occasionally in serpent tummies. Pliny and other ancient commentators declared that snake fangs are barbed like bee stingers and are lost during a bite. This is not generally true, although it can happen sometimes. Viper bites produce painful swelling and discoloration at the site of injury; these bites can be agonizing from the instant they occur. The swelling and darkening of the skin is usually due to hemorrhaging of the blood vessels and may become very large. The survival value of venom is inestimable. A venomous 4-foot rattlesnake, for instance, can subdue and eat a much larger prey than a Black Snake of the same length. It has the additional value of terrifying or even killing would-be attackers. Indeed, some of the world’s most wide-ranging snakes, such as Asian and Egyptian cobras (Naja naja and Naja haje), sea snakes, European Vipers, the Puff Adder, and the tropical rattlesnakes are venomous. In the United States between 7,000 and 8,000 people are bitten every year by venomous snakes, but only about fifteen of those bites prove fatal. Most of the “victims” are people who are playing one of a number of “stupid snake tricks”: picking them up, petting them, and otherwise harassing them. The usual perpetrators are Copperheads (Agkistrodon contortrix) and rattlesnakes, but even the tiny Coral Snake nabs about twenty-five people a year in this country. (There are other species of Coral Snakes that are more dangerous.) Most Coral Snake bites are due to rough or careless handling. Unmolested, Coral Snakes are of a mild disposition. More than 50% of all reported snakebites in the United States are due to people trying to capture a wild snake or from “accidents” while handling a captive one. In the United States more people are killed by lightning than by snakebite. (The Navajo people warned that if a person killed a snake, it shouldn’t be left in the open—because if lightning struck it, it would be brought back to life.) However, in rural India, you’re better off in a thunderstorm. More snakes bite than lightning strikes. Between 2,000 and 5,000 people every year die from snakebite in Latin America, the chief culprits being tropical Coral Snakes and the Fer-de-lance. Australia is loaded with snakes, especially poisonous ones. In fact, it is the only country on the planet in which venomous varieties outnumber their harmless counterparts. All Australia’s venomous snakes belong to the elapid family, however, and the country is viper free, for what that is worth, which is not much. However, because the most poisonous varieties generally live far from people, and because Australia is very up to date on antivenin, only five to ten people die from snakebites every year. As is the case worldwide, many of Australia’s snakes are threatened, particularly those who rely on ambush techniques to get dinner. These snakes need heavy leaf litter or brush to hide in, and this is being systemically destroyed by the onslaught of civilization. They seem less able to adapt to changing terrain conditions than snakes who hunt more actively. Another group of snakes in danger are those species that have a male–male mating combat. In these species,

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females tend to be larger and more impressive. This makes females more likely to be both killed and seized for collections. Indeed, it has been found that museum collections of the threatened snake species have about 15% more females than males. In Europe, about 1,000 people are bitten every year, usually by the European Viper (Vipera berus), but few if any deaths result. There are also a few bites from the Sand Viper (Vipera ammodytes), and these are more likely to prove fatal, as it has the strongest venom of all European vipers. Luckily for most Europeans, the Sand Viper only lives in the southeastern corner of the continent. It is also rather lethargic. Unlike the European Viper, it does well in captivity, and its venom is milked and made into an antivenin for bites of the European Viper. In Africa, at least 1,000 people die every year from snakebite, and some put the number much higher, up to 20,000. The most likely culprits are cobras, mambas, and vipers (Puff Adders and Saw-Scaled Vipers). Agricultural workers make up 85% of the victims, especially in plantations; a recent study in the Ivory Coast has shown that snakebites are five to ten times more frequent in the banana plantations than in the surrounding bush. In Asia thousands of people annually suffer fatal bites from the Russell’s Viper (Daboia russellii), which hangs out around dwellings and is fiercely aggressive. Its venom is both neurotoxic and hemotoxic. Cobras also take a toll on human lives but not as many as you might think. All over the world, children, particularly boys, are the most common victims, just as they are the ones most likely to be bitten by dogs and for the same reason: they were pestering the animal or recklessly exploring the areas where snakes are known to live. People have spent a great deal of effort trying to devise quick and preferably distance-based methods of distinguishing venomous from nonvenomous snakes. None of them are foolproof. Even the memory-aiding jingle “Red touch yellow / Kill a fellow / Red touch black / Venom lack” only works to distinguish U.S.style Coral Snakes (Micrurus fulvius) from King Snakes. King Snakes will eat rattlers and Coral Snakes when they can get them and are pretty much immune to their venom. Rattlesnakes seem to recognize this fact and instead of trying to bite their attackers, actually sort of throw their bodies at them in coils in an attempt to defend themselves. Besides, by the time you’ve managed to remember it and check it against the subject, the snake will have probably escaped or bitten you. Another myth concedes that while the bite of a King Snake won’t kill you, it will make you sick. Not so—as they have no true venom. Other methods of attempting to identify venomous snakes by some simple formula don’t work at all. It is widely believed, for instance, that venomous snakes have heavy, triangular heads and nonvenomous snakes don’t. (Chinese folklore says that snakes with triangular heads are female, an obvious connection with the delta of Venus.) While it is true that many vipers do have big heads (the better to hold the poison sacs), other extremely venomous snakes like cobras and kraits do not have particularly scary heads. And the harmless Hognose Snakes (genus Heterodon) do. It is true that on the average vipers tend to have much smaller,

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narrower tails than some other kinds of snakes. However, “on the average” is not good enough odds to stake one’s life. There is a myth that poisonous snakes have a red tongue and harmless ones a black tongue; the harmless Garter Snake (genus Thamnophis) has a red and black tongue. It is sometimes said that you can tell a venomous snake from a nonvenomous one simply by observing the way it lies: harmless snakes lie straight, and venomous ones lie coiled up. While venomous snakes do tend to lie coiled more than do nonvenomous ones, it’s important to know that any snake can lie coiled or straight. They strike by suddenly straightening out the fore portion of their bodies from the typical S curve and do not need to be coiled to do so, although many seem to prefer that stance. The speed of a snake strike has been clocked at about 22 miles per hour. That may not seem very fast, but it gets the job done. As the late Steve Irwin once reportedly said, “You know, you can touch a stick of dynamite, but if you touch a venomous snake it’ll turn around and bite you and kill you so fast it’s not even funny.” Some people maintain that pupil shape is an indicator of venom capacity: narrow, catlike pupils belong to poisonous snakes and round ones to harmless snakes. Actually the shape of the pupil merely indicates nocturnal or diurnal feeding habits, not venom. Deadly snakes have both kinds of pupils. Besides, who wants to get close enough to look a snake in the eye? The appearance of hoods (or lack of them) is not surefire, either. While cobras have a noticeable hood, so does the Hognose Snake (Heterodon platyrhinos). And the Hognose Snake itself is nothing to sneer at. Although it is extremely unlikely to bite (most bites being induced by the handler for experimental purposes) it can make a nasty wound and is close to being truly venomous. It is sometimes called a “puff adder” or “blowing adder” and is rumored to have a poisonous breath that can kill someone 20 feet away. However, hognose snakes are not dangerously venomous, and they don’t blow on people. It does have enlarged rear fangs and a saliva that is paralytic and toad toxic; however, this saliva is only “mildly” toxic to people. The rear fangs are reminiscent of those of venomous rear-fanged snakes and even have traces of grooves, which allow for the flowing of venom. They actually prefer to eat frogs and noxious toads, one of the few animals who will regularly dine upon these critters. It appears to be immune to the noxious chemicals that toads exude from their skins. It is not true, by the way, that the Hognose Snake uses its fangs to “pop” toads that have swollen up in self-defense. Snakes who have been made to regurgitate their toady meals have vomited up unpunctured toads. Some authorities guess that the rear fangs enable the snake to handle large, squirmy amphibians with ease, although they have to partly swallow them before they can poison them. These snakes will, however, hiss and swell up when threatened, creating a cobralike hood. They also roll over and play dead, mouths open, tongues dragging on the ground, when attacked. They do have a lovely upturned snout that gives them their name and enables them to dig up toads. But they almost never bite. While these snakes are rather popular as pets, the fact that many of them will eat nothing

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but toads poses a problem for their keepers, as toads are not particularly easy to come by. The degree of hoodedness can also vary among venomous snakes. The Indian Cobra (Naja naja) and Cape Cobra (Naja nivea) have wide dramatic hoods, but that of the Egyptian Cobra (Naja hage) is much narrower and less impressive. And plenty of very deadly snakes, including all the vipers, are hoodless. Even location is not a perfect guide. While you might think you are safe from cobras and the like in an American city, guess again. People are forever dumping their illegal pets in city parks. A herpetologist told me that he’d seen everything in the Washington, D.C., Rock Creek Park—krait, cobra, you name it, all released by their malicious or stupid owners. In 2007, for instance, a fifteen-month-old boy was rushed to the hospital after being bitten by a ball python in a public park in Charlotte, North Carolina. Why a ball python was in the park in the first place is unclear. Venomous snakes have two basic ways of administering their lethal cocktail, depending upon the kind of prey involved. If the prey is pretty defenseless, such as a bird or small lizard, the general tactic is to bite and hang on until the animal is dead or at least unconscious. However, worthier opponents like big rodents (with big teeth) are often bitten and released. This gives the snake time to back away and wait for the victim to weaken. If the victim manages to remove itself some distance from the site of the attack, the snake can track it by its scent until its corpse is recovered. One group of African snakes, the spitting cobras, has a safer way of administering poison, at least safer for them. They simply spit in their victim’s eyes. This saves them the trouble and danger of being bitten or stepped on. However, this spitting is defensive only. When a spitting cobra is after dinner, it bites like any other cobra. (The Omaha people tell of a rattlesnake that can spit poison for over 100 feet, but this is of course mythical. Rattlesnakes are unable to spit venom at all.) SNAKEBITE REMEDIES Treating snakebite is a subject as myth ridden as snakes themselves. Proposed methods have included folksy remedies like killing a chicken, cutting it open, and laying the carcass across the open wound—with the chicken corpse supposed to “draw out” the poison. Some maintained the chicken should be black. When the chicken turned green (or its feathers fell out) you knew it worked. Sometimes more than one chicken might be needed. In other instances the skin of a newly killed black cat or skunk or a poultice of melted cheese applied to the wound would work. Powdered crawfish, mud, vinegar, turpentine, olive oil, iodine, potassium permanganate, indigo, salt, hog lard, eggs, turkey buzzard crops, lemon juice mixed with tamarind and drunk from a rhino’s horn, and freshly chewed tobacco (or various combinations thereof) have all had their supporters. In the 1700s a black slave named Caesar developed a cure, for which he won his freedom, based on plantain roots, horehound, and a tobacco

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leaf moistened with rum. A more recent idea is applying an electric shock to the bite site. Another popular treatment was giving the victim lots of whiskey to drink. This had the dual effect of relieving his suffering and killing him quicker, as the whiskey speeds up the blood flow. W.C. Fields once suggested, “Always carry a flagon of whiskey in case of snakebite and furthermore always carry a small snake.” In folklore, however, it was said that no matter how much whiskey was drunk by a snakebite victim, he would not become intoxicated until the alcohol had “neutralized” the venom. One early writer, a medical doctor, suggested 1/2 pint of bourbon every 5 minutes. Teetotalers suggested drinking milk might be beneficial, perhaps drawing on that old snake–milk connection. If that didn’t work, a milk poultice might help or drinking snakeweed boiled in milk. In regard to the last, the Puritan minister Francis Higginson (1588–1630) wrote in his 1929 New-Englands Plantatation: Yea there are some Serpents called Rattle Snakes that have Rattles in their Tayles, that will not flye from a man as others will, but will flye upon him and sting him so morally that hee will dye within a quarter of an houre after, except the parte stinged have about him some of the roots of an Herbe called Snakeweed to bite on, and then he shall receive no harm.

Ammonia was a popular cure for a while, well into the 1980s, in fact. So were “mummy” substances extracted first from Egyptian mummies and then from any dead body. Ground-up mummy was also considered to be excellent for coughs, ulcers, epilepsy, and indeed any kind of poison. King Francis I of France was said to carry around ground-up mummy in a pouch around his waist at all times, just in case. Mummy not being readily available to the masses, other remedies were tried. You might also mash up an onion or a bit of garlic and rub it on the bite. If you have the opportunity, you can drink the blood of the offending snake or see if you can get a toad to urinate on the wound. If toad pee is in short supply, just stick the bitten body part in a bucket of kerosene. (Kerosene was a popular remedy for all sorts of things.) English clergyman and naturalist Gilbert White (1720–1793) offered his own remedy for snakebite, “common salad oil.” However, he gave no particulars as to its use. Then there is “snakestone,” a “mineral” of magical properties, which when held to the wound will self-adhere and drain all the poison out of the wound. Although always called a stone, it is sometimes a bit of animal (usually cattle) bone. In other cases, the snakestone was said to have formed in the heads of certain snakes. An alternate tactic was to immerse the bitten part into hot water or sour milk and then throw in the stone, which would remove all poison from the wound. The Chinese have their own variety of snakestones but used them to cure children’s convulsions. According to the legend, certain snakes before hibernation swallow some yellow earth and then cast it out again in the spring. While the outside of the

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earthen ball remains yellow, the interior is black. If the stone was picked up during the second phase of the moon and made into an infusion, it would be curative. One of my favorite recipes is provided by Edward Topsell in his Histories of Beasts. First, he says, it is necessary “that the wounded part be cut off by some skilful surgeon, or else that the flesh round about the wound, with the wound itself, be circumcised and cut with a sharp razor. Then let the hottest things be applied, even the searing iron, to the very bone. Also, before the ejection, the wound must be drawn with a cupping glass or a reed or with the naked rump of a ringdove or cock.” “I mean,” he insists firmly, “that the very hole of the bird . . . must be set upon the bitten place.” After giving a few more directions in the same vein, he suggests applying a plaster of “century [centaury], myrrh, and opium or sorrel.” (Curiously, the Nisenan tribe of California believed that the wood dove is the niece of Rattlesnake and that if you harm a dove, a rattlesnake will bite you.) The Romanians have their own cure for snakebite. First you have to kill a snake with a hazelnut stick. Keep the stick around for future emergencies. If someone is bitten, soak the stick in water, and then pour the water on the bite. Then chant this prayer: “Skin to one / Bone to flesh / The flesh has been bitten / Bitten by a snake. / God send the cure. / Holy mother, overshadow him.” The Comanche tried poultices of such plants as snakeroot, alder bark, and peyote, as well as applying a piece of the biting snake to the snakebite. This didn’t work either. One recipe from India calls for a “curry porridge” to be given to the victim (presumably as a dietary item, not a poultice) if one has been “stung by a snake.” The lack of information about how snake venom is delivered suggests the proposed remedy is also worthless. For the Maidu Indians, the best chance for a bitten person was to go into seclusion for a month with another person who had been bitten and survived. During this time, his helper must feed him, and he is subject to various taboos. The notion that those bitten must follow a strict diet, at least for a while, is a common one. The Atharva-Veda (Book 6, Spell 13), a sacred text of Hinduism, also provides a powerful cure for snake envenomation: With mighty charms do I dissolve thy poison . . . As a brook in the desert thy poison has dried up . . . With my eye do I slay thy eye, with poison do I slay thy poison. O serpent, die, do not live; back upon thee shall thy poison turn! O kairˆata, speckled one, upatrinya [grass-dweller], brown one, listen to me; ye black repulsive reptiles, listen to me! Do not stand upon the ground of my friend; cease with your poison . . . I release [thee] from the fury of the black serpent, the taimˆata, the brown serpent, the poison that is not fluid, the all-conquering, as the bowstring is loosened from the bow. . . . The prickly porcupine, tripping down from the mountain, did declare this: “Whatsoever serpents, living in ditches, are here, their poison is most deficient in force.”

Science later came to the rescue of folk remedies by telling people to open the wound further with a razor blade and suck out the venom, applying a tourniquet if

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possible. This method doesn’t have any more real value than toad pee, however, and is probably more dangerous, as people trying to open a wound have sometimes managed to open an artery or cut a tendon instead. Even a small cut can prove dangerous, as many snake venoms have strong anticoagulant properties, and the sufferer could end up bleeding to death. And of course, any snakebite may lead to a serious infection. As far as the technique of sucking out the venom goes, it doesn’t work, even if it is safe for both parties. One bit of folklore from Illinois maintains that sucking on the wound through a silk handkerchief makes the venom safe. However, silk handkerchiefs are not as easy to come by as they once were, perhaps. Another technique sometimes used was cauterization by using black powder, branding irons, silver nitrate, nitric acid, potassium hydrate, and carbolic acid. None of these are of any use, and most do more harm than good. Tourniquets and constriction bands are somewhat effective if (and this is a big if) used correctly. Otherwise, they too can be useless or positively dangerous. The “pressure bandage” is popular in Australia, but not particularly so in the rest of the New World. I recently attended a seminar on rattlesnakes, hosted by Timber Rattlesnake expert W.H. “Marty” Martin. When someone in the audience asked what to do if bitten by a rattlesnake, he replied, “Get to the hospital.” But what if there were no hospital nearby, the questioner wondered. A short pause. “Well, get to the hospital as soon as you can,” he suggested. The only real cure for snakebite is antivenin, although binding the wound tightly with a crepe bandage may slow venom transport in the lymph. The victim should lie flat and move as little as possible. Snakebite victims who are not given antivenin spend, on average, twice as much time in the hospital as treated victims. There are two basic types of antivenin: monovalent (species specific) and polyvalent (which provides protection against several species). Each species of snake has its own ideal antivenin, but as a practical matter, venoms from different local species are used to create a polyvalent antivenin, supposedly good for several kinds of snake venom. In many cases, after all, people have no idea what kind of snake bit them. The first antivenin was produced in 1895 at the Pasteur Institute in Paris to counteract cobra venom. The idea caught on, and antivenin was soon being made against various venomous snakes all over the world. Antivenin is created by “milking” the snake of its venom. This is done by pressing the snake’s head down and forcing the fangs to bite through a membrane that covers a glass container. Extremely dangerous snakes may sometimes be chilled or anesthetized before handling. Milking a snake will usually yield a good deal of venom; more can be collected by gently squeezing the venom glands. However, this procedure is a good deal easier when dealing with long-fanged snakes like vipers. Short-fanged and rear-fanged snakes are more difficult to deal with. In a few cases, it may be necessary to dissect out the venom gland and extract the venom with saline solution. Very large snakes can produce about 5 cubic centimeters of venom. Elapids don’t generally produce as much as vipers, and their venom tends to be lighter in color.

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When a sufficient amount has been collected, it is purified and injected in tiny amounts (between one-tenth and one-hundredth of a lethal dose) into a test animal, usually a horse. The horse makes antibodies against the venom as it becomes more and more resistant to it. This process takes about 3 months. When the horse has developed enough antibodies to protect itself against a lethal dose, some blood is withdrawn from his veins. The blood serum is purified and labeled “antivenin.” Antivenin works by activating the immune response in the body, similar to the way a vaccination works. Here the offending toxin is actually “wrapped up” in a layer of antibodies called into action by the injection of the proper antivenin. Here in the United States, crotalus antivenin is used for most rattlesnake bites, while in India, a polyvalent vaccine that works against the Asian Cobra and Russell’s Viper is available. While antivenin is undoubtedly effective, it is also expensive. The last time I checked it was $349.50 per 10-milliliter vial; many victims require twenty vials. It is also dangerous, with some people being dangerously allergic to horse serum antivenin, which triggers a severe immunological reaction, called serum sickness, in up to 75% of recipients. Common symptoms include fever, rashes, nausea, and muscle weakness. Some people are affected with inflammation of the nerves or even permanent muscle atrophy. Very rarely, patients can suffer anaphylactic shock. Antivenins made from chicken egg yolks or sheep’s blood are under development and seem to be more promising. Some researchers are also working with camel and llama blood. Camel serum seems to cause fewer allergies than horse serum and is also more stable in a hot environment. Very recently, a new snakebite antivenin has been developed. What is miraculous about this preparation is that it contains no snake venom at all. Simon Wagstaff and his colleagues at the Liverpool School of Tropical Medicine in the United Kingdom took the DNA of the Carpet Viper (genus Echis) and looked for the genes that are active when the snake is refilling its venom sacs. A dozen of these genes code for metalloprotease, which causes hemorrhaging by destroying blood vessels. From these genes the researchers created a “consensus” sequence that resembles as closely as possible all the different genes. This new antivenin works better than the traditional stuff, even when it is unclear exactly what species of snake has bitten the victim. Currently no actual vaccination against snakebite exists. There are several reasons: the rarity of the occurrence makes it totally unnecessary for most people; the fact that many regions of the world sport many different flavors of snake (and presumably a separate vaccine needed for many of them); the speed at which snake venom goes to work would necessitate a high level of antibodies in the victim; and so on. So far, a few experiments, notably against the Habu Viper (genus Trimeresurus), have proved inconclusive even as to their effectiveness. The researchers rather unbelievably got over 34,000 people willing to be injected with Habu Venom. It should not be assumed that all hospitals are on a par when it comes to treating snakebite, either, especially when the bite is from an exotic species. Micah Stancil, a herpetologist, was bitten on his thumb by his African Sedge

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Viper (Atheris nitschei). He raced to the hospital with all the pertinent information about the snake: its common and scientific names, photographs of the species, and who to contact in case of envenomation. The physician was uninterested in any of the information, although he thought the snake was “pretty.” He simply hooked the victim up to an EKG and blood pressure monitors. As Stancil’s condition worsened, the doctor suggested that some antivenin might do the trick. Stancil hastened to assure him that no antivenin existed for this species and that using rattlesnake antivenin wouldn’t work. “Yes, it will,” the doctor asserted. “It works for all snakebites.” Then he thought he might as well suck the poison out of the wound—an outmoded “treatment” that never worked very well in the first place. (Even if it did it was far too late for this kind of intervention—as the venom had spread through the body.) Stancil was given the antivenin anyway, and he continued to get sicker. He started to hemorrhage but eventually managed to escape with his life—not much thanks to his “treatment,” for which he was billed $25,000. Snake venom does have valid medical uses, however. From ancient times it was extracted and mixed up with other stuff to make a “treacle.” Puritan clergyman Jeremy Taylor (1613–1667) wrote, in an interpretation from the book of Acts, “We kill the viper and make treacle of him.” Today, cobra venom is used to make the painkiller drugs cobroxin and nyloxin. Many beta blockers, designed to fight high blood pressure, were developed from the venoms of the Malayan Pit Viper (genus Calloselasma) and King Cobra. Some kinds of snake venom are also used as coagulants for people with hemophilia. Sawscaled Viper (Echis carinatus) venom produces group I prothrombin activators such as ecarin, which can be used to analyze blood from patients with liver diseases. Its venom is also the active ingredient in Aggrastat, an anticlotting drug. Water Moccasin venom is the basis for protac, a drug that treats vascular thrombosis. The Terciopelo (genus Bothrops) is the source of propanolol, a drug used to combat memory loss. The Central American Pit Viper Bothrops moojeni produces a serine protease, batroxobin, that can form clots even in the presence of heparin, which allows a patient’s plasma to be monitored for levels of fibrinogen even while undergoing heparin therapy. (Venom is also used in homeopathic remedies. Rattlesnake venom, for instance, is said to cure alcoholism, meningitis, some kinds of deafness, laryngitis, gangrene, cholera, asthma, yellow fever, plague, epilepsy, and rabies. It probably works against rabies about as well as anything else does.) However, “medical grade” venom has a more sinister use. In 2007 five harness track workers at the Saratoga Gaming and Raceway were charged in a plot to fix harness races by doping horses with snake venom and other performanceenhancing drugs. A monthlong investigations revealed that pacers and trotters were pumped full of painkilling cobra toxin, which is imperceptible to monitors, along with Epogen, a drug used to treat anemia. People have also sought to protect themselves from snakebite in the first place, under the motto that an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. Various stories claim that you can protect yourself from snakes by encircling yourself with

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a hemp or horsehair rope, onions, garlic, lead beads, snake bones, old shoes, soil from snakeless Ireland, a line of burned gunpowder, or a chalkline. All these are supposed to act as foolproof barriers against our legless friends. One interesting variation suggests that the rope should be colored black and white like a King Snake to ward off rattlers. However, snakes never learned these folktales and can move over hemp, chalk, and horsehair quite agilely. (It is equally a myth that if you decide to shoot a rattlesnake, it will conveniently line up his head with the barrel of the gun.) The Moroccans had two antisnake charms. In one, it was sufficient to say, “I am protected from you by God and religious law.” In case that didn’t work, it was suggested that people plagued by snakes on their property could burn a goat’s horn beneath the rafters: that would drive them away. St. Patrick, by the way, wasn’t the only one who could drive snakes from an island. According to a story related by Aelian, the Greek beauty Helen was exiled onto the island of Pharos to keep her out of trouble, while her husband Menelaus was out exploring. She had a quantity of herbs with her (alas, we know not what kind) and planted them. They quickly bloomed over the entire island, and the snakes fled away in disgust. She may be regarded as an early version of St. Patrick. Some old sources suggested that people venturing into snake country should carry the heart of a vulture with them, or wrap themselves up in the leaves of an ash tree. Neither of these is tremendously practical, and many people prefer to take their chances. Some people of the Kaibab American Indians tied lovage to their horses’ hooves in the belief this would ward off snakebite. The Atsugewi used angelica root on their legs, and women attached turtleheads to their skirts. The Muskito people of Central America believed that chewing guaco leaves would prevent snakebite. Tobacco was popular among many tribes. The Greek physician Dioscorides recommended viper’s bugloss. According to a story told by Aelian and repeated by Pliny, there is yet another way to kill off a snake—using your own spit, which, wouldn’t you know, is poisonous to serpents. All you need to do is catch a viper, open its mouth and then expectorate down its gullet. Pretty soon the snake will not only die, but also rot away forthwith. A similar story from New Mexico maintains that if you are bitten, just grab the snake by the head and tail and bite back right in the middle of its body. That will kill the snake and cure your snakebite at the same time. Nothing like multitasking. Several traditions maintain that the only way to preserve your own life after have been bitten by a snake is to kill the offending animal to stop the poison from spreading. In a modern day Texan legend, if you are bitten by a venomous snake you won’t suffer any ill effects if you just bite off the head of the offending animal. It’s only fair to say that snakes, or at least parts of snakes, are said to ward off other evils. According to Albanian folklore, for example, a snakehead is just the thing to protect oneself against witchcraft. Kill a snake and cut off its head with silver. (Using the edge of a silver coin works well for this purpose.) Then dry the head carefully, and wrap it up along with a silver medal of St. George. (You could

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even use this medal to do the head cutting if you want.) Have the medal blessed by a priest, and you’re all set against witchcraft. The Genesis snake reappears in the biblical book of Numbers, this time as an antisnakebite remedy. The book records how the wandering Israelites kept complaining about their miserable desert diet. God decided to teach them a lesson (Numbers 21:6) by sending forth venomous snakes (or “fiery serpents”) among them. Then it was thrust upon to Moses to cure his bitten tribesmen. After siccing the snakes on the people, God agreed to help cure them by teaching Moses how to create a Nehushtan, a sacred bronze snake carried on a pole. According to 2 Kings the pole was destroyed by Hezekiah, again with God’s approval. The biblical god’s wishes are sometimes rather hard to discern. In the New Testament, Jesus Christ himself is compared to this same serpent: “Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so the Son of Man must be lifted up, in order that everyone who has faith in him may have eternal life” (John 3:15). The snake’s connection between mortal life and eternal life is complete. In Africa, it was a custom of the Zulu people to make a cut in their hand and rub in a little snake venom to inoculate themselves against a surprise serpent attack. It is believed snakes will not attack anyone so prepared. However, there’s downside to the procedure. If the shadow of a protected man crosses the path of a person not so treated, the latter will die. Such shenanigans are not limited to Zulus. In September 2001, thirty-three-year-old Tim Friede set up a video camera in his basement and allowed two cobras to bite his arm. He was checking to see if his yearlong venom injection project would protect him from snakebite. He spent the next several hours paralyzed and unable to talk to his doctors, who administered sufficient antivenin to counteract the effects of the bites, admittedly less than would ordinarily be needed. He was able to return home 2 days later. His supportive wife, Beth, announced to newspaper reporters, “I am so confident in what he’s doing. I know it would kill him inside if I told him he had to stop.” He was almost killed on the inside and the outside anyway. In Mexico, certain people “inoculated” themselves with snake venom by pricking themselves in the arm or even tongue with the fang of the snake. Supposedly this not only immunized them but also gave them power over the snakes to make the snakes do their bidding. There is evidence to suggest that venom inoculation or indeed being bitten repeatedly by snakes confers some sort of immunity against that particular species, at least temporarily. It’s not something necessary or advisable for the general public, however. The ancient Indians hit upon the always-popular plan of trying to bribe the snake with gifts. In the Shamkhayana Grihya-Sutra, for instance, worshippers are directed to honor the sacred snake Takshaka Vaishaleya by giving him water to wash with, combs for his nonexistent hair, clothes, and even some glamorous eye makeup. Apparently, however, the writer of the work is not confident enough of the value of his offerings to assure the worshipper they will be fully protective against snakebite. He also advises the reader to climb up to the highest bed possible

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before going to sleep. Beds aren’t as snake-proof as they might be, however. In 1991 a Pennsylvania couple was said to have sued a manufacturer for $20,000 after declaring that they kept feeling strange movements in their bed. They tried changing mattresses, but they kept feeling the same weird motions. After taking the second mattress to a lab, they claimed the remains of a 26-inch Eastern Ribbon Snake (Thamnophis sauritis) were found. It is not explained how a ribbon snake took up a 4-month residence in their bed, even exchanging one mattress for another. The matter is even more curious when one considers that Ribbon Snakes are generally considered semiaquatic. More recently, science has taken on the snake repellent problem. Back in 1949 a researcher named M. Flattery tried out chlorine gas, coal gas, cyanogas, DDT, rotenone, arsenic, chlordane, and nicotine sulfate. He reported his findings in “An Effective Way to Control Snakes” (Pest Control 17 no. 2). He discovered that the last named substance would kill snakes, but neither that nor any of the other materials tried worked to repel them. Old shoes and garlic would have been a lot safer for all concerned. In 1953 the North Carolina State Museum sent out an “information circular,” which claimed that the odors of creosote and naphtha flakes might do the trick. The researchers Cowles and Phelan reported 5 years later that mercaptan would trigger a “fear reaction” in snakes. Later investigators Whitmore and Stout (1965) reported that mercaptan only worked against “nonpoisonous” snakes; venomous ones were apparently unmoved. Between 1981 and 1983, scientists made a more systematic and controlled effort to see what substances if any repelled the Black Rat Snake (Elaphe obsoleta). They used a special test chamber designed to see what might prevent a snake from crossing the test area. Materials tried were gourd vines, mothballs, sulfur, cedar oil, lime, cayenne pepper spray, bird Tanglefoot, sisal rope (an old favorite), coal tar, creosote, liquid smoke, artificial skunk scent (mercaptan), and musk of the Eastern Chain King Snake (Lampropeltis getulus). As you might expect, nothing worked. The researchers somberly concluded in Second Eastern Wildlife Damage Control Conference (1985), “We feel that the only way to reduce the number of snakes found in and around houses is to remove or reduce their habitat.” SNAKES FIGHT BACK Clifford Pope, a mid–twentieth century herpetologist, is given credit for describing the standard operating procedure of serpentine defense: “First, they are cowards. Next, they are bluffers. Then, they are warriors.” Indeed, most snakes prefer to hide than to attack and are rarely seen far from cover. In Morocco it is said that if a snake appears while people are pitching their tents, the serpent becomes the master of the place and must be given respect. And if a snake approaches a person, it is the spirit of a saint, since ordinary snake flee at the sight of human beings. The Ibo people of southern Nigeria, however, claim that when a snake approaches a woman, it is a sure sign that she has conceived.

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Many snakes practice effective camouflage, doing their best to convince both would-be prey and predators that they are merely part of the tree or a line of speckled earth. The blotches and spots break up the snake’s outline, so that it can do this effectively. A few snakes, however, try the opposite tack. Poisonous Coral Snakes, for instance, like to advertise their presence with clearly marked distinctive bands, the so-called warning coloration. This warns away would-be predators. Some nonvenomous species have copied this idea, using the same colored bands to psych out the predators (and hoping they don’t know the poem “Red touch black, venom lack”). For some reason, although the mimics got the colors right, they can’t seem to get them in the right order. As mentioned earlier, snakes are not the brightest of beings. Or perhaps they have an innate sense of fair play, which is often more than we can say for ourselves. In addition to their protective coloration, the snake’s famous shape is well designed to ward off enemies. The snake can curl up into a tiny area, stretch out along a narrow passage, or weave in and out of branches. This expertise at hiding means that there are probably more snakes around than you will ever see. It’s a disquieting thought. One rear-fanged snake, the fish-eating Erpeton tentaculatum, a native of Indonesia, defends itself by merely straightening out its body and stiffening up “like a board,” which is what its native name means. It does not attempt to bite its captors, even though it is venomous. Even the rattlesnake’s famous rattle was perhaps originally devised as a warning signal against bison and other big clumsy critters that shared its primeval demesne. Early European colonists called it a “bell.” Nonrattlers of the colubrid family also shake their tails ferociously against leaves to produce a warning sound. The SawScaled Viper (Echis carinatus) runs its keeled scales together to make a loud, harsh hissing noise. Cobras and cobra copiers expand their neck muscles to form a threatening hood. Cobras probably originally tried this just to make themselves look larger (as a hissing cat does), but other snakes may have decided to use the same tactic to make themselves look like cobras. Even a small cobra is pretty scary. Other snakes simply puff up their necks. It is not true, however, that snakes can “raise their hackles” when alarmed, as is sometimes alleged. The Ball Python, Royal Python (Python regius), and a few other snakes coil themselves into an impossible knot with the head tucked inside and hope that is good enough to foil the enemy. (These snakes can actually be rolled for many feet while balled up.) A variety of this tactic is to leave the tail (which is blunt in species who try this) waggling in the air to look like a vicious snakehead ready to attack. The Sri Lankan Blotched Pipe Snake (Cylindrophus maculatus) raises its brightly colored tail when threatened: the tail looks exactly like the head of a cobra! This indeed gives would-be predators pause. A few species can actually discard part of their tails the way some lizards can. The nonvenomous South American False Coral Snakes (Pliocercus elapoides and Scaphiodontophis venustissimus) have fracture planes across the tail than enable them to break easily. A couple of

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African species of Psammophis and Natriciteres can twist their bodies so quickly that the tail comes off if it is grabbed. Many snakes gape widely at their intimidators. The Cottonmouth (Agkistrodon piscivorous) has a ghastly death-white mouth that he is not averse to showing to anyone who comes too close. (At the same time the unwelcome visitor may get a good look at his fangs.) The Black Mamba (Dendroaspis polylepis) does the same—although in this case the interior of the mouth is coal-black, an equally unnerving sight. The harmless Parrot Snake (Leptophis ahetulla) opens its mouth very wide to reveal a brightly colored mouth that contrasts vividly with its scale coloring. The Red-Bellied Snake (Storeria occipitomaculata) curls its upper lip and pushes out its teeth in a gruesome grin. Most snakes flee when endangered, although some, like rattlesnakes and cottonmouths (who can back up their threat), will not retreat. Nor is it true that rattlesnakes always rattle before striking. And nearly all snakes, if cornered, will fight, although snakes don’t appear to exhibit marked territoriality. Despite the folktales, most snakes are not in the habit of chasing people, although certain aggressive species will do so if truly annoyed. In Chinese folklore, it is actually considered auspicious to dream about being chased by a snake. They are not very speedy, either—although a Black Mamba can zip along at a lightning 10 miles or so per hour. Most snakes churn up to about half that but usually give the impression of moving a lot faster. It’s the spooky lateral undulation. Another defensive tactic used by some water snakes (genus Nerodia), rat snakes, and Garter Snakes is to disgust their captors by emptying the contents of their two anal sacs upon their tormentors. This yellowish stuff is called musk and is not feces, as many people suppose. It’s worse. However there are degrees of badness. Garter Snake and water snake musk is only so-so awful, but that of the Texas Rat Snake (Elaphe obsoleta lindheimeri) can be beyond nasty. It reeks to high heaven and has an extremely greasy composition. (Rat snakes use their tails to spread it around even more.) It has been compared to the smell of burnt tires, which may be an understatement. It is also hard to wash off. The Rat Snake should also be avoided for another reason. It bites when cornered or picked up, and although its teeth are so tiny that they may not be about to pierce a flannel shirt, they have no trouble biting through skin. Herpetologist Michael Smith reported in the Cold Blooded News, June 2003, “Once, years ago, I uncovered a Texas Rat Snake in the field and picked it up, and it promptly bit my thumb. It began to chew, and as I did not struggle (pulling away makes it worse) the snake transitioned from defensive biting to swallowing, and swallowed my thumb up to the hand.” Although he does not say so, one presumes Smith recovered the digit intact and attached. Perhaps the worst-smelling snake, however, is the Chinese King Rat Snake (Elaphe carinata), charmingly nicknamed “the stinking goddess,” due to its very large musk glands. In a personal correspondence with me, snake owner Jessica Shea commented about her snake Cho:

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This snake, however, was unlike any other in its strength and quality of stink. It is, indeed, the Goddess of Stinking. Or, in my King’s case, the God of Stinking (he’s a male; he was shipped to my friend with a female as part of a potential breeding pair, but he ate her, and this is why you keep potentially ophiophagus [snake-eating] snakes singly, especially when young). The odor is something along the lines of rotting meat, combined with burning cabbage, with a hint of freshly cut grass, the latter of which does not, strangely enough, improve the smell, but instead serves as an awful reminder of just how bad the rest of it is. You pick up the grassy smell first, thinking, Hmm, maybe it’s not so bad,” but before you can finish that thought, the rest of it hits your olfactory senses like a creeping miasma from a sewer in a town full of people with rotting colons and only cabbage to eat. And then, when you try to wash it off, it doesn’t go. It penetrates and sticks to your skin like a dye pack from a bank robbery. I scrubbed, scrubbed some more, and used stronger and stronger soaps. I finally lucked out by using my brand new Scrubbie from Mama V soap—it exfoliated the stink out, and replaced it with the Scrubbie’s coconut/cocoa butter scent. But oh, dear GOD did I want to cut my hands off at first.

Some Copperheads and rattlers have been accused of smelling like cucumbers when they are ready to attack, but this isn’t true either. They can emit a foul smell like many other snakes, but it’s a stretch to call the smell cucumber-like. Timber Rattlesnake expert W.H. “Marty” Martin says a rattlesnake smells like a “gray fox,” which is helpful to those who know what a gray fox smells like. And in Snakes and Snake Hunting Carl Kauffeld wrote of his favorite: “The scents vary very widely and are intended as a ‘discourager’ much like the skunk’s, but to me the Diamondback musk is one of the sweetest perfumes on earth!” First prize for creative defense, however, goes to the genus Tropidophis, a group of New World serpents who, when threatened, may eject a stream of blood from their mouth and eyes, disconcerting, disgusting, and demoralizing the attacker. Biting is usually the last defense. It is well to remember that most snakes can strike out for about one-third of their body length, although some like the Jumping Viper can manage a good deal farther. Venomous snakes often prefer not to waste their poison on attackers (as after all they have only so much) and frequently deliver what is called a “dry bite.” This may account for up to one-third of defensive bites (and maybe more) and is probably the reason that so many home-concocted cures “work” against venomous bites—as there was no poison injected in the first place. Most snakes have (apparently) conscious control as to whether or not to inject venom and, if so, how much. Rear-fanged snakes and baby snakes do not have this control option, however. They always deliver a full bite, which may be the truth behind the myth that newly hatched venomous snakes are more lethal than the adults. They are not. They just have less self-control. Just how dangerous a rear-fanged snake can be is illustrated by the sorry deaths of two famous herpetologists. An exceptionally dangerous rear-fanged snake is the large arboreal African Boomslang (Dispholidus typus), native to equatorial

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and southern Africa; the name is Afrikaans for “tree snake.” It comes in more color varieties than almost any other snake, which doesn’t make it any easier for the novice to identify. It also has a fair approximation of binocular vision, as do many other arboreal species. Normally, as its name suggests, this snake takes up residence in trees, often with its head hanging down free. It can stay so still and so long in this position that birds will actually perch on it. Fortunately for them, Boomslangs prefer to eat lizards—usually. The Boomslang’s fangs are slightly moveable, which means that it has some stabbing capability; this in conjunction with the large amount of nasty hemorrhagic venom it can produce and its unnervingly wide gape makes it a very dangerous snake to humans. However, it only bites when cornered. Karl Patterson Schmidt (1890–1957), a well-known American herpetologist, was killed by a baby Boomslang. The snake was sent to him at the Field Museum in Chicago by Marlin Perkins (of Wild Kingdom fame) for examination. Unfortunately for Schmidt, he underestimated the seriousness of the bite, refused any medical intervention, and thus met his end 28 hours later of brain hemorrhage and respiratory collapse. One should not play Boomslangs cheap. Always the scientist, Schmidt made note of his symptoms right up to the very end. Only 2 hours before his death, Schmidt felt well enough to call into work to tell his staff to expect him at work the following day. His colleague Clifford Pope concluded somberly, “A total lack of experience with Boomslang venom is largely to blame for the tragic events of September 25 and 26.” When not killing people, the Boomslang likes to hide in birds’ nests after eating the original inhabitants. It also has a penchant for chameleons. Another rear-fanged snake killed the eminent Russian-German herpetologist Professor Robert Mertens (1894–1975). The culprit was his “pet” Savannah Twig Snake (Theotornis kirklandii), another African snake, which bit him while he was feeding it. Mertens, who was no kid at the time, died after 3 weeks of suffering. His last words were reported to be “What a fitting death for a herpetologist.” This species is also responsible for the death of a Tanzanian game warden, who thought the bite wasn’t serious enough to bother with. While some serpents, like Hognose Snakes, roll over and play dead (letisimulation) when under siege, this is not something you can count on. The Hognose also tries some other tactics first, such as making a hood. The terrified human who encounters this display hardly has time to think, “Wait a second. There are no cobras living in Virginia,” before the snake has made good his escape. The African Spitting Cobra also does the “playing dead” trick. In addition, it emits a distinctly rotting odor. But be careful. Approach too closely, and it might jump up and spit in your eye. The result would not be pleasant. Spitting Cobras like the nocturnal Naja nigricollis (literally the “black-necked” cobra) and Hemachatus haemachatus or Ringhals, which lives in the south of Africa, also have the option of spraying venom in an attacker’s face. (Their actions are much closer to squirting than to spitting, really.) In January 2008, Amy Schoeman, a well-known Namibian writer and photographer, was actually bitten in the face (while asleep in her bed) by a Ringhals, sometimes known as “zebra

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snakes.” According to John Grobler’s story in The Free Press of Namibia, she said it felt as though she had been “hit with the sharp end of a hammer.” The snake was coiled behind her headboard, having apparently entered the room through an open window. Very curiously, she had just finished writing an article about this species and knew that no antivenin for it was available. However, a hospital doctor, Tommy van Wyk, an expert on snakebite, immediately began treating her with cortisone to limit tissue damage. She recovered. At one time the Bushmen of Namaqualand in southwest Africa used Rhinghals venom as part of a poisonous weapon. First they extracted a resin from the bulb of Boophone disticha. Then they placed the resin on a stone which they forced into the mouth of the cobra, removing it when the cobra ejected its venom onto the resin. Then the tribesmen coated their spears and arrows with the gunk. The Pomo Indians did away with their enemies in a more magical way. The idea was to take the blood of four rattlesnakes, mix it with mashed up spiders, scorpions, and bees, coat an arrow with it, and then shoot the arrow over the house of the foe. In like fashion, tribesmen in Bengal used to coat their arrows with cobra venom. But they understood the stuff worked better if it ended up embedded in the flesh of the foe rather than just flying over his house. The Carthaginian general, Hannibal, is said to have gone right to the source and actually thrown earthenware jars full of venomous snakes right at the Roman ships. The snakes bit the sailors who then jumped into the sea. Snake bombs have a way of striking fear into people that simple poisoned arrows do not have. The Spitting Cobra can spit from any position. The orifice on the fang is grooved like the rifling on a gun and is accurate up to 8 feet. It is used strictly as a defensive mechanism and may have been first employed against predatory birds. When on the prowl for food they attack and bite like any other snake. But when attacked themselves, they have found that spitting in someone’s face (which is both temporarily blinding and excruciatingly painful) offers them an excellent chance to make good their escape. They are not interested in eating you. There is a belief that the snake will spit at anything “shiny,” but the fact is that it recognizes eyes when it sees them and aims for those eyes. Spitting Cobra venom is neurotoxic, causing paralysis and heart and lung failure. However it causes no damage to unbroken skin; indeed it is harmless even if swallowed, although according to Stephen Spawls in his Sun, Sand and Snakes, it has a “nasty taste, rather like copper sulfate,” whatever that tastes like. However, it is when the venom gets into the eye that the real trouble starts. It is agonizing and blinding. The venom is quickly absorbed by the small blood vessels close to the surface; it then paralyzes the optic nerve. Luckily the blindness is usually temporary, especially if the eye is well washed out as soon as possible. However, some permanent loss of sight may occur if the eye is not treated. (There is a folktale that such spitting snakes also exist in India; however, this is untrue. They are purely African.) Spitting cobras made big snake news in 2007, when a new giant species was formally identified: the Naja ashei after its discoverer James Ashe, who founded

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a snake farm on Kenya’s coast. Ashe first began collecting the big spitters in the 1960s and suggested they were a previously unidentified species, but the scientific world moved with its usual glacial slowness to agree with him. Naja ashei can stretch to 9 feet in length and deliver enough venom to kill fifteen grown men. Not that they are in the habit of doing anything like this, as they are rather cautious by nature. Just in case, though, researchers are busy developing a species specific antivenin. Aesop has his own story about spitting snakes. An eagle swooped down upon the Serpent, seizing it in his talons to carry it off and devour it. The Serpent was too quick for the eagle and coiled around him in a moment; then a life and death struggle ensued between the two. Witnessing the event, a countryman came to the assistance of the eagle and freed him from the Serpent, allowing him to escape. As revenge, the Serpent spat some of his poison into the man’s drinking horn. The man was quite thirsty after his exertions and ready to slake his thirst with a draught from the horn when the eagle knocked it right out of his hand, spilling its contents upon the ground. The moral: one good turn deserves another. Cicero reports this event having happened to Deiotarus (d. 40 b.c.e.), a Galatian monarch and ally of the Romans. A similar legend is attributed to the prophet Mohammad by the Persian poet Rumi. VENOMOUS SNAKES AS “PETS” Keeping pet snakes has been a hobby of people since ancient times. Even the Romans were fond of keeping household snakes, although Pliny remarked, “We destroy their eggs, else they would multiply too fast.” These pets probably did serviceable duty as rat catchers. However, as might be apparent already, snakes make remarkably poor pets. Captive snakes may make an interesting study for the amateur herpetologist and, if properly cared for and given enough space, may provide enjoyment to the keeper or even his friends. However, we should not confuse this hobby with pet keeping. A pet is a domesticated animal which presumably receives and gives benefit from human contact. They are indeed “pettable.” Dogs and cats are pets. Even rabbits, guinea pigs, ferrets, and ponies can be pets. Snakes are not pets. They are not capable of giving affection, and there is no evidence whatever that they enjoy being petted, although some of them may find it convenient to crawl along your arm. It’s not really the same thing. Despite this obvious truth, however, people do frequently refer to their captive serpents as “pets.” The South African poet Roy Campbell (1901–1957) even directed some verses (“To a Pet Cobra”) in which he claims to love the feel of the snake’s “chilly and incisive kiss” on his bare arm. However, it is not certain if this was indeed a real snake or only a poetic one. Campbell makes some comments about the “folded slumber” of the creature’s fangs, possibly confusing the cobra’s fixed fangs with the fold-up arrangement of viper apparatus. This makes me wonder if he knew very much about cobras after all, and if he did not, he certainly shouldn’t have been keeping one.

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Actor Nicholas Cage also kept a pair of pet cobras, named Molly and Sheba. He had to give them up in January 2008 when his neighbors threatened to sue him. He claimed he had them in his house in Hollywood for about 3 years. “I had to keep the antidote to their poison as well because if one of those guys bit you then you had 15 minutes before the curtains closed,” he claimed to reporters. “I loved them. I’d watch them for hours. I had to get rid of my pet cobras because my neighbors threatened to sue me. I could see their point. I resolved the issue by giving the snakes to a zoo.” Cage also collects dead bats. Cobras are especially problematic when they escape confinement. In 2004, two “pet” Monocellate Cobras (Naja naja kaouthia) escaped from their enclosure and were wandering around the condominium in Dallas. They could have caused death within an hour of biting someone. There was no cobra antivenin around, either. One was finally caught: the owner had a whole passel of other venomous snakes—including three Gaboon Vipers, a Rhinoceros Viper, a Bush Viper, a Timber Rattlesnake, a Western Diamondback Rattlesnake, an Eastern Diamondback Rattlesnake, a South American rattlesnake, a Spitting Cobra, and a python so big (15 feet) it took two men to move it. Officials took the snakes away but allowed the owner to keep his Emperor Scorpions. Officials believe someone else has the missing cobra. In 1999, a Los Angeles Zoo volunteer named Anita Finch was fatally bitten by one of the ten venomous snakes she kept as pets in her home. When her body was found, there was a note clutched in her bite-swollen hand: “Northridge Hospital— Ask for ICU.” The chief suspect was the Hognosed Sand Viper. She trusted her snake friends so much that she let them loose while she cleaned their cages. In Bucyrus, Ohio, a man was bitten by his Rhinoceros Viper (Bitis nasicornis) in 2005. However, he received antivenin and survived the attack. During the same year, a thirty-eight-year old Bronx man was bitten by his illegally owned rattlesnake, when he tried to move it from one tank to another. Also in 2005, in Fenton, Michigan, a woman was bitten on the hand by her friend’s pet rattlesnake. In 2004, in North College Hill, Ohio, a woman died after being bitten by one of her ten venomous snake pets. Even people who you’d think would know better get bitten. In 2004 a Porter, Indiana, veterinarian was nearly killed by his pet rattlesnake. Antivenin was administered at literally the last minute. The vet had had 35 years’ experience handling venomous snakes but apparently not enough to know that rattlesnakes aren’t good pets. A couple of other men were hospitalized after one of their two “pet” rattlesnakes bit them both. An albino “pet” cobra, wonderfully named Eve, bit her Canadian owner, Jason Hansen, on the finger in December 2007. It is unclear as to how much venom was injected. It was first claimed that the bite was “dry” (that is, without venom), although according to a CBS news report “the neurotoxins in the snake’s saliva caused serious tissue damage.” Actually, the “neurotoxins in the snake’s saliva” are venom, and there is no way around that. Speaking of cobras, there is a football team called the Carolina Cobras. The team was filming a commercial with their mascot when it escaped. Luckily it was found again.

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Even more weirdly a seventeen-year old boy from Pequea, Pennsylvania, was bitten by his “pet” West African Bush Viper in 2004. It is unclear how he obtained the animal. They aren’t a dime a dozen. It is highly venomous, and there is no antivenin available, at least not in this country. I could go on with more stories like this, but I suspect you have had enough of them. It is possible to possess “devenomed” snakes—usually ones that have had the duct leading from the venom sac to the fang severed. In this case the snake is still producing venom but has no good delivery system. In other cases the sac is completely removed with a laser. These surgical procedures negatively impact the snake’s digestive process, especially vipers’, most of whom refuse to eat afterwards and consequently die. Vipers in general are hard to keep in captivity: they just don’t handle stress. Devenomed elapids do much better, especially if they are accustomed to eating a diet of prekilled prey. It is also well to remember that while venom sacs can be permanently removed, fangs cannot. They regrow continually, so the keeper is still subject to a very nasty bite. There have been documented cases of “devenomed” snakes who miraculously managed to regrow their glands or develop new ones. Despite all this and for unfathomable reasons people do keep cobras, Copperheads, rattlesnakes, Gaboon Vipers, and Eyelash Vipers in their homes. A posting on Kingsnake.com by Mercedes Denton on February 9, 2000, reveals the mindset of many venomous snake keepers: I’ve kept venomous snakes for most of my life (I’m 38) and have never been bitten. Most of my friends who have kept them have never been bitten. One has died of a cobra bite. I liken keeping venomous snakes to skydiving. If you do it right you won’t get hurt. If you do it wrong you will die or be horribly injured but most likely no one else will be injured or killed. I think the state should let people do what makes them happy as long as they do it responsibly. If they die while keeping venomous snakes then they died happy.

To each his own. However, it should be noted that most people who have died from a venomous snakebite did not give much evidence of dying happily. Rather the opposite.

CHAPTER FOUR

Mortal Coils: The Big Constrictors These are the big, tropical snakes, whose disquieting presence probably gave our most remote ancestors the concept of the cosmic, earth-girding serpent. Constrictors are considered to be quite ancient, even primeval, snakes and show vestigial pelvic and hind limbs within their bodies; tiny claws protrude from the end of the “limbs.” These claws seem nonfunctional in females but are used by the male during mating to scratch or stimulate the female. As mentioned, boids tend to move by rectilinear creeping. Those which are able to climb have a remarkably prehensile tail as well. Pythons also have an extra pair of bones called supraorbitals in the roof of skull; however, most people neither know nor care about this detail. Pythons, boas, and anacondas together are known as the boids. These species are similar in many respects, although pythons lay eggs, while boas and anacondas give birth to live young. The python mother incubates her eggs with care, leaving them only when she goes to drink water. Once the young are hatched, however, she seems to forget about them, as is the way of snakes all over the world. Today, pythons are found throughout the sub-Saharan African continent, India, southern China, Indonesia, New Guinea and even Australia. And whenever they are found, they engender powerful myths. Boas are mostly New World snakes, and anacondas are found only in South America and surrounding islands. While evolutionary herpetologists always make a point of remarking how these snakes are “primitive,” it has not escaped anyone’s notice that they manage to get the job done. Every once in a while the extremely primitive python manages to polish off the highly evolved herpetologist. Nature has her own way of keeping score. The boids are primary among the constrictors, although a few other snakes, including ordinary Rat Snakes (genus Elaphe), may also employ this killing method. Since they are not big enough to constrict people, little attention is paid to them. However, it should be noted that this snake (and the Black Racer) is sometimes called the “Pilot Snake” because of its supposed habit of “piloting” venomous

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snakes like Copperheads and rattlesnakes to find prey (which the rattler then shares with the other snake) or to safe dens during the winter. It is true that they may share such dens with other species. It is not true that they guide them there. They are also called “cowsucker” snakes because they are rumored to steal milk from cows. (The same story is told of the Milk Snake.) Not true either. As for “sharing,” forget it. Snakes aren’t sharers, and even if they were, they couldn’t, as they swallow their prey whole. Cobras and other elapids sometimes throw their coils around their prey to hold it in place while their venom does its work, but they don’t constrict. (There is a myth that a Rat Snake will mate with a cobra. But it won’t; they don’t live near enough to each other, for one thing. Constrictors hold the records for the biggest snakes: the Reticulated Python (Python reticulatus), a member of this clan, can attain a length of 33 feet, the world championship. This is as long as a three-story house is high, something worth thinking about. The heaviest snake, however, is the foul-tempered Green Anaconda (Eunectes murinus), which can grow nearly as long and is much bulkier. A 25 footer can weigh over 500 pounds of solid muscle. At least none of them is venomous. As big as constrictors get, however, human beings have managed to stretch them out even further in our myths. The ancients were convinced that much bigger snakes prowled the hinterlands. However, measuring a snake is not as easy as it seems. Many snakes have skin that can stretch as much as 35% when shed, so the only reliable method is to measure a live snake “in the round.” That’s not an easy task. Dead snakes can be laid out end to end, but it doesn’t seem fair to kill a snake just to gain an accurate idea of its length. And while big snakes understandably get most of our attention, most snakes are rather small—under 3 feet in length. One word for snake found in the ancient Rig-Veda is ahi, a word that may be related to am . h, which means to “strangle,” referring undoubtedly to the strangling family of snakes known as pythons. As today’s pythons are among the world’s most primitive snakes, myths concerning them are also among the earliest we have. One of the most famous snake strangulations was that of Laoco¨on, a priest at Troy. He tried to warn the Trojans against accepting the Trojan Horse from the Greeks. No one listened, but the gods on the side of the Greeks punished him anyway by sending out sea serpents to strangle him and his two sons, Antiphantes and Thymbraeus. In the real world sea snakes aren’t constrictors, but this is another case where poetic license must be granted. THE ENDLESS SERPENT Cultures delight in tales of bigger monsters than any real snake can provide and with stranger abilities. For instance, the Cherokee tell of a giant serpent, the Ustu’tli, which once dwelled in the Cohutta Mountains of Georgia. If ever a giant snake were to live anywhere, perhaps it is here, among the oldest mountains on

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earth. The Ustu’tli differed from other snakes in that it boasted feet at each end of its body and so could propel itself in jerks like a giant inchworm. In this way it could even cross rivers and ravines. However, it had a real problem hiking along ridges: its massively swinging head would tend to throw its body laterally and break its grip on the earth. Naturally everyone was afraid of this beast, which ate people and deer with equal appetite. Only one brave hunter dared to face the snake. However, a single look at the creature convinced him that retreat was the better part of valor. He started running but was losing the race when he recalled the Ustu’tli’s difficulty in handling narrow ridges, so he headed for one. The snake just couldn’t keep up, as it kept slipping down the side of the ridge. Meanwhile, the hunter raced down the mountain and lit a brushfire. Then it was the fire versus the monster. The snake tried to keep away from the fire by inching itself up to a bare rock, but the intense heat cracked his scales. Then he attempted to leap across the fire but was choked by the smoke, lost his grip, and fell into the fire itself. Thus ended his reign of terror. The idea of snakes being destroyed by fire is a worldwide motif, harking back to Vedic times. The most terrifying of cosmic snakes is the giant Egyptian snake Apophis, the huge coiled serpent who represents Chaos. His Egyptian name, Apep, means “He was spat out”; his mother, Neith, was an archer goddess who spat him out into the primeval water. Her first child however was the glorious sun god Ra, but the godling was blinded by his own brilliance and couldn’t see his mother. He cried out in despair and his tears became human beings. Yet, the world cannot exist only in sunlight and love; the sun god needed a dark, evil counterpart. So, to keep things in balance, Apophis, the prince of darkness, was created at the same time. Ra and Apophis are mortal enemies, and their eternal combat is depicted on countless funerary papyri and tomb walls. Apophis lurks forever in the Duat (the underworld or state of preexistence). He winds across the universe, in an undulant path that slides above and below the ecliptic. Every day at dusk he tries to catch the sun by swallowing Ra’s “ship of life.” Like the majority of real-life constrictors, Apophis is most active at dusk. (Across the ocean the Yurok people believed that an eclipse was caused when a rattlesnake swallowed the sun.) To no avail, since Ra chops Apophis to pieces every night. It is an endless battle; every morning and every night the sky is drenched with the Cosmic Serpent’s blood. As the famed Egyptologist E. Wallis Budge noted in his Gods of the Egyptians, Ra “enters the snake in the form of the old Sun god, and he comes forth not only alive, but made young again.” The generally good-hearted Egyptians had no love for Apophis. During religious processions and lunar feasts, images of Apophis were created from papyrus and wax and then subjected to various mutilations, a procedure that was supposed to represent the triumph of Ra and order over chaos. Yet Apophis can never be finally destroyed, although he can be temporarily defeated, for he can always reunite, a concept repeated in the serpent legends of almost every culture. Strangely, the sun itself is destined to become a serpent when

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the world ends, so perhaps the final victory goes to Chaos after all. Apophis also tried to kill Hathor, the cow-headed goddess, once while she was sleeping, but the wise god Thoth woke her up just in time. In another myth Hathor was credited with nursing the cobra god, one of countless instances drawn between milk, the mother of life, and serpents apparently representing the father. While the evil Apep is the most notorious of Egyptian snakes, people from Heliopolis honored the more benign and usually invisible snake Atoum who “gave the day” to the gods. In the Book of the Dead, the kind Atoum says, “When I am transformed again into a snake, which men cannot see, I shall stay beside Osiris [a god who is sometimes represented as a serpent]. I have performed many beautiful acts for Osiris, more than for any other God.” In Theban myth, however, the god Amun was considered the sole creator; for this task he took on the form of a giant serpent: Amun-Kamutef. However, although snakes were honored, the ancient Egyptians conceived it to be the greatest of misfortunes to die from snakebite. The body of the envenomed victim was considered irretrievably profaned, and the pure immortal spirit would refuse to enter it. The mummies of people who died in a more natural way were supplied with amulets to keep them from being bitten in the afterworld. A spell (Number 33) is provided in the Book of the Dead: “Oh snake, take yourself off, for Geb protects me; get up, for you have eaten a mouse, which Ra detests, and you have chewed the bones of a putrid cat.” According to the Greek writer Aelian (175–235), in his On the Nature of Animals, for example, Ethiopia “is the dwelling place of the very largest serpents. They attain a length of nearly 200 feet, and the people who live there swear that these serpents can kill elephants, and that they live for many, many years.” Scientists snicker. And yet, what are we to make of the giant fossil snake Gigantophis garstini, a creature we know for a fact attained a length of more than 50 feet, twice the length of today’s “giant snakes” but was related to them. It lived in Egypt, perhaps 40 million years ago. Could some ancient premammalian memory have resurrected him in the form of the mythical Egyptian Apophis, the immense Cosmic Serpent of myth? Snake fossils are rare—and who knows what monster, dead or alive, may turn up in time to come? While recognized as dangerous and even lethal, many cultures agreed that a primal serpent was responsible for all creation. The very ancient Sumerian creation myth epic, Enuma Elish, mentions Tiamat, the great serpent mother, who represents the bitter salt water of the sea and who gave birth to all life. For all that, she is an evil demon and must be destroyed. And the Greeks tell the story of the great goddess Eurynome and her husband, Ophion. These are very ancient deities, older than Zeus and the Olympians, even older than the Titans. Eurynome emerged dancing from the waves of the sea, from the primordial Chaos. The tremendous serpent of this chaotic sea was Ophion, who fell in love with the dancing goddess and seized her in passion, coiling himself seven times around her body. She then took the form of a beautiful gray dove

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and laid a great egg, around which Ophion curled his tail and squeezed until it cracked and gave birth to all the creatures of the earth. Their first child was Eros, the young god of love. (There are alternate legends about Eros’ birth, but we don’t need to bother about them now.) For a time, the two were very happy and went to live on Olympus. But after a while Ophion got to be a bit of a bore, bragging left and right about how he had fathered a universe. Eurynome kicked him in the head, knocking out his teeth, in the same way God had promised Eve, another All-Mother, that her heel would bruise the head of the serpent. Eurynome told her husband to get lost and sent him down to the dark chthonic regions of the earth. Although Ophion was the All-Father, he, like Tiamat, must be done away with. Creators are dangerous beings. A similar tale is told of the giant Norse serpent J¨ormungandr, the Midgard Serpent. J¨ormungandr is the child of Loki the trickster god and Angur-Boda, a giant, whom the father of the gods, Odin, cast into the sea. He was a massive snake which wrapped itself around the entire earth and grasped its tail in its mouth. (Since cultures all around the world tell a similar story of the world-encompassing snake, there may be something to it after all.) As J¨ormungandr writhed around, he set off storms. He also had a habit of attacking humans and ships. We will meet him once more at the very end of this book. THE HUG OF DEATH: DEMISE BY CONSTRICTION Constrictors ambush their prey and seize it using a quick strike-bite. They grab their victim with their many back-curved teeth and quickly wrap their coils around it in a constricting move. The snake may keep its original hold or quickly reposition its jaws, but a constrictor basically keeps a bite-hold on their prey at all times. The constriction deflates the lungs, compresses the heart, and restricts circulation of the prey, causing organ death. Every time the victim exhales, the snake squeezes tighter, until it is no longer able to inhale. In some cases small bones are also broken. (Technically constrictors are not “suffocating” their victim, but it really amounts to the same thing in the end.) The snake does not uncoil until its victim is quite dead. At that point, the snake proceeds to swallow it head first, “walking over its prey.” Once the prey is engulfed, the peristaltic movement of the esophagus starts pushing it down the digestive tract. One species, the Woma Python (Aspitides ramsayi), catches its prey in burrows and tries to crush them against the earth wall of burrow, since it doesn’t have enough room to throw its coils around its victim. It has been noticed that the Woma Python is often covered with scars from counterattacks by its sharp-toothed prey. Apparently, its killing method is a little inefficient. There are no large constrictors native to the United States. However, many snake-induced deaths, especially in this country and particularly of cats and dogs, can be laid at the door of “pet” giant constrictors, such as the Burmese Python (Python molurus), a number of which have been released into the Florida Everglades, where they are intent on destroying the wildlife. People should probably

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not be fooling around with these things in the first place, but apparently there is a fascination about them. In any case, here is a basic rule of thumb for handling big snakes: one person per 5 feet of snake. Nearly all of the people who have gotten themselves killed violated that simple rule. Or else they have forgotten another dictum: “Keep your snake locked up.” Instead they have allowed the animal to rampage around the house, in which case the animal may bite and kill anything it finds. Various species of boids are found in southern Asia, Africa, and South America. The boids who live in New Guinea and other South Pacific islands are imports from the west coast of South America. It is assumed they arrived there via vegetable rafts. Since these animals are well known to last for months without dinner, it’s a reasonable assumption. They haven’t stopped traveling, by the way. In 2007 a huge number of anacondas were observed coming ashore on Trinidad’s south coast—clinging to floating mats of vegetation drifting from the South American mainland, about 10 miles away at the closest point. They were spotted by terrified swimmers who quickly took to their heels and vacated the beach. One man was bitten and required medical attention. One mother, Keisha Archargee, who had taken her children to the beach, said in confusion, “I can’t believe this is happening. We know about jellyfish but not snakes.” Still, not everyone views pythons with fear. They have their champions, especially in India. The People for Animals in Agra reported that in January 2002, it received a frantic call from the Air Force Base at Agra. A huge python had been sighted opposite the Base’s nursery school, which was due to open the following day after vacation. They responded at once. The snake proved to be a mere 6 feet long but still long enough to pose a risk to preschoolers. It was in considerable shock, as it had been pelted with rocks. Unable to interest a professional snake catcher in the project, the rescuers went to work on their own using a “huge and very old” tarpaulin. One of them later remarked, “One of our members climbed a wall and with the aid of two long branches we gently prodded the snake towards the direction of the tarpaulin . . . The snake very kindly obliged; it slowly slithered towards the tarpaulin. The minute it entered it, we quickly wrapped it round the snake taking utmost care not to hurt it or smother it.” The rescuer then released the animal at a place called Python Point. “We had to take the snake to a spot where it would not be harassed, would be away from human habitation plus in an environment suiting it. . . . We took it there and released it with a prayer for its safety.” In 2008 the People for Animals also intercepted a crime ring in New Delhi, whose central product seemed to be toothpaste made from crushed snake bones. Three persons were arrested under the Indian Wildlife Protection Act of 1972. It is not clear who the presumed customers of snake bone toothpaste would be or what virtues the snakes bones were supposed to impart to one’s teeth. Pythons probably receive the most honor among the people of Africa, who consider them their ancestors. The South African Bantu call the snake chikonembo, the ancestor reborn. In a similar vein, the Swazi people call him emadloi, the

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messenger between the dead and the living. The African Coke (Chiokwe) people of Kasai say that a pregnant woman has a snake in her belly (really an ancestral spirit) that helps nurture the fetus. However, in Luanda, a snake with darker intent may take possession of someone and make him writhe upon the ground. (This of course may be an explanation for epilepsy.) Pythons are believed to bring messages from the dear departed, and in Nigeria, people still consult these “serpent ancestors.” Any offense against a snake is counted as an offense against the ancestor. In parts of Nigeria if a woman inadvertently kills a venomous snake while farming, the body must be taken to the snake priest, along with the offending farming implement and an offering of an oxhide and two strings of cowries. The snake is then ceremonially wrapped in the hide and buried. The priest purifies the village with a mixture of earth, water, and leopard guts. The snake killer must dip her hoe into the mixture and spin it around vigorously so that the liquid flies off. This appeases the snake’s ancestors and the village is safe, at least temporarily, from snake molestation. The Nigerian Ijaw people believed that pythons contained the spirits of the sons of Adamu, who was himself a python and chief of the water spirits. Women were not allowed to mention his name or approach his place of worship, although certain priestesses took sacred snakes as “husbands.” The Nigerians also tell the story of a python who conveniently stiffens his body so that his human warrior friends can cross a river—but when the tribe’s enemies attempt the crossing, the snake relaxes his body and they all drown. The people on the banks of Lake Tanganyika have a cult of giant snakes (insato). Each snake has its own priest and takes spirit possession of him on occasion. The Dahomey people of Africa believed that the python opened the eyes of the first man and first woman, a story eerily reminiscent of the Garden of Eden tale. While most pythons and anacondas don’t actually eat people, they are the only snakes large enough to do it. However, their propensity in this regard is frequently exaggerated, as in this tale from the Ngulugwongga people of Australia: Three turtle fishermen were out in their canoe when a monstrous, gaping snake arose from the depths. “Uh-oh,” thought the men. “This doesn’t look good.” In a desperate effort to save their skins they tossed out all their equipment to the snake, which he promptly ate. And waited for more. “How about giving him the canoe?” urged one of the men. “We can just float back to shore if we need to.” “I don’t want your rotten canoe, fools! I want you!” said the snake and promptly swallowed the lot of them, canoe and all. The local villagers waited and waited for the men, in vain. Meanwhile the snake swam up a creek where he heard the crying of child. “Yum,” thought the snake. “Nice and tender, the way I like ’em.” The luckless parents of the child heard the snake slithering around and killed the baby to silence him and preserve their own hides. Of course that did no good. The snake simply ate the kid, plus a few more living ones, and eventually gobbled up the entire village. (This snake had a serious case of the munchies.) He was so full he vomited up the fishermen’s canoe, which wasn’t as digestible as it might be. The fishing equipment came up next. But he was still so full he couldn’t move.

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The people from the fishing village found him and slit him open, so that his large meal was disgorged and everyone came out alive—except the dead baby and the unfortunate fishermen, who were too far gone. PYTHONS The world’s first known religious artifact is a snakehead. It is 70,000 years old. This makes it 30,000 years older than European artifacts previously believed to be the world’s most ancient. Found in the remote hills of the Kalahari Desert, this stone python, ground out of the bedrock, is as tall as a human being—and 20 feet long. The python has eyes, a mouth, and 300–400 indentations that look like scales when the sunlight or firelight plays upon them. Surrounding the head are ritually grouped colorful spearheads, brought from hundreds of miles away. These spearheads were unaccompanied by ordinary tools or any other evidence that people ever lived there. This was—and is—holy ground. The hills where the image was found —the only upraised ground for miles—has long been held sacred by the native San peoples. They call them the “Mountains of the Gods” and the “Rock That Whispers.” In San myth, the python is the father of all human beings; he also created the streambeds that surround the hills. It is said that he made them in his ceaseless search for water. Behind the site where the python was discovered is a secret chamber that archeologists believe was occupied by the shaman, who perhaps spoke “through” the statue of the python god, somewhat like the Wizard of Oz. Inside the chamber are two paintings—one of a giraffe and the other of an elephant, the other two sacred animals of this tribe. Today, the San people of the Kalahari Desert tell how the python fell into a hole and was unable to escape until it was saved by a giraffe. This story bears a startling similarity to a snake story from Surinam recounted elsewhere in this book—a story that almost certainly hails from African slaves. The legend might be 70,000 years old, too. Scientists declared themselves shocked at the idea that such primitive people were capable of such a high level of abstract thinking, but the idea that world’s first known god was a snake does not seem surprising at all to me. The idea of a psychic python is rather widespread; it extended even to the Greeks, who had no pythons per se. Apollo, the Greek sun god, was a killer of serpents, in this case the snake-dragon known as Pythos, from whose name, of course, is derived our word “python.” Pythos lived inside Mount Parnassus, where he was the guardian of the sacred Delphic springs. He got so attached to his job that pretty soon he was even killing the gods who tried to get in—so eventually Zeus had to send in Apollo to knock off the beast. It was not an easy task; Apollo had to use up a thousand of his silver arrows. Silver arrows are not as effective as they are cracked up to be. In some versions of this story Apollo is even killed by Pythos but is revived. In any case, Apollo, like Indra before him, had to pay the price for killing this great snake and suffered severely for 9 years.

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It was on that very spot that the Delphic Oracle was eventually established, and its priestess became known as Pythia. It is also said that the teacher of Asclepius, the father of Greek medicine, was probably his grandmother, Pythos, who imparted to him the secrets of medicine. Interestingly, the supposedly dead Pythos continued to speak through the Delphic Oracle, directly from the omphalos, the “navel of the world.” (The healing power of snakes is a worldwide myth. Across the ocean, the Navajo tell of Glispa, a girl who lived for 2 years among the Snake People by the Lake of Emergence and then returned with a wealth of healing knowledge.) Perhaps the most famous snake priestesses are associated with the Minoan culture (about 1600 b.c.e.), who are frequently depicted holding a wiggling snake in each hand. This snake cult may ultimately be of Egyptian derivation. Snakes are also often associated with Aphrodite, as they are both symbols of fertility. She is sometimes depicted with serpents around her arm, ankle, and thigh. Near Africa’s Lualaba River (the headstream of the Congo) is a pool where a huge snake named Kabwe lives. It sometimes speaks to people through a medium, just as did the ancient Pythoness of the Greeks. In the Congo it was believed that the oil from a python (mafuta ya nguma) would make the possessor rich, and the sperm of python (mani ya nguma) would make a man irresistible to women—and very fertile besides. It is said that once upon a time the king of Zululand had a wife who, after a long and excruciating labor, gave birth to an enormous python. The king and the rest of the village abandoned the woman and her hideous offspring. However, some months later, when the creature began to shed, ten human children (five of each sex) were revealed. These children flourished and rebuilt the village; the old inhabitants, including the king, returned and prospered. Pythons also make an appearance in Islamic folklore. There is a tradition in Islam that people who are stingy will find themselves at the gates of Paradise with a large python, mouth agape, wrapped tightly around them, and the python would hiss, “Here is all your wealth and treasure.” The lesson is obviously that one’s overly protected riches will end up swallowing their owner in the end, an idea we have run across before. Still, despite their reputation of being able to swallow almost anything, even pythons can get ahead of themselves. In 2006, a 12-foot long 60-pound Burmese Python (Python molurus) living in Idaho ate an entire queen-size electric blanket, including the electrical cord and control box, which had been placed in her case to help keep her warm. The snake, ominously named Houdini, probably thought the blanket was the sauce for her usual rabbit dinner. Radiographs revealed the wiring of the blanket extending through about 8 feet of the animal’s digestive tract. The offending material was removed after 2 hours of surgery. The operating vets had never done surgery on a snake before but consulted with specialists before attempting the procedure, which was a complete success. In a related incident, in 1997 a boa constrictor in Klamath Falls, Oregon, ate a mere heating pad. The veterinarian who surgically removed it remarked, “This heating pad apparently

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satisfied all the criteria for food as far as this snake was concerned. It was warm and fuzzy and had some hard objects inside that must have felt something like bones.” Even more weirdly, in a famous incident, in October 2005 a 13-foot Burmese python tried to eat a 6-foot alligator and burst in the process. The alligator didn’t survive either. Of course what people really worry about is a snake gobbling up a person, never mind alligators and electric blankets. A thousand myths raise the specter, all the more frighteningly, because we know it could happen. A Burmese folktale tells of how a woman married a snake to please her mother, only to find out that the snake was really a handsome prince. This is an old story but has an unhappy ending. She was so happy with her husband that her older sister begged their mother to find a snake for her to marry as well. The mother was reluctant at first, but the daughter kept insisting until the woman went out and found a huge python sleeping near a tree. The python didn’t seem very interested in the proposition; in fact he acted just like any snake. However, the woman left her daughter with the creature and headed for home, hopeful that things would work out somehow. Alas, no. The snake awoke from his nap and found, to his delight, dinner waiting. He began to swallow the girl starting with the feet. (This is not normal snake procedure, but some literary license must be allowed.) “Help!” yelled the distressed girl. “He’s got my feet.” Her mother called back, “I’m sure he is just teasing you, sweetheart.” “No, really! Now he’s up to my knees!” And so on until the girl was completely engulfed. “Do something,” hissed the mother to her other snake son-in-law, who was now a prince. “You’re the man in the family.” “Sorry,” he said, “you have no idea what would happen to me if . . . ” “I don’t care!” screamed the mother. “You bag of ribs! Save your sister-in-law!” The Snake Prince knew the jig was up. Gloomily he approached the python and slit it open in time to retrieve his sister-in-law. However, a drop of python blood splashed on his wrist, and he resumed his own earlier snake form. He glided sadly away into the forest, and though his wife waited for him for many years, he never returned. There was a story circulating on the Internet a while back to this effect. A woman has a pet python that stopped eating. She took it to her vet who found nothing wrong with it. He told her just to keep an eye on it and report any unusual behavior. A week later she called to report to the vet that she awoke in the night and found the snake lying in bed with her—not coiled up, but straight. “Oh, dear,” said the vet, “I’m afraid he’ll have to be put down.” “But why?” cried the distraught owner. “You see,” intoned the vet solemnly, “It’s as I feared. He’s been starving himself in preparation for a large meal; that night in your bed, he was measuring you.” When I first heard this story, I thought it was just a joke. But it is apparently taken as truth by people who are unaware that snaked are incapable of measuring (although they probably eyeball potential prey for meal size feasibility) and that

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they don’t “plan” for large meals. This story has everything—big pythons, snakes in your bed, and fears of being swallowed alive. Pythons even pop up unexpectedly in lands foreign to them. In 2007 a woman in Brooklyn, New York, actually found a 7-foot long python in her toilet. Courageous plumbers were called into dismantle several pipes to retrieve the animal, which was later given away to the woman’s friend as a “pet.” Not all attacks upon humans by pythons are the result of the ill-advised practice of keeping giant snakes. In 1999, a seven-year-old Australian boy, Gerard O’Hare, who was camping with his family, was seized by a 10-foot python that crept into his tent while he slept, coiling itself around his neck and biting him in the face. Gerard’s father, Neil, wrestled the snake away, tossing it from the tent. The child suffered about twenty bite wounds but recovered without incident. AFRICAN ROCK PYTHON (PYTHON SEBAE) This animal inhabits all southern and tropical Africa and is undoubtedly the inspiration for the very ancient python holy place in the Kalahari named earlier. It can grow to a length of 21 or more feet, making it the largest African snake. Only the Anaconda of South America and Reticulated Python of south Asia are bigger. It is generally found more in open grasslands than in the deep jungle, but it turns up there occasionally as well, although it is becoming increasingly rare. It is most active in the morning and evening and prefers to dine on a wide variety of mammals. These snakes like water and are often found near rivers and pools. Perhaps this is why the ancient African tribes believed that the Rock Python was a god, as it has an almost supernatural knowledge of where water could be found. Unmarried women even performed a fertility “python dance” by linking arms, shuffling and weaving like the snake itself. Indeed many villages kept Rock Pythons (or sometimes Ball Pythons) for various rites. Injuring the sacred snake was punishable by death. Other groups holding snake dances include the Hopi, Cherokee, Creek, Yuchi, Seminole, Iroquois, Winnebago, Sauk, and Fox peoples. In old-time Tanzania, the Nyamwezi people addressed any python they encountered with deepest respect, even calling it a king and kneeling in front of it. If a python entered a home, libations of oil and water were made, and sometimes a goat was sacrificed to the serpent. Dead snakes were to be buried like human beings, and if a python was killed, its spirit would take revenge upon the whole family. (The same belief was held about rattlesnakes by the Tuscarora Indians of North Carolina and others.) It was considered very auspicious if a python blows in one’s direction—a sign of great riches to come. Unfortunately for the truth of the tale, pythons do not blow on people. Still, they are dangerous animals. Like all pythons, they have very long, recurved teeth which can cause severe lacerations. They also pack a powerful “punch,” almost like a boxer’s blow, when they strike. Not only that, but the teeth are also brittle and tend to break off in the wound, which can lead to blood poisoning. And of course, they can kill people and even eat them if the object of their hunger

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is small enough. In 1999, in Centralia, Illinois, a 7.5-foot African Rock Python suffocated a three-year-old boy. The boy had compression marks around his chest and bite marks on his neck and ears. He was sleeping with an aunt and uncle near the snake’s terrarium at the time. No evidence of struggle was apparent. In August 2006, a man discovered an African Rock Python in the middle of the street in Lynn Township, Michigan. Presumably it was an escaped pet. Luckily it was caught before it killed anybody. As for killing, the Rock Python is normally a strangler, but naturalist Stephen Spawls recalls one instance where a captive snake tried to dispatch her keeper by simply pressing him against a wall. Fortunately, there were enough people around to pull the creature away. And like other snakes, its last defense is to expel the contents of its cloaca upon the would-be capturer. Spawls recounts that when he and his sister Cathy attempted to nab one, “[h]e wound his tail around Cathy’s neck and with a great gush emptied a couple of gallons of liquid excrement all over her.” In 2005 a heavily pregnant (and huge) Rock Python was brought to Pure Venom Snake Park in Africa. She laid forty eggs, and all hatched successfully. (In ideal conditions this snake may lay over a hundred eggs.) Twenty of the babies were then released into the wild, along with two adults. They were electronically tagged, so their progress could be monitored. The snakes are in desperate straits along the south coast near Oribi Gorge. The python’s habitat is being destroyed and they are also hunted. Probably only about 3 or 4% of the animals survive into maturity. THE RETICULATED PYTHON (PYTHON RETICULATUS) The “Retic” as it is familiarly known, is the world’s longest snake, which, as mentioned, can reach a length of 33 feet. Like many large snakes, it has been known to lay over a hundred eggs in a single clutch. The young can be 2 feet long at the moment of hatching. It is not in the least shy of people or of anything else. In the wild, the nocturnal Reticulated Python is found all over southeastern Asia, including the Philippines and other islands. (It is an excellent swimmer.) Although it is a native of rain forests, it has proved itself to be surprisingly adaptable to life on farms and even in the city. It will hunt by both night and day but in populated areas venture out only at night. It is a good climber and can often be found in trees, not an encouraging thought. Like all giant snakes it can devour very large and dangerous game. One 18 footer is on record as having killed and eaten a leopard and another as having killed and swallowed a fourteen-year-old Malay boy. The longest snake in captivity is a fifteen-year-old Reticulated Python named Fluffy. She went on the David Letterman show with Jack Hanna. It took seven men to carry her. She eats one or two frozen rabbits a week. Her owner, Bob Clark, from Oklahoma City, is a python breeder; he leased the snake to the Columbus Zoo for 7 months, but it’s strictly a lease. He says he won’t sell her for any amount of money. Clark is also a regular snake dealer. He will sell a “Children’s Python” (Antaresia Childreni or Liasis childreni) for $85. This tiny nocturnal Australian

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python maxes out at about 2–2.5 feet. The only python that is smaller is the Anthill Python (A. Perthensis). When I first heard about this snake, I thought, “What? A python for children? What the . . . ” But I soon learned the truth. Despite the fact that the name indicates it’s a good snake for small, young beginning snake keepers (and it is), the name actually honors John George Children, who was a curator of the zoological collection at the British Museum in the nineteenth century. The Retic kills people, and it eats them afterward, usually at dusk, its regular hunting hour. It doesn’t do so on a regular basis, but it happens once in a while. It seems to happen most often to zookeepers and amateur herpetologists who do not take sufficient precautions in handling them. In 1982, for instance, an escaped “pet” Reticulated Python attacked and asphyxiated a twenty-one-month old baby boy in Reno, Nevada. It did not, however, swallow the child but was found quietly curled up on a shelf nearby. In 1993 a man in Jefferson Parish, Louisiana, got into in a fatal altercation with his “pet” Reticulated Python, Ebenezer. The snake didn’t constrict the man, who suffered hypertension and died of a heart attack. However, the owner was covered with snakebites, and the snake suffered several stab wounds. The case ended more happily for the snake than for his owner, for the former was treated by a veterinarian and sent off to live in a zoo, where he was properly cared for. BURMESE OR INDIAN PYTHON (PYTHON MOLURUS) While not as large as the reticulated python, the Burmese Python (a subspecies of the Indian Python), a handsome creature that breeds readily in captivity, can get pretty big too—up to 20 feet in length. They are active both day and night. This is the most popular of the giant serpents for the pet trade, for its presumably placid nature. Normally it feeds on birds and mammals. It does not fear people, even in the wild, and is frequently found near human habitations. It’s also a pretty good climber and has a prehensile tail. Despite these advantages, however, this python, hunted for its skin and use in the pet trade, is largely extinct in its former wild habitat. Although it is protected in India, poachers take their toll. It has somewhat made up for its decline in Asia by moving to the New World, with the help of American pet owners who have grown tired or frightened of their charges and released them “into the wild.” It has successfully established itself in the Florida Everglades, where the beasts have set up shop and are causing widespread ecological havoc by destroying the native wildlife, including, the endangered Florida panther, whose body parts have been found in the bellies of captured snakes. It’s not great for the tourist trade, either. In 2003, biologists removed twentythree pythons from the park. In 2005, they removed ninety-five snakes. This trend is not encouraging. No one has the slightest notion what to do about this inundation of snakes, although a beagle named Python Pete was trained in the unenviable task to sniffing them out and reporting their whereabouts. Another tactic was attempted in 2006 when wildlife managers implanted a radio transmitter into a python and let it

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loose, hoping that it would lead investigators to other snakes. It is not clear why this should be, but perhaps it will work. Despite their obvious danger to the environment, pythons remain popular pets. According to the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, 5,968 Burmese pythons were imported as “pets” through the Port of Miami in the last 3 years, alone. Why this remains legal is beyond me. The Burmese Python is quite capable of killing its handler and does so with remarkable readiness. The fatal accident usually occurs because this species (which is preternaturally greedy) mistakes the keeper for a dietary item. Perhaps the keeper has just been handling rabbits, mice, or some other delicacy. Bam! The snake grabs the guy’s hand (and yes, it is pretty certain that the soon-to-be deceased keeper is male) and bites down—hard. Then it constricts him. This is still another reason why constrictors should be offered dead prey animals via tongs, not live prey animal via bare hands. The very motion of reaching into a cage is regarded as a threatening or aggressive act by many snakes. Some owners think that if they starve their little pet, it won’t get so big and thus will be easier to handle, but this cruel tactic only serves to make the snake hungrier and more aggressive. Supposedly you can stave off an attack by rubbing alcohol on the snake’s nose and eyes, but alcohol never seems to be around when you need it most. Snakes don’t have to reach their full size to do their work. In 1993, an 11-foot “pet” Burmese Python, named Sally of all things, killed a fifteen-year-old boy in his bed in Commerce City, Colorado. Apparently, the snake bit the teenager on the right foot first. The boy had tooth-punctured fingers which suggest that he was trying to unwind the python from his foot. He was not successful and the snake suffocated him. The boy outweighed the snake 43 to 24 kg but was no match for the animal. These snakes are terrifically powerful and can sometimes push their way out of locked cages. In 1996, a 13-foot Burmese Python killed his nineteen-year-old owner in the Bronx, New York. A neighbor found him dead in a hallway outside his apartment with the snake wrapped tightly around him. Less lethally, in 2004, a Burmese Python bit its owner’s wrist and wrapped around her body for more than 20 minutes before the police arrived to release the woman. In August, 2001, a 10-foot Burmese Python strangled an eight-year-old girl in Irwin, Pennsylvania. She fell into a coma and was declared brain-dead two days later. In 2005, a fisherman in Stuart, Florida, managed to snag an 11-foot Burmese Python. In 2006, in Tarpon Springs, a 14-foot Burmese Python named Chloe bit her eighteen-year-old handler, Alison Cobianchi, during a snake show. Police had to use stun guns to force the snake to release the girl. However, Cobianchi was back to work in 3 weeks, with the tooth marks still visible. “It was a long ten minutes,” the college freshman confessed to reporters, “but I just knew she wouldn’t kill me.” Thanks to the taser. My vet told me that one of his clients insisted that his “pet” Burmese Python not only “loved” him but would also protect him and his children if they were attacked. I don’t doubt that if a burglar were to encounter a large Burmese Python

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roaming free around the house, it might deter him. However, whether this can be defined as the snake protecting its owner is open to doubt. Florida, as you might expect, is loaded with python stories. In 2005, in MiamiDade County, an escaped python swallowed a turkey and then was too fat to get through a fence. Back on August 7, 1930, The Washington Post headlined a story entitled “Thirty Thirsty Snakes Die for Attacking Turkeys.” The turkeys were residents of a turkey farm, and it was suggested the mass attack occurred because the animals were crazed from thirst; it happened during the prolonged drought of the Great Depression, and the farmers opined the reptiles were “out for blood.” But who knows? In February 2005, a 13-foot python was found on the streets of Englewood, and a 16 footer showed up on the streets of Vero Beach. In the same year a 15-foot python was captured in a residential neighborhood in Holly Hill. A 16 footer escaped from its owner’s mobile home twice in 2 years. Another one ate an 18-pound Siamese cat, somewhere else in Florida. But Florida is not alone, nor do pythons have to be massive to cause trouble. A 14-foot python crushed its owner to death in Lanesville, Indiana, in 2006. A mere 5 footer bit a young girl during an “educational presentation” called “Experience Western” at Missouri Western State College. Someone forgot to inform the promoters of the exhibit that pythons are not native to any part of Missouri. A much larger specimen, about 17 feet, escaped from its enclosure in Bay St. Louis, Mississippi, and roamed loose for 4 days before it was captured. Probably because Burmese Pythons and other giant snakes have had such well-deserved bad press as pets, the American Federation of Herpetoculturists (or reptile keepers) created a guideline for prospective big snake owners. It was actually moved to say, “The AFH does not recommend the ownership of the above mention [sic] giant constrictors [Green Anaconda, Indian and Burmese Pythons, African Rock Python, Reticulated Python, and Amethystine Python] as well as other large (adult size over 7 feet) boid snakes by minors without parental consent to assume responsibility for proper housing, maintenance, and supervision while handling.” Why any parent would consent to a minor keeping giant constrictors remains a mystery, at least to me. At any rate, the guidelines conclude hopefully and inaccurately, “With a minimum of common sense and by adopting the recommendations made by herpetological organizations such as the AFH, any problems associated with the ownership of large snakes can be addressed in a responsible manner without perpetuating bias and misinformation and without threatening the rights of herpetoculturists to practice their avocation.” Unfortunately for the AFH, the right of hobbyists to keep deadly snakes is not one guaranteed by the Constitution, so they will have an uphill battle. GIANT ANACONDAS CRYING IN THE NIGHT There are several species of anacondas living in South America and the island of Trinidad: the Green Anaconda (Eunectes murinus), the Yellow Anaconda

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(Eunectes notaeus), and the Deschauenseei’s or Northeastern Anaconda (Eunectes deschauenseei). As is common in the world of herpetology, there is some disagreement about how many species actually exist. It’s the green ones that get really big. In fact, it’s the only one most people know. Indeed, while all snakes are impressive, the bigger they are the more press they get. They can live longer than 20 years, a rather long time in the snake world. Green Anacondas are indeed mostly green but have beautiful dappling that camouflages them perfectly in the water. Anacondas are sometimes called water boas (with their nostrils on the top of their snouts, so they can breathe while lying submerged), but they lie on riverbanks as well, basking in the sun, and lying in wait for animals who come down to the river. Their fare includes waterfowl, rodents, and even peccaries. Dogs are in danger as well. Sometimes these snakes even get in trees. They are somewhat less dangerous on land, as the weight of larger specimens is not as well supported. However, “somewhat” is a relative term. Adult anacondas have no enemies other than human beings, and they are not shy about attacking prey wherever they happen to be if the mood strikes them. Indians of the Amazon basin still tell stories of the sucuriju gigante, a giant beast billed to be an anaconda. However, many Indian tales also report that the beast has horns, which Anacondas most assuredly do not possess. The South American Green Anaconda (Eunectes murinus) is a giant in its own right. As long ago as 1846, George Gardner insisted he measured a dead “boa,” as he called it, at 30 feet. A 30-foot anaconda skin does exist, but as we have noted, skins stretch as they are being shed. Still, much of the stretching is done by travelers, including the intrepid explorer Percy H. Fawcett (1867–?), an officer of the Royal Engineers. In 1907, Fawcett was working for the Royal Geographical Society to survey the Abuna and Acre Rivers. He was rafting down the Rio Negro, when, says he in his Lost Trails, Lost Cities: An Explorer’s Narrative: [A]lmost under the bow of the igarit’e [boat] there appeared a triangular head and several feet of undulating body. It was a giant anaconda. I sprang for my rifle as the creature began to make its way up the bank, and hardly waiting to aim, smashed a .44 soft-nosed bullet into its spine, ten feet below the wicked head.

The body attached to the “wicked head” measured, he claimed in his journal, 62 feet (17 feet actually in the boat) and the rest out. Its reported diameter was only 12 inches, although Percy had no measuring device with him (an odd omission for the head of a surveying team), and his understandable panic seems to have encouraged exaggeration. To cement Fawcett’s habit of stretching the truth (almost literally in this case) we should remark that he also heard anacondas “crying in the night.” Snakes, however, are essentially voiceless, so he must have been listening to something else. Twenty years later, Fawcett simply vanished into the jungle, perhaps swallowed by one of the very anacondas he wrote about. Stories of

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Fawcett’s adventures were collected by his son Brian and published in Lost Trails, Lost Cities. Still, Fawcett was not alone in his estimation of the length of these giants. On May 22, 1922, Father Victor Heinz reported seeing a monstrous snake he estimated to be 80 feet long near the town of Obidos, on the shores of the Amazon. He must have been more panicked than Fawcett. Both Heinz and other early Amazon explorers insisted that the beast had luminous blue eyes that shone in the dark, a feature also recounted by others who encountered it. In 1933, the Brazil-Colombia Boundary Commission claimed that an anaconda some 90 feet long was killed on the banks of the Rio Negro (the same river where Fawcett saw his anaconda). A photograph was also supplied. Yet another photograph surfaced in 1948, supposedly of an anaconda 100 feet long and killed at Fort Tabatinga, on the Rio Oiapoc. However, the photographs have no real point of reference to actually measure the snake against. Then there is Bernard Heuvelmans (1916–2001), the “father of cryptozoology,” who is most famous for his On the Track of Unknown Animals, which has sold over a million copies. Heuvelmans claimed to have seen (and killed) a giant anaconda while exploring in Brazil. The animal was peaceably asleep in a bunch of grass, but that didn’t deter the courageous Heuvelmans: “We immediately opened fire upon it. It tried to make off, all in convulsions but we caught up with it and finished it off. Only then did we realize how enormous it was. When we walked around the whole length of its body it seemed like it would never end. What struck me was its enormous head, a triangle about 24 inches by 20. We had no instruments to measure the beast, but we took an arms length of string and measured it about one meter by placing it on a man’s shoulder and extending it to his fingertips. We measured the snake several times and each time we got a length of 25 strings. The creature was well over 23 meters (75 feet) long.” In 1948, one Paul Tarvalho saw a snake he pegged at 150 feet, perhaps trying for a record. Most people, however, will not agree that anacondas reach a length of even 60 feet, much less 80 or 150. Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom, starring the inimitable Marlin Perkins and the indomitable Jim Fowler, once featured an anaconda adventure that looked nearly fatal. In it, Perkins is standing on the riverbank while a giant anaconda meandered menacingly towards Fowler, who has dumbly waded into the river. “Careful, Jim,” warns Perkins, almost casually. Too late. The snake grabs him. Perkins says unnecessarily, “Looks like Jim is in a bit of trouble. The anaconda has him.” GASP! The snake throws Fowler around some more. “You can do this,” urges Perkins calmly. More choking. “And now just a brief message from Mutual of Omaha . . . ” In Guyana, Marlin Perkins and another enabler, Stan Brock, try to land a giant anaconda. The snake wraps its tail around Brock’s neck and its whole body around Perkins’s torso. A massive struggle ensues. “And now a brief message . . . ” At least that’s how I remember them. The anaconda is found over much of northern South America but especially in the basins of the Orinoco and Amazon Rivers. They are huge, and they are

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aggressive and will devour mammals, fish, and reptiles with almost equal zest. In ancient times, in Central and South America, the serpent was considered to be a prime source of supernatural power (along with the jaguar). In the mythology of the Desana people (a Tucanoan tribe of the upper Amazon region) the sun created people in the underworld, but they were conducted to the surface in an anaconda canoe. The chief of the water spirits was sometimes imagined as an anaconda and master of all fishes. This godling possessed a daughter in human shape which he used to entice fishermen to their deaths. Basically the same story occurs in Indian lore about the Nagas. The Kari˜na people believed that the anaconda could rise into the sky to take the form of a rainbow. In this mythology, however, the rainbow does not have a pleasant connotation: anyone who looks at it gets sick. In some Indian myths a white Anaconda menaces menstruating women. In one story, a menstruating girl comes to the river, strikes a gourd to call the Anaconda, and copulates with him. Her suitors cut the snake to pieces, saving her life. They are also rumored to be dangerous to women for four days after childbirth. Apparently the idea behind this is that they are drawn to blood. The Chorote people of eastern Paraguay say the caracara (a kind of scavenging hawk) stole fish from the anaconda, which made them eternal enemies. It is true that the bird will feast upon baby anacondas whenever possible. Anacondas also made a name for themselves in recent warfare. When the U.S. Army invaded Afghanistan in 2002 in search of Osama bin Laden, they named the foray Operation Anaconda in tribute to the snake’s presumed power and stealth. However, as everyone knows, bin Laden eluded his would-be captors, although they also used Cobra helicopters and “Viper” teams. BOAS Of the boas, which are native to the New World, the most widely kept is the Boa Constrictor (Boa constrictor), which is considered to be at risk in the wild due to habitat destruction and collection for the pet trade. It is native to Mexico, south to Paraguay, and northern Argentina, with most of the biggest ones in Central America. While once thought to be entirely a jungle species, we now know that it is very adaptable as far as habitat goes, with some animals even living in semideserts. It is equally at home on land and trees but becomes increasingly terrestrial with size. In fact it has one of the widest ranges of any vertebrate. It likes to eat rats best but has occasionally been known to nab an ocelot. The largest of them can attain a length of nearly 20 feet, but this is unusual. Few exceed half that length. Few people know that one of the boa’s great accomplishments is its hissing ability. It can hiss so loudly that it can be heard from 100 feet away.

CHAPTER FIVE

Real Charmers: Cobras and Their Kin Cobras are among the most iconic of snakes. Their characteristic hood, sensuous grace, and emotionless but hypnotic gaze have extracted shudders from humans since the dawn of time—or at least of history. They belong to a larger group, the elapids, comprising sixty genera and more than 300 species. All are venomous, and many are lethal. They represent about 10% of extant snake species and more than half of venomous snakes. Slim and agile, it seems impossible at first glance to believe that they can be as dangerous as the evil-looking, long-fanged vipers. Actually, they can be considerably worse. The longest venomous snakes and the deadliest terrestrial snakes belong to this far-flung clan. THE HOLY NAGAS OF INDIA In India, which is home to all living families of serpents, cobras are considered the most ancient lords. Early representations of snakes on pottery tablets from the Indus Valley culture show them in a pretty positive light, probably divine and possibly protective. They are both culture heroes and dastardly villains, and the Indian attitude towards them has always been one of the deepest ambivalence. They are often referred to by the Sanskrit word naga (Hindi nag), used to denote Indian or Spectacled Cobras as well as mythically powerful or divine snakes. Naga is a word with favorable connotations, usually reserved in Sanskrit for divine snakes, as opposed to the more neutral sarpa, which more often refers to run-of-the-mill snakes. Naga is a word of such power, in fact, that it was sometimes used to signify elephants as well as divine snakes. The sacred Hindu book of hymns, the Rig-Veda, whose origins extend back for millennia, records the doings of snake-folk, stories that persisted throughout Vedic times and wound their way into Buddhist literature. The Aryans, who composed the Rig-Veda, were cattle herders hailing from the comparatively snakeless regions near Russia. They were in all probability terrified and threatened on psychological

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as well as religiopolitical grounds by the indigenous practice of snake worship. The Aryans’ first encounter with these truly powerful and lethal reptiles was undoubtedly enough to cast them in a villainous role; they had no interest whatever in peaceful coexistence with a cadre of cobras, sacred or otherwise. Unlike the native people of India, the Aryans had not learned to accommodate to their serpentine friends. However, when Vedic and aboriginal traditions were amalgamated, snakes began to reassume their divine (not merely demonic) status and began to be seen again in a more positive light. Even the words denoting them reflect this change. The ancient Aryans referred to snakes as ahi, a negative term. Later, the more neutral sarpa was employed, and still later naga or divinely supernatural being was used. Most often, it was venomous snakes, notably cobras with their spectacular hoods, rather than constrictors, who were honored, although India is well supplied with both types. “The first Nagas” say the scriptures, were “beings wiser than Serpents, the children of Will and Yoga,” who were born even before the sexes were separated. The ancient Nagas inhabited Patala, one of the “hells” of Hindu legend, from which they have to answer only to Yama, the god of death and to Shiva, the lord of destruction. Even today, the cobra is the symbol of Shiva. Their ancient worship was so frightening to orthodox Hindu, and later Buddhist, writers that the ancient folkways are excoriated in scripture. “Wise men of old,” proclaimed the Buddhist Jataka texts, “forsook the fortunes of the Naga and abide by the Uposatha vows [the sacred precepts of Buddhism].” The worship of the snakes remained, dark and hidden, despite the wishes of the reformers. As time went on, however, the ancient snake gods became increasingly anthropomorphized, with just a sly hint of a tail or cobra hood. Still, the Nagas, in whatever guise they choose to take, are very important; they guard springs and keep volcanoes in check. They also produce precious gems by blowing on gold deep in the bowels of the earth. When they are angry, however, their breath blows malaria over the land. Indeed, malaria is sometimes called the “snake-wind disease,” even though it’s mosquitoes who are to blame. Nagas are closely related to the python-like Anantas but, unlike them, are often pictured with human faces. In many stories they have beautiful daughters who are often mistaken for goddesses. For generations, powerful royal houses of India traced their ancestry to a divine serpent. The Nagpur rulers, like the Egyptian pharaohs before them, adopted a crest in their turbans that featured a coiled cobra. As is the case almost everywhere else, cobras represent fertility. In some parts of India it was common for a woman wishing children to suspend a stone cobra (nagakal) in a well for 6 months. If she conceived during that time, a shrine was set up; as an added bonus, earth from this shrine was once used to cure leprosy. In Buddhist myth, a cobra is depicted with his hood open, protecting the Buddha from a thunderstorm—over which the snake lords originally had power. In some depictions, the Naga has as many as five hoods! In many Buddhist tales, the Nagas are depicted wearing jewels on their hoods or on their heads. They may also possess

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magical weapons, exquisite articles of clothing, musical instruments, thrones, or other items of great power that they may on occasion bestow upon human beings. In some stories, the Naga king is none other than the Buddha himself. In remembrance of this event, many Buddhist temples in southeast Asia are protected by images of Naga (cobra) guardians, one on each side of the door. Indeed, in Buddhism, the Buddha’s boundless wisdom is symbolized by an endless knot, which originated from an ancient symbol of two entwined snakes. Buddhists are not the only people who have experimented with using cobra guards. Recently Harrods of London employed the services of two live Egyptian Cobras to guard a pair of $120,000 diamond-studded Rene Caovilla shoes. Harrods’ spokesperson said it was all just a publicity stunt, but no one told the snakes that. The deadliness of the cobra is also the reason for its worship. In most Buddhist texts, however, the Buddha is depicted as saving animals or human beings from evil serpents. In many Pali texts, snakes are represented as being lords of fire, whom the Buddha successfully squelches. However, Buddhism, which is a strongly nonviolent tradition, has the Buddha dispatch the serpent with no harm done to anyone. It was a puzzler, though. As the Buddha says, “How shall I overcome this lordly serpent without injuring his skin, hide, flesh, ligaments, bone marrow or bone?” In one story, the problem is solved when the snake is unable to stand his own anger and blazes up out of its own accord, and so does the Buddha. Somehow, the snake ends up in the alms bowl, but the point of the story is that the snake is physically unharmed, although he is humbled. It might be suggested that the snake switches from the masculine, powerful, and violent phase to the feminine, mild-mannered, and beneficent phase, at least in the eyes of Buddhists. Only the Hindus, it seems, had the power to easily envision the serpent in all its manifestations without undergoing a psychotic breakdown. The truth is that snakes are very beneficial to humans, as they destroy rodents and other pests. On the other hand, they can also be very lethal to people as well. Ambiguity is the shaky bedrock of our relationship with them. Laurie Cozad believes these mighty Nagas represent the central figures of Buddhism’s great rival, Hinduism. In one story the Nagas take umbrage against some birds who venture to poop in the snake’s pool, which would irritate anyone. The birds may be representative of the Garuda, the powerful antiserpent bird in Hindu stories, discussed later. Interestingly, while Hindu texts mention various kinds of serpents, Buddhist texts refer only to the cobra, which they obviously regarded as the centerpiece of Hindu worship. Here is another tale connecting Buddha and Nagas. According to the basic Vinaya or Buddhist monastic rule, no animal can become a monk. Yet once upon a time, a Naga was so desperate to enter the order that he assumed human form in order to be ordained. Yet while he was asleep in his hut, his true snake shape was revealed. The Lord Buddha summoned the Naga and told him sorrowfully he could not be permitted to become a monk. The snake was overcome with sorrow and began to weep piteously. The compassionate Buddha then imparted to the Naga

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the Five Solemn Precepts (rules of conduct), so that he could return as a human being in his next life. The Buddha further ordered that from that time forward all candidates for the monkhood should be called “Naga.” And so it is. As a result, in Buddhist iconography, the Naga is depicted either coiled around the outer walls of the temple or along the stairs leading to the temple’s entrance. One important Hindu snake ritual is the Sarpanama, or snake-naming mantras, which recognizes the ubiquity of the animals: “Let us honor the snakes on the earth and those in the atmosphere and those in the heavens! Honor to those snakes! Honor to those snakes who are the arrows of demons [the biters], honor to those who live in trees and lie in holes! Honor to those in the shining sky, the rays of the sun, or the water! Honor to all those snakes!” Snakes were considered so powerful and so eternally wise that they could control the motion of the world. Snakes didn’t always receive such consideration, however. At one times, snakes were thrown into fires rather than worshipped. The sarpasattra or snake sacrifice was a prominent part of Brahmin practice and originally intended to be enacted only by priests. As a result they would obtain cattle, sons, wealth, and protection from snakebite. And tradition says that the very first snake sacrifices were offered up by the snakes themselves and were the means by which they became “potent” biters (dam´suka) and thus virile (virya). Today, snake rituals (which do not include killing snakes) are conducted not only by the priestly class but also by ordinary people for a variety of purposes—everything from putting in a new foundation to petitioning the gods against snakebite itself. However, later epic tradition explains the sacrifice differently and that it was intended to show that all snakes were meant to be destroyed. Even the creator god Brahma hated them for a number of reasons: they were said to be quarrelsome, capriciously aggressive, and a nuisance. Plus, there were simply too many of them altogether. According to one legend, the snake sacrifice “so frightful to the snakes, and begetting such sorrow in them,” as legend says, was authorized by King Janamejaya. The sacrifice was in fulfillment of a curse that the woman Kadru laid upon her 1,000 snake children because they at first refused her command to go turn the tail of a white horse black. (They did it eventually, entwining themselves in the hairs of the white tail.) It’s a long story, but it should be noted that some of Kadru’s children turned to religion and gave up their former evil ways, instead studying the sacred texts, meditating, and embarking upon a course of self-improvement. Yet another legend from India tells us that the golden-plumed sun-bird Garuda, upon whom rides the god Vishnu, destroyed all venomous snakes. He had acquired this dislike from his mother, Vinata, who had been held captive and guarded by them. (They were the children of his mother’s rival, Kadru, a rival wife.) According to the Adi Parvan (part of the massive Hindu epic, the Mahabharata): [w]hen the Ritwiks in that snake-sacrifice began to pour clarified butter into the fire, terrible snakes, striking fear into every creature, began to fall into it. And the fat and the marrow of the snakes thus falling into the fire began to

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flow in rivers. And the atmosphere was filled with an insufferable stench owing to the incessant burning of the snakes. And incessant also were the cries of the snakes fallen into the fire and those in the air about to fall into it . . . White, black, blue, old and young, screeching horrible screams, they fell into the radiant flames. Hundreds of thousands and millions and tens of millions of snakes were destroyed completely against their own will.

At least one snake escaped, however. This was Takshaka, a “vile” creature who remained attached to the nuisancy ways of his ancestors. Takshaka had once stolen some earrings from the great sage Utanka. This was a particularly senseless crime, considering that Takshaka had no ears. He couldn’t even wear the things. Janamejaya really had it in for Takshaka, since the latter had vowed to kill his father, Parikshit. And that was because Parikshit had a curse of his own laid on him by an ascetic. Parikshit had humiliated the ascetic by draping a snake corpse around his shoulders. Parikshit was mad at the ascetic because the latter didn’t feel like chatting him up; he was trying to meditate. What goes around comes around. At any rate, as soon as Takshaka heard that King Janamejaya was engaged in the sacrifice, he lit out to Indra’s palace for protection. And Indra, gratified, told Takshaka, who had repented his own evil deeds, “O prince of snakes, O Takshaka, here thou hast no fear from that snake-sacrifice.” However, Janamejaya was so enraged that Indra was protecting the snake that he wanted to kill Indra as well, saying, “Priests! If Takshaka is in Indra’s keeping, then hurl him into the fire with Indra himself!” However, they both (and the remaining snakes) were saved by a certain Astika, a Hindu sage and son of the serpent goddess, Manasa, the same one who rules the earth while Vishnu sleeps. His actions brought the persecution of snakes to an end. Snake sacrifices were not limited to the East. Another kind of snake sacrifice was practiced by the Menominee Indians of North America. The sacrificial victim was sprinkled with tobacco powder, seized by the neck and tail and jerked violently until every vertebral joint was broken. The fangs were removed and the body cut into pieces. It was then distributed among the rest of the Indians to carry about in their medicine bags. Other groups of Indians, such as the Yakuts and Tarasco, however, believed the snake should never be touched and certainly not killed. The Druids, too, were no friends of snakes. Every Midsummer Eve they held a huge snake sacrifice, throwing as many as they could catch into wicker baskets and then burning the poor creatures alive. This practice occurred in continental Europe as well as on the British Isles. The snake, however, changed character as snake worship (technically ophidiodolatry) came to be identified as an enemy of “reformed religion,” as Laurie Cozad in her Sacred Snakes: Orthodox Images of Indian Snake Worship makes clear: “[T]he redactors of certain orthodox texts found . . . snake worship to be threatening to their ideological agenda, and as a result . . . portray[ed] the snake and its associated ritual tradition in a very negative fashion. Snakes of course are utterly chthonic, and terribly dangerous, for snakes and the powers they represent

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are beyond the ability of mere humans to control or predict or legislate. The power of the serpent had to be re-channeled into a more acceptable vessel, one a little easier to handle.” The importance of snakes is made plain not only in the most holy works but also in the popular epics called the Puranas. Main cobra characters portrayed in Indian epics include Anant, Vasuki, Shesh, Padma, Kanwal, Karkotak, Kalia, Aswatar, Takshaka, Sankhpal, Dhritarashtra, and Pingal. These may also be the names of regional kings. Naturally, concern about the power of venomous snakes has always loomed large in Indian culture. Book 6 of the Atharva-Veda contains a powerful spell to be said against malicious snakes: “May the snake not kill us, our children, or our people. If its jaws are shut, let them not open. If they are open, let them not shut.” Terrifyingly it adds, “I clap thy teeth upon thy teeth, and also thy jaw upon thy jaw; I press thy tongue against thy tongue, and close up, O serpent, thy mouth.” This maneuver requires a good deal of faith in the gods, much like that possessed by modern snake-handling cults and probably with equal effect. Another way to get rid of snakes, according to the Yajur-Veda, was to employ the services of a longhaired man. At the time, only women were supposed to have long hair, so a man with long hair was neither man nor woman, and thus in a good position to confront the anomaly of nature, also sexually ambiguous, known as a snake. The long hair also marks the classic Indian yogi, who is androgynous and spiritually enlightened. The text refers somewhat mysteriously to a “red metal” that is “neither iron nor gold” which the snake fighter is to place in his mouth. The Indian Jain tradition also celebrates the value of nonviolence, even to dangerous animals like snakes. It centers on the hero, Parshwanath, whose early life bears a striking resemblance to that of the Buddha. In this case an ascetic named Kamath was conducting a fire sacrifice. When Parshwanath learned of it, he intuited that living creatures were being killed, albeit by accident. He attempted to dissuade Kamath from the sacrifice. At first he had no luck, but finally Parshwanath asked his servants to remove the wood from the fire and to shear it carefully before setting it alight. This procedure revealed a half-burned snake which soon died of his wounds. Parshwanath recited the Navakar Mantra for benevolence for the dying snake, which died and was reborn as Dharanendra Dev, who protected him thereafter. Parshwanath became the twenty-third Tirthankar, one of the founders of the totally nonviolent Jain religious tradition. To this very day, the annual Nag Pa˜nchami, the festival of supernatural snakes, is celebrated throughout India every Shravan (July/August). This is the rainy season, a time which snakes are apt to emerge from their waterlogged holes, so they won’t drown, and reside on the ground, where they can pose considerable danger to their human neighbors. This is the period when most snakebites occur and so also the period when offerings should be made to them. How old the Indian Snake Festival is remains unknown, but history records that when Alexander the Great showed up on the sub-continent in the fourth century before the Common Era, he encountered a sacred snake kept in a cave and

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worshipped it devotedly. Perhaps he came by this feeling naturally. Alexander’s own mother, Olympias, was fond of keeping pet snakes; her husband, Philip, found her in bed with one once, after which he terminated marital relations with her. There was a related rumor that Alexander’s own father was really Ammon, who took the form of a large snake. It’s hard to say to this date what really happened. One story behind the Hindu snake festival is that a woman asked her brother to get her some beautiful yellow kedige (Pandanus odoratissimus) flowers, whose sweet scent (a little like roses but fruitier) was favored by the snake god, so she could worship him. However, the brother was bitten and died. The sister, however, managed to bring him back to life with a prayer to the snake god. As a result, on this holiday, it is traditional for brothers to visit their married sisters, who prepare them sweets made with this flower. The sister then applies clarified butter and milk to his back and navel (which symbolizes their shared life in the womb). They also pray for a long life for their brothers. Another story about this same festival concerns the god Krishna who is said to have conquered the evil river serpent Kaliya and thus saved his people from drinking the waters that the snake had poisoned. Even though Kaliya had a thousand heads, Krishna merely climbed up on them and began to dance. The pressure of the great god’s feet crushed the pride of the serpent, and he began to vomit blood. He doubtless would have died, but his wives came forth from the waters and begged the good Krishna to spare him. Krishna, full of mercy, agreed, on the condition that Kaliya leave the lake and go back to his original home on the island of Ramanaka. This was done, and ever afterward Kaliya and his brood bear the imprint of the god’s dancing lotus feet. On this day, too, thousands of people enter the sacred snake pool which is believed to be the gateway to the Nagaloka, the underground kingdom of serpents. Worshippers hope to gain fertility, immortality, and, paradoxically, protection from snakebite. The feast largely belongs to women, who decorate snake statues with fresh flowers or sprinkle holy water upon them. In some cases, snakes are bathed with milk and offered a ritual meal (which is never accepted) of milk and rice (or sometimes milk and meat). Haldi kumkum (dried turmeric) is sprinkled on their heads. The snakes are released into the jungle following the ceremony. In parts of Bengal, Assam, and Orissa, worshippers seek the blessings of Mansa, the queen of snakes. They often invoke the aid of snake charmers to do so. As they play their flutes, the charmers may call out, “Nagoba-la dudh de Mayi [Give milk to the Cobra, oh Mother].” Actually snakes have long been associated with milk and with the mother goddess who provides it. Frying anything on this day is forbidden by tradition, possibly in remembrance of the mythical time when the snakes were burned in the fire. In the Punjab region, this same festival is called “Guga-Navami.” All the local households contribute some butter and flour, and a huge snake is shaped from it. The dough-snake is then placed on a winnowing basket and taken round the village in a celebratory procession. When the procession reaches the main square,

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religious rites are performed to invoke the blessings of the snake god. The dough snake is then ceremoniously buried and curds offered on the gravesite. Failure to carry out the ritual properly will result in sour milk and fever. India is of course famous for its snake charmers, who are of ancient tradition. They don’t exist only in India. Egypt has its share of charmers, and the ancient Akkadian word for “priest” was the same as for snake charmer. While perhaps not so widely known as their Indian brethren, Egypt has its share of snake charmers. The most famous of them was undoubtedly Sheikh Moussa, active in early part of the twentieth century. Moussa claimed he could literally smell out venomous snakes and scorpions. He claimed to come from an almost infinite line of snake charmers and that his skills were bred into his very blood and bone. Perhaps, although it’s worth mentioning that his grandfather, father, two brothers, and son all died from snakebite, something Moussa always denied, allowing only the death of his grandfather, who, he averred, had gotten a little careless in his old age. We shall never know the truth of it, especially since Moussa himself was bitten to death in 1937. Careless, perhaps. Thankfully, the hunting or keeping of snakes has been technically illegal in India since the passage of the Wildlife Protection Act of 1972. The law was widely ignored until very recently, when the government began a crackdown. The erstwhile charmers have now been forced to diversify, doing weddings and birthday parties, for instance, without their pets or, in some cases, taken on jobs as naturalists discussing cobra lifestyles or even presenting lectures on the mystical connection between snakes and ancient Indian lore. But a few of the ancient and honorable profession are still to be found in India. Would-be snake charmers study as apprentices for many years before they finally venture out on their own. Most of them capture their own snakes. The charmers only “borrow” the snakes for a few weeks, since after a while, the animals grow used to their keepers and will not “hood,” which destroys the power of the moment. Most horrible is a widely disseminated videotape which shows a one-year-old child being forced to “fight” a cobra during a snake charming “rite of passage” in Andhra Pradesh, India. The cobra has its mouth stitched up, but it still attempts to strike the child. The cruelty of this rite to both snakes and children was protested fiercely by people all over the world. While all cobras hood up when alarmed, it’s the Indian species that make the most dramatic show. Most of them are pretty large snakes, between 4 and 8 feet long—with the king cobra getting to be truly immense, sometimes reaching 18 feet. Although the snake appears to be moving in time to the music played by the charmer, in actuality it is only watching him. Snakes probably cannot hear music. The serpent is merely watching his handler, who sways while he is playing. Cobras are much more attuned to visual cues than most snakes and so make a good show swaying to the movement of the flute. Since snakes need to move their whole head to follow movement, it appears that the animal is engrossed in the music.

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Most charmers play it very safe and stay outside the cobra’s strike range. Cobras are pretty slow strikers, all things considering. (Not many charmers play with a viper, no matter how handsome they are.) Those who venture closer keep their arms and hands in constant motion, which prevents the snake from getting a good lock on the target. Some will offer an open palm in front of the snake, but this is safer than it looks, since the cobra can’t open its mouth wide enough to get in a good bite. It is only fair to add that a number of charmers have had their careers cut short by a fatal bite anyway, even though it is rumored that during the three days of Nag Pa˜nchami cobra venom has no effect. Snakes who die from the stress of the whole experience are given a formal burial. The spectacled Indian Cobra (Naja naja), a beautiful and dramatic animal, is the obvious choice for most Indian snake charmers. Its spectacles have a beautiful myth attached to them. It is said that once when the handsome young god Krishna came to earth in human form, he fell asleep, and a large cobra shielded him from the blazing sun with his hood. When Krishna awoke, he thanked the beast by placing his two fingers in blessing on the animal’s back. The beautiful Spectacled Cobra bears that mark to this day. Some members of this clan, notably those from Assam, have only one spectacle (a “monocle”) while others, those from India, Pakistan, and Sri Lanka, have two. There is also the Monocled Cobra (Naja naja kaouthia), which always has but one dramatic spot and is another favorite with snake charmers. (Some types from west India have bars rather than spectacles.) The species is generally fairly mild-mannered but, like many snakes, apt to be more aggressive at night. However, like all cobras, it strikes simply by falling forward: a person is usually safe enough if he wears high boots and refrains from sticking his face near the snake. Cobras can’t strike upwards, and unlike vipers, they strike quite slowly. In some places, the charmers use the massive King Cobra (Ophiophagus hannah), also beautifully known as the hamadryad, which makes up in size for what it lacks in dramatic coloring. The King Cobra is the world’s largest venomous snake and is found throughout tropical Asia, especially near water. While not especially plentiful anywhere, they do have a habit of showing up in rice paddies. This is a truly terrifying animal. Two teaspoons of its neurotoxic venom can kill twenty adults. One bite can kill an elephant. It can raise one-third of its body off the ground and keep moving in that position; luckily, it’s rather shy and usually moves away from people rather than towards them. For additional excitement, the King Cobra can actually growl, by means of vibrating membranes in throat. (This is a highly specialized form of hissing.) The rat snake, its main prey, does likewise. A growling snake adds a great deal to the snake charmers’ shows. A most dramatic touch is sometimes given by adding a cobra kisser, always a young woman who approaches the animal from behind and ritually kisses it three times. Again, this is not as dangerous as it seems. The kisser approaches the snake from behind while it is distracted from the front. And cobras are not able to strike

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directly upwards; instead they attack by raising their body as high as they can and then “fall” forward. Another reason this works is that this behavior is also part of the King Cobra’s own mating behavior. In the wild, in order to establish dominance over each other, rival males rear up and try to touch each other on the top of their heads. When one succeeds, the other drops down and crawls away in dejection. So reaching from behind and tapping the snake on the head would have an equally good outcome. The kisser is theoretically safe, as long as she doesn’t try this stunt with a viper, who is a part of a different social system. In Borneo too, King Cobras are used in some village snake shows. In this case ladies of the “King Cobra Club” place the snakes in their mouths and dance. It is similar to the Hopi snake dance ritual, except no matter how religious its origins, it seems to be performed now mainly for the benefit of tourists. It is all very sad, for the K.C. is nothing to fool around with. In 1992, an Indian man gathering wood reportedly cut off his own nose after being bitten by a 15-foot long cobra to keep himself from dying. Symptoms of cobra envenomation include pain and swelling at the bite site, neurological problems, weakness, tightness in the chest, low blood pressure, abdominal pain, salivation, and the inability to swallow. Respiratory arrest can occur within minutes, especially when the biter is a King Cobra, due to the large amount of venom injected. King Cobras are cannibalistic and feed primarily upon other snakes; this fact of nature caused no end of problems for reptile curator Raymond Ditmars (1876– 1942) at the Bronx Zoological Park. According to a report in the New York Times (August 11, 1901):

Once a week a five- or six-foot blacksnake is procured, and after being subjected to a peculiar process is fed to the cobra. The cobra will eat only large snakes, AND the larger they are, the better she likes them. No blacksnake large enough to suit the appetite of her imperial highness has ever been found. If she had her own way about things, every snake in the house, including several of the boa constrictors, would long ago have wandered down the throat of this tremendous snake. Already her appetite has made black snakes scarce in the park . . . [S]o fastidious is the appetite of the cobra that if the black snake is not to her liking, as far as size is concerned, she will not touch it. It is here where the peculiar process referred to takes place. This consists in making the snake think that she is getting more than she really is. After the blacksnake intended for her meal is killed, a dozen or more frogs are killed and stuffed down the dead snake so as to make it bulge out in all directions and appear large. In this state the blacksnake looks as if it were a huge stuffed stocking, and is of a girth which seems as if it were several times the diameter of the throat of the reptile for whom it is intended. . . . Every conceivable trick has been tried by curator Ditmars to tempt the cobra to eat things other than blacksnakes, but so far without success. Once a pair of dead rats were tied to the tail of a frog-stuffed blacksnake to see if it would not be possible to swindle a little variety down into the cobra, but the snake discovered the deception and bit off the string which fastened the rats to her meal.

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EGYPT, ASPS, AND CLEOPATRA While some of the most famous cobras, such as the King Cobra, hail from India, in point of fact, most cobras live in Africa. Egypt, for example, is loaded with snakes (mostly in the Delta region) and with snake myths (everywhere). In Egyptian myth, generally, snakes represented chaos and evil; amulets were commonly worn to protect people against them. Still, venomous snakes were greatly honored. Interestingly, the Egyptian hieroglyphic for various deities is identical to the one for serpent. Mythic celebration of cobra power has existed in Egypt from time immemorial. While cobras were feared throughout Egypt, there were also positive images of them. The cobra’s early name (Renenutet) means “nourishing snake.” She was the goddess of good fortune, easy childbirth, and a good harvest. Sometimes she was seen as having the earth (Geb) for a husband, at other times Sobek, the Nile River god. The Pharaohs wore on their crowns the uraeus, the protective Egyptian Cobra (Naja haje), symbolizing the ancient serpent mother, Uatchet (Wadjit), goddess of lower Egypt, who protected the king by spitting fire at his enemies. Uatchet represented the endless cycle of birth and death. When the two kingdoms united, Uatchet merged with Ma’at, the goddess of justice, and Isis, the goddess of life. Uatchet and Renenutet were also later conflated in Egyptian myth, and soon no one knew what anybody was talking about. In addition, four of the Ogdoad, the pantheon of the eight chief gods of Heliopolis, were represented as snakes—the four female deities. The males were represented as frogs, which may tell you something. These snake and frog deities paired up to create the major division of the universe: Naunet and Nu (primordial waters); Amunet and Amun (invisible air); Kauket and Kuk (darkness), and Hauhet and Huh (eternity). According to the Elizabethan writer Edward Topsell (in the previously mentioned Bestiary), “the Egyptians lived familiarly with asps and with continued kindness won them to be tame. They worshipped asps even as household gods, by means whereof the subtle serpents grew to a sensible conceit of their own honor and freedom and would go up and down and play with their children, doing no harm unless they were wronged. They would come and lick food from the table when they were called . . . [T]hey licked the prepared food with great temperance, little by little, without any ravening.” In his Histories of Beasts, he also mentions a “holy” kind of asp called a thermusis which was fed in the Temple of Isis with ox fat: “They say this kind is not an enemy to men, except to such as are very evil. It is death to kill one of them willingly.” Even more interesting is the moral nature of the creature. “The domestical asps understand right and wrong,” Topsell assures his readers. “There is the story of such an asp, which was female and had young ones. In her absence, one of her young ones killed a child in the house. When the old came again, according to her custom, to seek her food, the killed child was laid forth, and so she understood the harm. Then went she and killed that young one and never more appeared in the house.”

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While one usually thinks of cobras as belonging in Asia or Africa, the wonders of modern transport have carried them worldwide. Here in Maryland, twenty-fiveyear-old Brian Leslie West, who lived the next county over from me in Emmitsburg, was killed by a cobra in 1992. The Associated Press report identified it as a “King Indian Cobra,” an animal that does not exist. It was later determined to be an Indian Cobra. The snake was in the process of laying its eggs and seemed to be in distress. According to the victim’s father, “She was lying listlessly on the floor, and he was just gently stroking her back. Then he stood up and just took his eyes off her for a little bit. She spun around and bit him on the toe.” West was not wearing shoes. He died from cardiac arrest on the way to the hospital. (Although West kept an antidote on hand, there was insufficient time for him to start the IV transfusions.) West was previously noted for instructing local paramedics on how to treat snakes bites. There seem to be many instructive lessons stemming from this incident, most of which cluster around wearing proper footgear and treating expectant mothers with the fear and respect they all deserve. In October 2004 in Leoben, Austria (yes, Austria, of all places), a forty-year-old man wrapped himself up in two cobras and then threatened police with them. The police had been summoned to his home after the man text messaged his girlfriend that he was going to kill himself, apparently a` la Cleopatra. An officer shot him instead, and the man was hospitalized in critical condition for cobra bites and gunshot wounds. He had sixty more venomous snakes in his apartment. In 2007 an Egyptian Cobra escaped from its cage in a Toronto rooming house. For 3 months experts tried to track it down—with no success. The building was cordoned off and residents not allowed to return. (That was the easy part.) The heat had been turned off in the house and the temperatures dipped well below zero. The snake was finally “declared dead” even though no one ever found the body, and the rooming house was renovated. The owner of the snake, Helder Claro, was sentenced to 2 months in jail. His other two venomous snakes were removed from the house. In February 2007, in Cagayan de Oro City, Philippines, a pit bull terrier named Chief lost his life saving his two owners from a deadly cobra. The beneficiaries of Chief’s courage were eighty-seven-year-old Liberata la Victoria and her granddaughter, Maria Victoria Fronteras. The cobra crept into the family’s kitchen and struck twice at the women. Chief, however, rushed at the snake, shielding the women. He then grabbed the cobra by the neck and repeatedly slammed it on the floor until it died. However, the snake managed to bite the dog’s jaw, and the animal died in minutes, after giving his masters a farewell gaze. The Fronterases and members of the pit bull owners’ group gave the dog a “hero’s burial” the same day he died. He deserved it. The most famous snakebite death in history was probably Cleopatra’s suicide. The story goes that she was looking for a painless and genteel way to cross over to the next world and experimented by having slaves murdered in various ways to see which was the least objectionable. Eventually, she decided that snakebite was the way to go and clutched an asp to her arm (or breast, as later myth has it) and died forthwith. What an asp!

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According to nineteenth century English poet and critic, Algernon Charles Swinburne, as reported by Lucy Hughes-Hallet in Cleopatra: Histories, Dreams, and Distortions, “The subtle and sublime idea which transforms her death by the aspic’s bite into a meeting of serpents which recognize and embrace, an encounter between the woman and the worm of the Nile, almost as though this match for death were a monstrous love-match . . . so closely do the snake and the queen of snakes caress and cling.” But we all know what Swinburne was like. He also wrote a forgettable poem about the occasion. Alas, there is no species of snake simply identified as an asp, so a coterie of those interested in such things have been scrambling to name the culprit. Some have fingered the nasty Saw-Scaled Viper as the villain; however, like most members of its clan, this viper delivers a powerfully painful punch. It is more the likely that the killer was the Egyptian Cobra (Naja haje), whose neurotoxic venom is relatively painless. It is also deadly. In August 1992, Larry Moor of Langley, British Columbia, died after being bitten by one. Moor was no newbie to the world of snakes. As founder of the British Columbia Association of Reptile Owners, he had dedicated his life to correcting children’s misconceptions about snakes and to teach how to handle them properly. Alas, he could have used a few lessons himself. Just because the Egyptian Cobra usually eats toads doesn’t mean it won’t bite people. As an added bonus, in Cleopatra’s case, the Egyptian cobra is the snake that symbolized Pharaonic privilege and royalty and appeared on the crown or uraeus of the Pharaohs. The cobra was also the symbol of Isis, and Cleopatra felt that she was indeed the reincarnation of the goddess. Isis was always guarded by her sacred serpent. But did this celebrated event even happen? Actually, the death of Cleopatra is a murky business at best. Here is what Plutarch, in his Life of Antony, said about it: Cleopatra sent to Caesar a letter which she had written and sealed; and, putting everybody out of the monument but her two women, she shut the doors. Caesar, opening her letter, and finding pathetic prayers and entreaties that she might be buried in the same tomb with Antony, soon guessed what was doing. At first he was going himself in all haste, but, changing his mind, he sent others to see. The thing had been quickly done. The messengers came at full speed, and found the guards apprehensive of nothing; but on opening the doors, they saw her stone-dead, lying upon a bed of gold, set out in all her royal ornaments. Iras, one of her women, lay dying at her feet, and Charmion, just ready to fall, scarce able to hold up her head, was adjusting her mistress’s diadem. And when one that came in said angrily, “Was this well done of your lady, Charmion?” “Extremely well,” she answered, “and as became the descendant of so many kings”; and as she said this, she fell down dead by the bedside.

No mention of snakes, and, in addition, two dead maids. Poison, obviously, but how? Cassius Dio, in his eighty-volume history of Rome, says that the only marks

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on her body were slight pricks on the arm, and some assumed that the snake was hidden in either a basket of figs or a water jar. However, no one reported seeing any snakes slithering around. Others suggest that the poison was applied to a pin used to fasten her hair or hidden in a hollow comb. Octavian (soon to be Augustus) liked the snake version, though, and that became canonical. In his triumphal procession, he showed an “asp” clinging to her image. Some (like Shakespeare) insist that two snakes were involved and that at least one bite was on the breast, as opposed to an arm bite. In any case, it would have been a pretty quick death for a cobra bite, and I for one am not buying it. MAMBAS: AN AFRICAN SPECIALTY Mambas are related to cobras but are noted for their arboreal habits, their speed, and their lethal bite. There are four species of mambas, one “black” and three “green.” The black ones aren’t really black, but the green ones are really green. The Black Mamba (Dendroaspis polylepis) gets its name not from its body color, which is gray, but from the black lining of its mouth, which has been likened (with some but not much exaggeration) to the dark and yawning pit of hell. It likes living in termite mounds whenever possible. They prefer eating rodents but will nab birds if they flutter too close. Apparently, even the sound of it is threatening. Peter Hathaway Capstick, in a 1979 article in The American Hunter entitled “Mamba Means Death,” wrote: With a hiss like some weird, ice-cold version of a steam boiler rupturing, a sound I’ll hear in sweat soaked dreams for many years to come, first one, then a second dull, gunmetal length of murder appeared, as if by witchcraft, four feet in front of my face.

There is something about mambas that tempt one to overwrite, apparently. Mambas usually range between 5 and 7 feet long, although the Black Mamba (Dendroaspis polylepis), the largest of the bunch, can manage to stretch out to 14 feet. After the King Cobra, it is the world’s longest venomous snake, and one of the most toxic. The Mamba has long, slender fangs and no other teeth in the maxillary bone. The fangs lie extremely far forward—almost under the tip of the nose, which makes it particularly dangerous. Its venom is incredibly neurotoxic: two drops can kill a person, and a mamba can inject over 20 drops per bite. The Black Mamba bite mortality rate of 30–40 years ago was nearly 100%; nowadays, with better care available, the Black Mamba averages only twelve killings per year. Still, not everyone bitten and untreated succumbs. Survival can be due to a number of factors. Stephen Spawls says that a friend of his survived because the biting Mamba had its mouth full of mud at the time. In another case, however, the victim died in 20 minutes. Mud isn’t always around when you need it. Apparently several Black Mambas manifested themselves during the filming of the Leonardo DiCaprio film Blood Diamond. According to DiCaprio, “It was

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a tough shoot and we’d literally be in the middle of a take and they’d say, ‘Cut,’ and I’d go, ‘OK, what happened? Did I mess up my line?’ ‘No, Black Mamba, Black Mamba.’ A guy would run out with a stick, capture the black mamba and they’d go, ‘All right, rolling.’ These are like snakes that could kill you within, like, a minute . . . It’s like the most highly venomous, aggressive snake in the world.” DiCaprio was exaggerating. It would take several minutes for one to kill him. Most of the news stories about the shoot ran headlines such as “DiCaprio Almost Killed by Black Mambas!” although he was never actually bitten. However, twenty-four-year-old Paul Flynn, a Northern Irish soldier serving in Kenya, was bitten on the arm by a Black Mamba, in the November 2007. He received immediate antivenin treatment from a medic and was then rushed more than 300 miles by ambulance and helicopter to a hospital in Nairobi and was able to make a complete recovery. His next tour of duty is Afghanistan. The Black Mamba is less likely to be found in trees than the other mambas, although Stephen Spawls recounts his adventures with a 9 footer who had taken refuge in a beehive. It was a tricky capture, and Spawls’s companions showed their confidence in him by preparing the antivenin serum while he was in the tree. Spawls claimed the mamba defecated on him (although perhaps it was musk) and mentioned that the product smelled like curry. The Black Mamba is also highly excitable. When angered it can lift about 40% of its body off the ground and lunge forward. (A typical snake can manage only 25–30%.) His bite usually consists of multiple stabbings with those forward lying fangs. The Black Mamba is one of the fastest snakes, zipping along at 12 miles an hour, according to the most enthusiastic reports. It can move so fast because its musculature is such that it makes fewer bends when it moves. However, it cannot catch a galloping zebra, as some legends maintain. In Zulu lore, a king may reappear after his death as a Mamba. Colonial legends tell of Mambas dropping through chimneys to wipe out entire families. The so-called Common Mamba (D. austiceps), the most common green variety, is smaller and more arboreal (with a prehensile tail) than the Black Mamba, seldom coming to the ground. It is a little less deadly and much less aggressive than the Black Mamba, but it’s still no fun to be bitten by one. Its venom can cause death within hours. The ancient myth of the feathered serpent also appears in relation to mambas although in a somewhat different guise than usual. In this case, the snake has a rooster head, sometimes including wattles and comb. It has a terrible smell (curry perhaps?) and can kill merely by looking at its victims, a` la Medusa. Spawls explains the comb by stating that old mambas, after many sheds, sometimes build up a matted residue of half-sloughed skin that bears a resemblance to a comb. CORAL SNAKES There are about sixty or so species of Coral Snakes (genus Micrurus) in the Americas and some in the Old World also. All of them are tropical or subtropical,

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and they are the only relatives of the cobra present in the New World. Most are medium-sized, about 2–4 feet, nocturnal snakes with small heads, fixed front fangs, and bright, ringed bodies. Coral Snakes are secretive and elusive creatures, feeding mostly on other snakes. While their teeth are not viper-sized, it is not true that they can bite only on the finger or toe. Their mouths are bigger than they look, and if they can sink their little fangs into you they can kill you. However, they are shy and rather docile, preferring not to bite people. This is a good thing—as their venom is highly toxic, although the American version of the Coral Snake doesn’t deliver a lot of it at one bite, being so small. There are exceptions. The Eastern Coral Snake (Micurus f. fulvius) is credited with causing the very first death of the Civil War. No Coral Snake fatalities have been reported in the United States, however, since the 1960s due to effective antivenin. Before that time, the fatality rate for these snakes was about 10%. In fact, almost no one is bitten by a Coral Snake, unless he is intentionally handling one. One of the problems associated with a coral snake bite is that it is distinctly not painful the way a viper bite is painful, and the bitee may believe his attacker was a harmless species. South American Coral Snakes are considerably more dangerous. If you recall, some of these species Micurus dumerilii and M. bocourti, for example, have red bands touching black, boldly defying the “Red touch black / Venom lack” verse. Some have only pink and blue banding, and a few have no banding at all. Former U.S. President Teddy Roosevelt ran afoul of one of these serpents while exploring an uncharted tributary of the Amazon, then known as the “River of Doubt” in 1914. The men were making camp, and in doing so apparently drove the snake from his hiding place. This variety of coral snake was considered so deadly (with no antivenin for it at the time) that its victims were routinely given up for dead, with no treatment even attempted. One of the explorers swung wildly at it with his axe, which had the effect of driving the snake toward Roosevelt, who attempted to step on its head; his heavy foot landed on the snake’s body instead. The snake hauled back and bit the former president on the foot. Everyone watched aghast as the venom rolled down the side of his hobnailed boots. Luckily, the Coral Snake’s short fangs were unable to penetrate to the flesh and Roosevelt was saved. Had the snake been a viper, the former president may well not have been so lucky. One of the most interesting natural facts about Coral Snakes is that they can fart. It’s a defense mechanism created by building up pressure in the cloaca and then releasing it with a sharp snapping sound. VENOM DOWN UNDER Some of the most famously dangerous venomous snakes on earth live in Australia. All Australian venomous snakes are elapids (not vipers) except the Boiga irregularis and B. fusca, which are imports. The initiatory rites of desert tribesmen into shamanship include guiding a postulant to a water hole, where two medicine men cover his eyes and throw him

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“into the jaws of the Serpent” which swallows him. The postulant must remain in the “Serpent’s belly” for an indefinite period of time. At some point, the medicine men bring kangaroo rats as offerings to the “Serpent” whereupon the serpent ejects the postulant by throwing him high into the air. The King Brown Snake (Pseudechis australis) is Australia’s most venomous snake, if you judge by the amount of venom yielded in a bite. However, it is responsible for very few fatalities. More dangerous are the Brown Snakes (Pseudonaja spp.), which, however, should not be confused with the Brown Tree Snakes that plague Guam or with the King Brown Snake. They are common, irascible, and lightning quick, and when they strike they will often bite over and over. This is the only Australian elapid to produce living young rather than lay eggs. Brown Snakes are believed to be involved in about twenty-four of the past forty Australian deaths attributed to snakebite. In January 2007, a sixteen-year-old boy died in a Sydney hospital after being bitten on the hand by a Brown Snake. He stumbled from the bush into the middle of a suburban cricket game, where he collapsed and died. In one celebrated 1988 incident, a certain Gordon Lyons, driving from Mandorah to Darwin, spied one and decided it was just thing for the Mandorah Pub’s fish tank. He caught the snake with one hand (his other hand being occupied with holding a beer can) and was promptly bitten. Undeterred, he shoved it in a plastic bag and then stuck his hand in the bag and was bitten several more times. Luckily he was not alone. His companion, equally inebriated, applied first aid by pouring beer over the victim face and slapping him several times across the face (or, in another version, by hitting him over the head with a bottle). Despite this excellent treatment, the victim relapsed into a coma for 6 weeks. The case consumed the entire antivenin supply in the Northern Territories, with more having to be flown in from other parts of the country. His left arm had to be amputated, and he lost the use of his legs. Luckily for him his drinking arm was uninjured. In all probability it was also a Brown Snake that bit a cricket-playing twentytwo-year-old New Zealand tourist Cedric Suifa on December 26, 2007. He leaped up and began to yell that something bit him but apparently thought it was a bull ant. He kept on playing for about 45 minutes, despite some worrisome looking marks on his toe. But when he started feeling a lot sicker, he was transported to the Gold Coast Hospital and given twelve vials of antivenin. No one actually saw the snake, but the victim’s vomiting and shortness of breath were typical symptoms of that snake’s venom. The Red-Bellied Black Snake (Pseudechis porphyriacus), native to eastern Australia and a venomous snake in its own right, is said to keep away the deadlier brown snakes. It won’t. It prefers to eat frogs. This snake, like the Death Adder (genus Acanthophis), is being threatened by cane toads. Tiger Snakes (Notechis scutatus), which live in eastern and southern Australia, can pose a serious threat to people. In 2007, a seventy-one-year-old retiree was bitten while gardening. The quick-thinking Des McLean not only was pretty sure he recognized the species but also took a picture of it for official identification

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purposes. This snake’s venom inhibits blood clotting, and the bite almost cost McLean his life. The Inland Taipan (Oxyuranus microlepidotus), whose scientific name means “small-scaled and sharp-tailed,” has drop-for-drop the most potent venom of any terrestrial snake (with the possible exception of its fellow Australian, the Tiger Snake). At least that is the case if you are just considering its effect on mice. And you might as well, since that is what it lives on—mice and rats in the Australian outback. It is a tropical snake living in northern and northeastern Australia. Taipan venom also separates the blood from the plasma and clots it. According to the Mungkjian people, Taipan was once a human being and a doctor. For example, if someone became ill from swallowing a bone, Tapian would squeeze and squeeze the person until the bone was spat out. He could then use that same bone to point at other people to kill them. In addition to his other talents, Taipan created thunder and lightning. The Taipan is called the “fierce snake,” although it is anything but fierce. Indeed it is shy around people; despite its deadly poison, there are few recorded deaths from its bite. However, one bite contains enough venom to kill 250,000 mice—enough for all his friends. The same bite could kill a hundred people, and for this reason it is sometimes called the world’s most venomous land snake. The average venom yield is 44 mg, and the record is 110 mg. This snake is fifty times more venomous than the Indian Cobra (Naja naja) and 650–850 times more venomous than a Diamondback Rattler. The venom is largely neurotoxic, causing complete paralysis. To be fair about this, it should be noted it prefers not to live anywhere near people anyway. The late naturalist Steve Irwin (the crocodile hunter) once filmed a program in which he was seen lying down outside the Inland Taipan’s den. The snake emerged, flicked at Irwin with its tongue and then glided away. A young man named Chris Peberdy, the official snake catcher of Darwin, Australia, in a December 31, 2006 interview with Chris Haslam, remarked, “Steve Irwin was a great man—really loved his snakes—but he taught a generation of Aussies a lot of bad habits.” Peberdy’s own former partner was bitten in the chest by a Taipan, narrowly escaping death. At the time, says Peberdy, he had a bottle of Jim Beam in one hand and the snake around his neck. “The mad bastard went off and joined the Foreign Legion after the bite,” says Chris. “He thought it’d be safer. Mate, wrapping a Taipan around your neck is like putting your nuts in a blender and flicking the switch on the off-chance you won’t get nailed. Mess with snakes and it’s not a matter of if you’re going to get bitten, it’s simply a matter of when.” The other Taipan is the Common Taipan (Oxyuranus scutellatus), the longest Australian elapid and perhaps the second-longest venomous snake, tying with the Black Mamba, after the King Cobra. Both species of Taipans are diurnal and lay eggs rather than give live birth. Australia’s Death Adder (Acanthophis antarcticus) is in a class by itself. Despite the name “adder,” it is an elapid, although it possesses a hemotoxic venom like a

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viper. It has semimobile, viper-like fangs, too. It also looks like a viper (hence its name) with his heavy, wide body and even behaves like one. Its hunting strategy is unique; it uses its colorful tail tip to lure its prey close and then it strikes. Presumably the prey thinks the tail tip is an enticing worm. These snakes are in danger from the exotic cane toads, which eat death adder babies. And if an adult snake returns the favor by trying to eat the cane toad, it will die of toad poisoning. Evolutionary biologists believe that it developed to fill a niche and that it is another case of convergent evolution. Despite its scientific name this creature does not live in Antarctica, and despite its common name it causes few if any deaths among humans. That’s because there is good antivenin available. Without treatment, about half the bites prove fatal. One of them did nab its keeper through a newspaper under which it had been hiding. The man subsequently almost died from an allergic reaction to antivenin, but everything came out all right in the end. The bite occurred during filming for a Discovery Channel documentary; alas, the cameraman hadn’t unpacked his gear yet, and the biting episode was missed. Even Australia’s “nonvenomous” snakes are not much of a bargain, apparently. In April 2007, a thirty-seven-year-old reptile enthusiast named Ron Siggins died after being bitten on the finger by a presumably harmless Whip Snake, about 100 miles northwest of Melbourne. Many snake experts confessed their shock that a man who knew snakes so well had been killed by a species generally regarded as harmless. He bandaged his finger with his handkerchief, then became woozy, and collapsed while his friend called an ambulance. It was too late however, for by the time the medics arrived, Siggins was dead. Doctors suggested that the man died of complications as a result of medication he was taking for neck and spinal injuries. Even lesser known elapids can give one quite a turn. On his Web site, Dr. Fry recalls his adventures with trying to collect venom from a Stephen’s Banded Snake (Hoplocephalus stephensi). He writes, “It promptly bit me the first time I attempted to milk it. I looked up the clinical effects but not much was known as there were no well-documented cases of such a snakebite. As far as anyone knew, Stephen’s Banded Snakes were not considered dangerous. I clearly discounted this as my body hit the ground seconds after the bite. I regained consciousness quickly, got a pressure bandage on and took off for the hospital. Upon arrival 15 minutes after the bite, my blood was completely unable to clot, my blood pressure was 87/36 and my heart rate was 42. Despite this, I was completely conscious. Twelve hours after the bite, my blood pressure and heart rate were unchanged and my blood still wouldn’t clot. This was despite the administration of many vials of tiger snake antivenin (the closest match because there was not and still is not a specific antivenin for Hoplocephalus envenomations). This had all of us quite worried. Eighteen hours after the bite, however, the symptoms finally began to reverse.” Everything for science. His misadventure led to his discovery that Australian elapid venom includes a blood pressure regulating hormone that is almost identical to one that is used in the human body.

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GREAT KRAITS Kraits are oviparous snakes native to southern Asia and consist of about a dozen species. All kraits are nocturnal, and most are small, only 3 feet or so, with beautiful glossy scales. They are shy, nonaggressive animals that coil up and hide their heads when approached. However, it’s fair to say that there have been numerous instances in which snakes bit sleeping persons. (They are reputed to be more aggressive at night, a behavior pattern noted for many species.) Kraits feed almost solely on cold-blooded prey, so the bites are probably in response to a quick movement on the part of the sleeper. Certainly the kraits didn’t intend to eat them. The strangest thing about their appearance is the colorless iris—which makes them look as if they have very large pupils. The Banded Krait (Bungarus fasciatus) has a high, ridgelike backbone that gives it a strange, triangular appearance. Another krait, the Bungarus caeruleus, which lives in India, has a venom that is many times more potent than that of the Indian Cobra, but it is so timid that it seldom bites anyone and is generally considered harmless. All krait bites, however, should be considered life-threatening. Indeed in 2002, herpetologist Joe Slowinski was bitten by a juvenile krait (B. multicinctus) while doing field research in Burma. He was unable to obtain medical help and subsequently died from the effects of the bite. Kraits are also popular in fiction, appearing in Rudyard Kipling’s immortal short story “Rikki-Tikki-Tavi,” Roald Dahl’s short story “Poison,” and Frederick Forsythe’s tale “There Are No Snakes in Ireland.” Many people suggest that the snake in Arthur Conan Doyle’s “The Speckled Band” was also a krait, but who knows? In the story it was labeled an “Indian Swamp Adder,” whatever that is. SEA SNAKES (HYDROPHIDAE) The serpent, writes mythographer Joseph Campbell in Masks of God, volume three, is “the lord of waters. Dwelling in the earth, among the roots of trees, frequenting springs, marshes, and watercourses, it glides with a motion of waves.” Sea snakes are nothing new in the world, although they apparently evolved from land-dwelling snakes, who may or may not have originally been sea creatures. Like so much else about snakes, they have a circular history. The earliest known sea snake, Simoliphis, entered the fossil record 100–150 million years ago. This was a widely distributed creature whose remains have even been found in parts of both Europe and North Africa that were once underwater. Today sea snakes come in seventeen genera and about sixty-two different species. Most are about 4–5 feet in length, although the largest, Hydrophis spiralis, can attain a length of about 10 feet. Sadly, none get to be as long as the fabulous sea monsters of legend. They are found among coral reefs all over the world. Australia’s Great Barrier Reef, for example, hosts about twenty-two species of them. They also shed their skins more frequently than terrestrial snakes, every 2 to 6 weeks.

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Sea snakes are the most completely aquatic of all water-dwelling reptiles, but they are not fish. They have no gills and must come up to the surface regularly to breathe. Still, at least some species are apparently about to “breathe” through their skin, which provides about 20% of their oxygen needs and allows for long dives. Their so-called valvular nostrils can close up to be watertight when the snake submerges. Some sea snakes are able to dive to a depth of 100 meters. Sea snakes also have the most powerful venom of all snakes and pretty long fangs for elapids. They have need of a quick-acting venom, as they need to kill their prey (usually eels, although a few dine on crustaceans) fast before it swims away. Eels keel over in seconds. When a sea snake bites a person, however, the venom doesn’t work with the same speed, although it can be just as deadly. The bite usually looks innocuous and often produces no symptoms for up to 8 hours; eventually, however, it takes effect with a vengeance. The venom attacks the muscles, and the victim becomes so weak that he can barely lift a finger. Death usually comes between 12 hours and several days after the bite. While more advanced sea snakes are completely helpless on land, Sea Kraits, considered the most “primitive,” with functional ventral scales, do spend time on land and, as mentioned earlier, lay eggs on land rather than give live birth. Other sea snakes are live-bearers. Sea Kraits (genus Laticauda) are very similar to Banded Kraits in appearance, except for the oarlike tail. They are less completely adapted for marine life than true sea snakes. They are reputed to be sweet-tempered during the day but demons at night. There is a common myth that Sea Kraits have mouths that are too small to bite people. This is untrue. Sea snakes can only inhabit tropical regions; otherwise they would find it too difficult to maintain their body temperatures. As their name suggests, sea snakes live in saltwater and prey upon marine creatures. This diet creates an imbalance in the salt–water ratio inside their own bodies, but sea snakes solve the problem by using a special gland situated on the floor of their mouths. This gland collects highly concentrated saltwater and transfers it to a sheath that surrounds the tongue, which flicks out the solution into the ocean, keeping the bodily salt and water within survivable limits. Sea snake temperaments vary widely. Many are curious and completely unafraid of divers, which means they often swim close up to investigate people. The U.S. Navy, which has investigated them in turn, deems them mild-mannered and generally nonthreatening. But there are exceptions. Snakes that use their venom mostly in defense, such as the Yellow-Bellied Sea Snake (Pelamis platarus), seem quicker to bite than those who use venom to immobilize their prey, such as members of the Laticauda genus, the Sea Kraits. Fishermen have been known to handle these snakes with impunity. The species that have been reported as aggressive include the Olive or Golden Sea Snake (Aipysurus laevis), Stokes’s Sea Snake (Astrotia stokesii), the Beaked or Common Sea Snake (Enhydrina schistosa), and the Ornate Reef Sea Snake (Hydrophis ornatus). They have been known to gather in great numbers; in 1933 literally millions of Stokes’s Sea Snakes were spotted en masse in the Strait of Malacca, off the coast of Sumatra.

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The Yellow-Bellied Sea Snake (Pelamis platurus) is found in abundance off the western coast of Costa Rica but is responsible for very few human fatalities. They are attracted to light, and in fact this is the way the fishermen collect them for use in the food trade; they are considered a delicacy in parts of the East. The most widely known of sea snakes is the Yellow-Bellied Sea Snake, which is seen further from shore than any other snake. Sea snakes don’t occur in the Atlantic, although there is some speculation that if the planet keeps heating up and the ocean currents get warmer, they may swim over. Nothing physical is stopping them. Sea snakes are not found in the highly saline Red Sea either; however, some swim up rivers and have been reported as much as a 100 miles from the ocean. Two sea snakes have actually adapted to freshwater life. One is the Black and White Lake Taal Sea Snake (Hydrophis semperi). Lake Taal had an outlet to the ocean, which has since disappeared. Presumably for the same reasons, Lake Taal, about 60 km southeast of Manila and the third-largest lake in the Philippines, is home to the world’s only freshwater sardine, the overharvested Sardinella tawilis. Bull Sharks used to live there as well, but the locals exterminated them during the 1930s. Lake Taal is interesting because it has a volcano in the middle of it, which in turn has its own “crater lake”; however, no fish or snakes live in it, since its “water” is a dilute solution of sulfuric acid. Supposedly you can swim in it, although the tourists aren’t lining up. The other landlocked species is Crocker’s Sea Snake (Laticauda crockeri) a species endemic to the Solomon Islands. One Javanese story tells the tale of Nyai Lolo Kidul (queen of either the Southern or Indian Ocean), often depicted as a type of mermaid, who had a habit of killing each of her eight husbands on their respective wedding nights. The ninth husband, a holy man who had the good sense to stay away chanting prayer instead of engaging in any marital nonsense, observed that a cobra emerged from the body of the sleeping queen. When he stabbed the snake, it turned into a kris (a wavy dagger). From that time forth warriors would wash their knives in cobra blood to empower them.

CHAPTER SIX

Generation of Vipers Vipers are generally considered to be the most recently evolved and thus the most advanced snakes. However, Dr. Bryan Fry has a different view. He claims vipers are the most ancient split-off from the original snake family tree, even earlier than the colubrids. This is contrary to what was earlier believed, but Fry has found that vipers lack the 3FTx toxins present in some other venomous snakes, indicating that this “toxin recruitment” event came subsequent to the division of species. Luckily, we need not delve into this rather arcane discussion here. The viper clan is traditionally divided into two groups, the so-called true vipers (genus Vipera), like the European Viper, and pit vipers (genus Crotalidae). Taxonomists are still fighting about how much of a division there really is between the groups, so we’ll just continue on, picking our way carefully through the viper morass. The main difference between the two is the heat-sensing pit of the latter group. Pit vipers may have originated in southeast Asia and then migrated to North America. They are most famous for their very large venom glands, which account for the large, triangular heads seen in many species. Vipers are found through most of the world, with the notable exception of Australia. There are about equal numbers of species of vipers and elapids. True vipers come in several genera, the most well-known of which are the well-named Bitis (including the Gaboon Viper and the Puff Adder); Vipera (including the small vipers of Europe); and Cerastes (the Horned Viper or Horned Asp). The Horned Viper is one of the only vipers employed by snake charmers, who prize their “horns” (which probably actually serve to protect the eyes). Some charmers have been known to create horns on other snakes by driving hedgehog quills through the upper jaw so that they emerge above the eye like a real horn. This will eventually kill the poor animal, but that does not seem to be important to some. While vipers get a terrible rap in the modern imagination, it was not always so. Many ancient notables respected and honored the fearsome beast. Such an attitude

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was revealed by Chief Nkolele of the Tsonga people of southern Africa. In 1895 he told Henri Junod (1863–1934), Swiss Protestant missionary and ethnographer, that as the chief priest of his traditional religion it was his obligation to offer a sacrifice for the tribal god Mombo wa Ndhlopfu (Elephantface). Once, when he was preparing the sacrifice of rooster, the god came to him in the form of a very long viper. While most of the participants of the sacrifice fled, Nkolele and the elders stood firm. The viper crept quietly up to them, blessed them, and thanked them for the offering (which included fruit as well as chicken). The priest replied rather sadly, “Here I am, the last of my lineage. If I had not come who would have offered you anything?” However, snakes had their own reasons to distrust most humans, as Aesop explained in the Tale of the Snake and the Farmer: In the house of a certain farmer there lived a snake who regularly came to the table and was fed on scraps of food. Not long afterwards the farmer grew rich, but then he became angry at the snake and injured him with an axe. The farmer subsequently lost his wealth and then realized that he had prospered because of the good luck he had received from the snake before he wounded him. The farmer begged the snake to forgive him for his evil deed, and the snake answered, “You regret your action, but you cannot expect me to be your faithful friend until this scar heals. I cannot forgive you until all thought of that treacherous axe has left my mind.” Moral: the person who injures anyone at any time must be treated with suspicion, which is a serious obstacle to the restoration of affection among friends. This tale brings back the old notion that serpents were somehow lucky, and it was exceedingly unlucky to hurt one. An Indian version of the same basic fable occurs in Book 3 of the Panchatantra: when a man’s son realizes that the snake is able to bestow wealth, he becomes greedy and decides to kill the snake in order to take all the snake’s treasure, but instead the snake kills him. The Indian fondness for serpents lets the snake off very easily. A more ambivalent attitude is revealed by this Surinam story derived from African slaves: A huge fire destroyed all the trees and most of the animals in the forest. To get away from the heat the Snake crawled into a deep hole. When the fire finally was put out the Snake found himself unable to get out of the hole, and no one would help him—no matter how faithfully he promised not to bite his savior. At last, a hunter wandered by and took pity on the poor animal. As soon as the snake was free, however, he turned to bite his captor. So far the story resembles hundreds of other “You should have known” tales, but this one turns out a little differently. “Wait a second,” the hunter interposed. “You can’t bite me.” “Why not?” asked the surprised serpent. “It’s what I do.” “Because,” the hunter explained, “you shouldn’t harm the ones who have been kind to you.” “Hmm,” said the snake, puzzled. “Are you quite sure this is the way everyone acts?” “Let’s present the case to a judge,” suggested the hunter. “Okay,” agreed the amicable snake.

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Along the way, they came upon a horse who, when hearing the case, said, “All I can tell you is despite the good services I have done for people I just get beaten for it.” “Me too,” put in a gloomy donkey, who had also wandered by. “You think that’s bad,” said the cow. “They end up killing me the second my milk runs dry.” “I’ve had enough of this,” said the snake. “Roll up your sleeve, Hunter, I am going to bite the crap out of you. Humans are no good.” “Wait, wait,” protested the hunter. “Let’s ask Anansi, the wisest one of all.” Reluctantly the snake agreed. Anansi happened to be at home, and when presented the case, he shook his head. “Dear friends,” he announced, “I really can’t decide until I see with my own eyes exactly what transpired.” All three then returned to the hole, and the snake (rather gullibly, one feels) slid back in to reenact the scene. The Hunter was about to reenact his kindness, when Anansi said, “Let him stew in his own juices for a while so that he really understands the value of the kindness you showed him before.” At last, after many tries, the snake managed to struggle out of his hole, chastened. Some time later, the Hunter was caught poaching in the king’s forest and thrown into jail. This time it was the snake’s turn to help. He slithered up to the king’s palace and bit the king a good one. Then he slid into the Hunter’s cell and told him how he had avenged him. “However,” he whispered, “I can do more than this. For my bite has a cure known only to me. I shall tell you the secret, and you may send word to the king that you can cure him of the bite in return for your freedom.” The overjoyed hunter then obtained the remedy, which was made from three different kinds of leaves, and sent the King a message that he would cure him only in return for his freedom and the hand of his daughter in marriage. The sick king was forced to agree, the wedding took place, and they lived happily ever after. According to the Bible (Acts 28: 3–6), the apostle Paul was bitten by a snake, while he was preaching in Malta. The animal had been concealed in some firewood that Paul had been gathering. Apparently he started the blaze, and the snake, driven out by the heat, leaped up and bit him on the hand and wouldn’t let go. (It was a rather accidental ministry in the first place, since Paul was shipwrecked.) Everyone expected Paul to “swell up or suddenly drop down dead” but the doughty saint merely shook off the serpent into the fire and went on as if nothing has happened. This convinced the natives that Paul was a “god.” Undoubtedly, Paul had received a “dry bite.” Or perhaps it wasn’t a viper in the first place. There are certainly no vipers, or any other venomous snakes, in Malta these days. Or there’s always the possibility that it was not Malta, after all, upon which Paul was shipwrecked. (These biblical arguments get rather convoluted.) At any rate, the viper is sometimes identified as the European Asp, although it is beyond me how anyone could possibly know. St. Dominic de Guzman, who founded the order named after him (the Dominicans, not the Guzmanites) was preaching to the Albigenses in Cucullo, Italy, in

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1215—and was bitten by a viper. However, he recovered. This snake is usually identified as the European Asp—which is after all only mildly toxic. To this day, early in May, during the Feast of the Serpents, a selected cadre of worshippers parade around town his plaster statue, literally covered with writhing snakes—not vipers though, just harmless Asclepian (Aesculapian) Snakes and Four-Lined Rat Snakes marked on the head with a dollop of dye. Following them are the snake catchers. They use the arboreal species because they have the handy habit of climbing to the top of the statue and staying there throughout the whole ceremony. The whole idea is to render everyone who participates in the festival immune from snakebite. In the old days, they used to ritually kill and bury these snakes; now they release them or sell them to tourists. There’s a picnic and fireworks afterwards. Pliny reported entire groups of people immune to snakebite: the Psylli in Asia Minor (or perhaps north Africa), the Marsi in central Italy, and the Ophiogenes in the Hellespont region. Not only were these people supposedly immune but could also cure snakebite in others by touching or spitting on them. Apparently they also had a strange odor about them that was so repugnant to snakes that the serpents stayed away from them. According to Pliny, “[t]hese men had naturally in their bodies that which like a deadly bane and poison would kill all serpents, for the very air and scent that breathed from them was able to stupefy and strike them stark dead.” It is rumored that the Psylli got the secret snake-killing word from Ra and used it successfully, until they converted to Islam and started chanting from the Quran instead. The Psylli are extinct now. They were buried alive by the desert wind when they went out to fight it. They apparently had better luck against snakes. Italy’s Asclepian Snake is actually the Italian Rat Snake or Zamenis longissimus, formerly Elaphe longissima, and it has an interesting history in its own right. Asclepius was the Greek god of healing (whose symbol was the twining serpents), and the Romans took over the god and his cult. VIPERS IN EUROPE! The European Viper (Vipera berus) is the most common viper in Europe and has entered the mythology of even the most northerly lands. These animals are rather short-tempered and strongly object to being handled or even touched. Perhaps their ill temper comes from their being forced to live in such a cold, unfriendly climate. In modern literature, the beautiful poem simply entitled “Snake” by D.H. Lawrence (1885–1930) captures a terrible and pitiable moment when the poet encountered a golden viper lapping up water from a trough on a blazing hot day near his home in Italy. Recognizing the animal as venomous, Lawrence threw a stick at it, which effectively removed the animal as it hove off “in undignified haste.” Immediately thereafter, however, the poet felt terribly ashamed of his encounter, writing sadly, “And so I missed my chance with one of the lords / Of life.” Lawrence experts have determined the encounter was probably real,

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and herpetologists have even identified the unnamed species: the Vipera aspis hugyi, which indeed is found in Italy and which can be, but is not normally, lethal. The related European Viper plays a part in Scandinavian legends. There is the story of the hero Gunnar, who found a treasure of great worth. The evil villain Atli had him thrown in a pit of venomous snakes. However, his sister, Gudrun, threw him a harp. While this might not seem the most apropos of presents, it worked. Even though he was bound and chained, Gunnar was such a good harp player that he could play one with his toes. His lullabies made all the snakes fall asleep, except for one. The one that stayed awake killed him. Whether or not this was in response to his harp playing is hard to say. Perhaps he should have stayed quiet. (In Norse legend, by the way, hell is an ice-encrusted hall lined with snakeheads, whose jaws constantly drip a river of cold venom in which the damned must struggle forever.) These creatures are among the several species of snakes accused of forming a hoop and rolling along away. They do not. In Greek myth, the beautiful Eurydice, bride of Orpheus, was killed by a viper on her wedding day as she walked through a meadow; she ended up in Hades, from which Orpheus attempted unsuccessfully to release her. (While the responsible species is not further indicated, we can assume it is the common European Viper.) This simple story spawned a boatload of modern urban myths about brides being killed on their wedding days. (It’s always the bride, by the way. Grooms seem to be safe from serpents.) The mythical wedding usually takes place in a botanical garden, and the vicious serpent is lurking in the bushes waiting to strike. In the New World the culprit is usually said to be a rattlesnake, but occasionally an escaped python gets the blame. There is no record of this event actually occurring, although it is certainly conceivable. But not in Canada, where it was first reported. In 1983, The Gazette (Montreal) reported that brides were actually afraid to get married in the supposedly viper-infested Montreal Botanical Gardens. This is just another remnant, I suppose, of the old Garden of Eden tale, at least the part that indicates snakes live in gardens. The Greek mystery religions themselves, some of which centered on the unlucky Orpheus, made much of snakes. According to Clement of Alexandria, in one rite sacred to the Phrygian father god Sabazios, a golden snake (or the image of one) was “let down in the bosom of the candidate and was taken away again from the lower parts.” Sabazios would also appear in the form of a snake. GABOON VIPERS (BITIS GABONICUS) My favorite genus among the true vipers is the charmingly named Bitis. And my favorite member of the Bitis clan is the nocturnal Gaboon Viper, which lives throughout sub-Saharan Africa. It boasts the largest fangs of any snake anywhere, measuring over 2 inches. It is also the world’s largest viper and produces the largest amount of venom per bite. Its head is nearly as broad as it is wide, which tells you something. When upset, it puffs up and hisses like its close relative, the Puff

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Adder. Gaboon Vipers are night hunters and feed mostly on small mammals or birds. (Another viper, the arboreal and beyond beautiful Eyelash Viper, can actually catch birds on the wing. It’s that fast.) The gaboon’s preferred prey animals are usually rodent-sized, although one was found with a fully grown royal antelope inside it. As you might expect, it has no natural enemies. This is a truly beautiful, but terrifying, snake, with a stunning symmetrical design of yellow quadrangles over a base of rich brown or purple. Its eyes are an unearthly gray, touched by silver. While normally of a placid temperament, it camouflages well among the leaf litter of tropical forest floors. Thus it has a disconcerting habit of getting stepped upon, often with unfortunate results. Not always, though. Gabbies, as I like to call them, are of a tolerant, sweet, and forgiving nature. They don’t bite people nearly as often as you might think, even when stepped on. Scientists say they are just sluggish. When they do decide to bite, however, it means trouble. Famous zookeeper Marlin Perkins was one of the few people to survive the experience. On New Year’s Eve, 1928, Perkins was carefully removing parasites from the back of a Gaboon Viper, when the snake decided it had had enough of this beauty treatment. It bit Perkins on the index finger. Following the protocol of the day, Perkins slashed open the finger, while an aide attempted to draw out the poison. It was no go, and in 2 minutes his arm was turning black and swollen to twice its normal size. Once at the hospital he was treated with antivenin serum and strychnine injections (fortunately, an outdated treatment), but his condition deteriorated, and he fell unconscious. However, after another series of injections and a blood transfusion, he pulled through in spite of the strychnine treatment and left the hospital 3 weeks later. Another lucky victim was twenty-four-year-old snake handler Robert McDonald, who was employed by the Long Island Reptile Expo. In 1997 he was giving one some water and was bitten on the right hand. He was choppered to a local hospital and survived the bite. Another survivor was a sixteen-year-old juvenile delinquent who stole two of them from the National Zoo in Washington in 1983. But he almost died. PUFF ADDERS (BITIS ARIETANS) Puff Adders, which are widespread over Africa (with the exception of desert and rainforest areas) and Arabia, are very dangerous, too, but they do their best to keep enemies away by swelling up like a tubular balloon. Then they hiss. If that doesn’t work they bite the crap out of their enemies. Its venom is potent and delivered in huge amounts. In fact, the Puff Adder may account for more bites in Africa than any other snake. In his charming autobiography Sun, Sand, and Snakes, Stephen Spawls tells of the time when a wild Puff Adder got one fang into his finger. The result was a long stay in a Nairobi hospital and a procedure that entailed attaching his hand to his stomach for 4 weeks. The result was that his finger was amputated anyway.

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According to a certain George Wilson (and reported in Harry Johnston’s The Uganda Protectorate), the Banyoro in the Sudan regions use Puff Adders as slaughterhouse employees. According to this story they catch a Puff Adder and then nail it alive by the tip of its tail to a pole in the middle of a buffalo track, so that when an animal comes along, the snake strikes at it. Supposedly as many as ten buffaloes have been killed in a day by one puff adder. The body of the first buffalo is regarded as poisoned and not eaten, but all the rest are devoured. You may take this story for what it is worth. SAW-SCALED VIPERS (ECHIS CARINATUS) Another nasty piece of work is the Saw-Scaled Viper, or Carpet Viper, whose range extends from India and Sri Lanka westward to the United Arab Emirates and Africa. Echis is the Latin word for the letter “X” and refers to the crossshaped mark the Saw-Scaled Viper bears upon its head. This snake is well adapted to hot regions and can endure the direct heat of the desert sun better than almost any other snake. It is slender for a viper; perhaps that helps. It is small (about 20 inches) but mighty, and when angry (which is often) it coils up and rubs its scales together in a particularly fearsome manner (hence its name). It is not just bluff, either. The Saw-Scaled Viper has the most powerful venom of any viper and is responsible for about two-thirds of the venomous snakebites in India, as it is widespread, deadly, and aggressive, a rather bad combination. Those more kindly disposed to the Saw-Scaled Viper refer to it as “nervous” rather than aggressive, but the result is just the same. Untreated, its hemotoxic bite has a mortality rate of about 75%. Its victims often bleed to death internally. RUSSELL’S VIPER (DABOIA RUSSELII) The Russell’s Viper was named after Dr. Patrick Russell (1726–1805) who first described it and did pioneering work on snake venom around the turn of the nineteenth century. It is the only member of its genus (although there are two subspecies), and its genus name is Daboia, which comes from its ominous Hindi word that means “the lurker.” Its strike is quick and often deadly. The Russell’s Viper lives among decaying coconut trees in grasslands and rice fields, throughout southeast Asia. Since many of these paddies are in isolated rural areas, medical help can be 5 hours or more away—too late for many of the victims. This snake, with its 1-inch fangs, kills more people in Asia than any other snake and is responsible for about one-quarter of venomous bites in India. In Sri Lanka, the Russell’s viper is even more productive, accounting for about 40% of bites. It surpasses itself in Burma, however, by inflicting a full 70% of venomous bites. It should be acknowledged, however, that many times people have not a clue as to what actually bit them. They either don’t know or it is too dark to tell. The Russell’s Viper can deliver up

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to 112 mg of hemolytic venom (about half a teaspoon), which acts on the blood clotting mechanism and can destroy the kidneys. FER-DE-LANCE (GENUS BOTHROPS) Once we arrive in the New World, pit vipers come into their own. No true vipers exist in the Western Hemisphere. Among the pit vipers, the most notorious is probably the dreaded Fer-de-lance, whose name means “spearhead” (literally “iron of the lance”). However, proper names aside, the name Fer-de-lance or lancehead, is most commonly applied to Bothrops asper and/or Bothrops atrox. (The correct relationships are currently being sorted out to determine whether these are two different species or not.) The Fer-de-lance has the classical pit viper head—triangular with powerful jaw muscles. It is brown or olive in color. Other common names include the Common Lancehead, barba amarilla (“yellow beard”), mapepire balsain (Trindad and Tobago), labaria (Guyana), mapana (Colombia), jerg´on (Peru and Ecuador), and equis (Ecuador). The term “yellow beard” is particularly significant. In Mayan myth, the “Cosmic Serpent” is frequently characterized by a beard that links him with the yellow-bearded Fer-de-lance. (One Mesoamerican myth recounts the story of a man who died when he attempted to pull a “whisker” off an otherwise unidentified snake.) It is a very common nocturnal snake and resides in the tropical lowlands of northern South America, east of the Andes. (There is also a variety on Martinique, the so-called Martinique Lancehead, Bothrops lanceolatus.) No one knows why this creature thrives in Martinique, but it is almost unknown on other Caribbean islands. This snake is actually depicted on the “unofficial” flag of Martinique. Charles Darwin had an encounter with some sort of South American snake, probably of the Bothops genus, of which he wrote unflatteringly in The Voyage of the Beagle, “I do not think I ever saw any thing more ugly, excepting, perhaps, some of the vampire bats.” However, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. In parts of South America, its native name, terciopelo, means “velvet” and refers to its soft, beautiful appearance. Its disposition is otherwise. This unpredictable snake, which can attain a length of 8 feet, is the most venomous snake in South America. It causes more human fatalities than any other American reptile. The fatal dose is only 50–62 mg for humans, and the average amount delivered is 124 mg, with a big bite delivering as much as 342 mg. However, if the victim receives fast medical attention, he can usually be saved. In recent years, the ready availability of antivenin has reduced the annual fatality rate to five or six people per year. The Fer-de-lance bears fifty–eighty live young, all of which are fully fanged and deadly from the moment of birth. It has a life span of over 20 years. Harry Greene, in his Snakes: The Evolution of Mystery in Nature, recounts the words (written in 1931) of Clodomiro Picado, Costa Rica’s first academic biologist, on the effects of a Fer-de-lance bite:

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Moments after being bitten, the man feels a live fire germinating in the wound, as if red-hot tongs contorted his flesh; that which was mortified enlarges to monstrosity, and lividness invades him. The unfortunate victim witnesses his body becoming a corpse piece by piece; a chill of death invades all his being, and soon bloody threads fall from his gums; and his eyes, without intending to, will also cry blood, until, beaten by suffering and anguish, he loses the sense of reality. If we then ask the unlucky man something, he may still see us through blurred eyes, but we get no response; and perhaps a final sweat of red pearls or a mouthful of blackish blood warns of impending death.

Recovery can be a long, dangerous affair. Fer-de-lance venom is not only fast acting but also enormously painful. Primarily hemotoxic and hemorrhagic, it causes massive tissue destruction and profuse internal bleeding. Internal swelling can be so bad that doctors must often cut open the skin to relieve the pressure. On New Year’s Eve, 2007, a fourteen-year-old American tourist named Lee Gatchell was bitten by a Fer-de-lance in Costa Rica. Less than 2 hours later, he was at the local clinic, getting pumped full of antivenin. Although the antivenin removed most of the lethal effects of the venom, the leg was still swelling; the foot was cold, purple, hard, and numb. It was decided to continue the treatment at a rural hospital in Golfito, which entailed a boat trip. More antivenin was pumped in, but Gatchell’s blood coagulation time was still a long and deadly 2 minutes. At that point the family decided to charter a plane to San Jose. The blood coagulation time decreased to 32 seconds, still far too long, but surgery on the leg was needed anyway if it was going to be saved. The doctors sliced open the boy’s inner leg from ankle to knee to relieve the pressure. About half the calf muscles were black from the effect of the venom. The fatty tissue was just a brown fluid that poured out of the leg like water. The leg had to remain open to keep down the pressure, while doctors watched warily for any secret pockets of venom to be released and recirculate through the system. Lee underwent four more surgeries before the wounds could be closed; it took 130 staples. After a couple of weeks of physical therapy, he was able to return home to Montana, where all the rattlesnakes were thankfully in hibernation. As with most venoms, though, Fer-de-lance killer juice has medical uses. An enzyme derived from it, appropriately called repilase, is used in labs to measure fibrinogen levels and blood coagulation capability. The test is used instead of the more common agents because it is unaffected by heparin, which is widely used as an anticoagulant and is often added to blood samples to prevent clotting. The snake seems to like lounging around coffee and banana plantations and is thus extremely dangerous to the workers. It has a nervous temperament and bites quickly from a characteristic S position. It eats what it can get—frogs, lizards, and small mammals. This truly remarkable creature can detect heat differences as small as five thousandth of a degree. While mainly nocturnal and terrestrial, the Fer-de-lance also hunts by day, swims easily, and climbs trees. After it delivers its

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venom, it retreats and just waits for the prey to die. It doesn’t usually have to wait long. It then follows the scent trail to pick up its prize. The Fer-de-lance has made its way into modern culture. Fer-de-Lance (Teresa Vasquez) is a super villain and member of the Serpent Society in the Marvel Comics. She is a personal assassin for “the Viper.” Her allies are Puff Adder, Copperhead, and Black Racer, but she doesn’t bite her victims, and simply goes after them with retractable claws, making her more like a cat than a snake. She first appeared in Captain America #337 (January 1988). On a slightly higher literary note, Fer-de-Lance is the title of the first of Rex Stout’s famous Nero Wolfe detective novels, published in 1934. (The story was abridged and called Point of Death for American audiences.) In the book, a Ferde-lance is given as a present to Wolfe. The novel was also turned into the 1936 movie Meet Nero Wolfe. Fer-de-lance is also the title of a 1974 movie starring David Jansen. It’s about a submarine trapped by rocks deep below the sea. Naturally the sub is terrorized by a large number of lethal snakes. They don’t come from the ocean, however, but from South America. As one might expect, a crew member secretly brought along a container full of deadly snakes (who doesn’t?) which escaped and chased people around the vessel, while they were trying to get dislodged from the ocean floor. THE BUSHMASTER (GENUS LACHESIS) The Bushmaster is the longest venomous snake in the Western Hemisphere and the world’s largest viper, with a recorded length of 14 feet, although it’s a little more slender than most vipers. Three species are currently recognized: the Central American Bushmaster (Lachesis stenophrys), South American Bushmaster (L. muta), the Black-Headed Bushmaster (L. melanocephala), and perhaps the Darien Bushmaster. All species are forest dwellers. The Bushmaster is a thick-bodied nocturnal snake that lives in the jungle throughout Central and South America. Described in Time magazine (November 20, 1933) as “[s]tudded like a pineapple,” adding that “its waxy, glistening scales are pale reddish yellow crossed with diamond-shaped black patches on the back”; it has a prominent upturned snout. It can attack aggressively and has long fangs and hemotoxic venom. Originally considered part of the rattlesnake clan (albeit with no rattle), the Bushmaster was given his own genus by a French herpetologist, Franc¸ois-Marie Daudin, around the turn of the nineteenth century. It may be closely affiliated with the stock from which the rattlesnakes arose but is not a direct ancestor. In addition to having no true rattle, the Bushmaster is egg-bearing and, in fact, the only egg-laying viper in the New World. (The tail does have a horny spine at the end of it, making it yet another of those famous “horned snakes.”) On one of Percy Fawcett’s adventures to South America, a 7-foot bushmaster attacked a member of the party—a Texan named Ross. Ross yanked out his gun, shot the animal, and then looked down. The snake’s fangs had sunk deeply into his tobacco pouch and only grazed his skin.

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He is the silent death bringer, and its genus name appropriately refers to one of the Three Fates in Greek mythology: goddesses who determined the length of the thread of life. Despite his great size, the average wild Bushmaster eats only six to ten rats a year. It is also a much more secretive snake than the Fer-de-lance— seldom seen and usually unnoticed. The Brazilians call him surucuc´u and claim that he can put out fires. People in Costa Rica call him, rather ominously, matabuey or oxkiller. A rare version from the Pacific side of Costa Rica with a dark head is called plato negro or “black plate” after a rice and beans dish popular in the area. Folklore claims that it can suckle milk from cows and even sleeping women, a claim made with odd frequency about various snake species around the world. (In some parts of the world it is claimed that not only do snakes drink milk but they also vomit it up later. If a person with tuberculosis eats this snake vomit, he will be cured. It doesn’t sound likely but has probably never been properly researched.) One of the most famous episodes concerning a bushmaster occurred in 1934 with Raymond L. Ditmars of New York’s Zoological Park, who received a truly massive specimen from a Trinidad cocoa plantation. Ditmars had been searching for this species for years; in fact Time magazine (September 17, 1934) reported, “New Yorkers [have] been accustomed to seeing each summer begin with some such headline as DITMARS SAILS TO HUNT BUSHMASTER, [and] end with DITMARS BACK; NO BUSHMASTER.” He ended up chasing the snake around the house with a broom, as it seemed disinclined to enter its case. The Bushmaster was the name taken by the 158th Infantry Regiment, Arizona’s First Volunteer Infantry (later organized into the 45th Division after World War I). These troops were trained in jungle warfare in the Panama Canal Zone. General MacArthur personally selected the Bushmaster Regiment to be sent to his command in the Southwest Pacific theatre. They fought the Japanese 6th Tiger Marine Division from May 17 to June 12, 1944, losing seventy-seven officers and men in comparison to 3,000 of the enemy. They were under orders to proceed to Japan in what was certain to have been a suicide mission, but the Japanese capitulated. The unit’s emblem was a Bushmaster encircling a sword. On a “medical” note, Lachesis mutus (Bushmaster venom) is a homeopathic remedy prescribed for inflammations and hemorrhages of the skin and mucosa, menopausal complaints, glandular diseases, infectious diseases and blood poisoning, phlebitis, angina pectoris, cardiac and circulatory insufficiency, neuralgia, rheumatism, spasmodic conditions, paralysis, behavioral disorders, and congestive and hormonal headaches. It sounds dangerous, but since it’s homeopathic it’s harmless; it is so diluted that it can have no toxic effect. OKINAWA AND THE HABU (TRI MERESURUS FLAVOVIRIDIS) The people of Okinawa have the distinction of having the highest percentage of snakebites in the world. The culprit is the Habu, a pit viper that is said to bite about 0.2% of the population every year. Some sources call this snake “small”

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and others “large.” I suppose it all depends on how big you think 5 feet is; it is at any rate the largest of the Asian vipers. It has an irritable nature and likes living around houses, which contributes to his biting predilection. It played havoc with U.S. troops during the Second World War, biting them frequently. Fortunately, the Habu is not especially toxic, and very few deaths occur as a result. They don’t really mean to bite people, but that’s where the rats are—near people. TEMPLE PIT VIPERS (TROPIDOLAEMUS WAGLERI) While there are few pit vipers in the Old World, some have received a good deal of attention. The Buddhist temple on the island of Penang in Malaysia (the Temple of the Azure Cloud) houses a great many Wagler’s Pit Vipers rather than the cobras who are the usual denizens of such temples. These vipers are permitted to roam freely and are fed on eggs. Considered sacred, they are known as Temple Pit Vipers and are said to be the servants of departed Buddhist priests. They are never pestered, and they seldom bite, although they will defend themselves if provoked. And they have long fangs and hemotoxic venom. COPPERHEADS AND WATER MOCCASINS (GENUS AGKISTRODON) The United States enjoys the company of two species of pit vipers that are not rattlesnakes. American Copperheads (A. contortrix) belong to the most primitive variety of pit vipers and are the most common venomous snakes in the United States. Although their bite is very painful, American Copperheads today are recognized as perhaps the least dangerous of U.S. venomous species. However, this generous opinion was not always held. J. Hector St. John de Cr`evecoeur, gentleman farmer, remarked in 1782 in Letters from an American Farmer, “The most dangerous one is the pilot, or copperhead; for the poison of which no remedy has yet been discovered. It bears the first name because it always precedes the rattlesnake; that is, quits its state of torpidity in the spring always a week before the other.” De Cr`evecoeur may be confusing the Copperhead with the so-called Pilot Snake or Black Racer, but in any case, he fears the snake as no other: It lurks in rocks near the water, and is extremely active and dangerous. Let man beware of it! I have heard only of one person who was stung by a copperhead in this country. The poor wretch instantly swelled in a most dreadful manner; a multitude of spots of different hues alternately appeared and vanished, on different parts of his body; his eyes were filled with madness and rage, he cast them on all present with the most vindictive looks: he thrust out his tongue as the snakes do; he hissed through his teeth with inconceivable strength, and became an object of terror to all bystanders. To the lividness of a corpse he united the desperate force of a maniac.

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De Cr`evecoeur, although wrong about many things, was quite right in identifying the Copperhead as living near water. Even today few people know that this snake is semiaquatic and enjoys a good swim now and again. Alben Barkley (1877–1956), who was the last U.S. vice president born in a log cabin, crawled under the said cabin in search of a chicken at the age of six. His budding political career was nearly cut short when he was bitten by a Copperhead and almost died. Beside being vice president and bitten by a Copperhead, he laid claim to being one of the best hog callers in the state of Kentucky. This was not the first time, of course, Copperheads entered politics. During the Civil War era a group of Northern Democrats who opposed the war were given this name by their Republican opponents. They accused the Democrats of striking without warning, as opposed to the more gentlemanly rattlesnakes, to which they perhaps compared themselves. In May 2007, a Copperhead apparently came up behind a woman who was fishing for trout and bit her on the leg, right through her waders. “It felt like a hot poker,” Connie Owsley told reporters KMBC news. Rather than allow the snake to escape, she grabbed it by the tail, carried it to her car, and drove to the park ranger’s office with the snake dangling out the window. The astounded park ranger gave her credit for nerve but said it wasn’t necessary to bring in the snake. She was given pain medication and sent home from the hospital. Apparently it was mating season, and this was supposed to account for the snake’s behavior. The other nonrattling pit viper is the Cottonmouth or Water Moccasin (Agkistrodon piscivorus). There is rumor that the water moccasin cannot bite underwater. This is a precious lot of nonsense; they live on fish—commonly found underwater. The species name piscivorus literally means “fish eater.” Snakes have the ability to close the epiglottis to avoid drowning; it closes as a reflex action immediately when fluid enters the mouth. Not only water mocs but all snakes can bite underwater. It is a rather sluggish snake and almost always gapes its cotton-white mouth in warning before actually striking. However, the main myth about these animals is that they seem to inhabit every known lake and river in North America. In actual fact, they are Southern creatures ranging from the southern tip of Virginia to the Florida Keys and westward to Texas and Oklahoma. In other words, they do not live in Michigan, New Hampshire, Ohio, Nebraska, or other places where they are periodically spotted. In the minds of many, any snake in the water must be a water moccasin. Perhaps it all speaks to the fact that there is something even more threatening about a venomous snake in the water than on land, particularly one as ill-tempered and apt to strike as a water moccasin. Unlike many snakes, it will definitely stand its ground when threatened. A variety of “urban legends” celebrate the Water Moccasin: for example, the one about the water skier who fell off his skis into a nest of Cottonmouths. In many cases, the victim mistakes the snake fangs for barbed wire, even as he dies from the bites. While this is not true (as Cottonmouths don’t have nests) large numbers of these snakes are sometimes seen within a small area, and in late fall as many as fifty individuals have been spotted migrating

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across water from barrier island swamps to the mainland. It is not a pretty sight. However, late fall is not the time when most people are water-skiing. At any rate, no documented case of this nature has ever shown up, although it’s rather popular in literature, appearing in North Toward Home by Willie Morris and Kinflicks by Lisa Alther, among others. Even Larry McMurtry’s Lonesome Dove featured an underwater nest of the critters. Water Moccasins do have a characteristic musky odor which, especially in the heat, is fairly noticeable. If you can smell it, you are too close. Cottonmouths almost never cause a human fatality, but their bites are excessively painful. They are rather slow moving on land and easily caught. In June 2007, four men outside a bar and restaurant in Sumter, South Carolina, “menaced” a man in a car with a Water Moccasin. “It’s a very poisonous snake. Probably the most venomous snake that’s out there,” said Sumter’s nonherpetologist police chief, Patty Patterson, inaccurately but dramatically. The intended victim escaped unhurt, but the snake bit its handler and escaped. The thug, Timothy Farmer, ended up in the hospital, not only with a snakebite but also with a charge of “second degree lynching.” RATTLED! The most potent, both naturally and mythologically, of all North American snakes are the rattlesnakes. In many places they are among the most common of snakes; indeed in some localities they are more common than all other varieties of snake combined. Very often, different species of rattlesnakes live in close proximity and in apparent harmony with each other. Rattlesnakes are not as dangerous as they look, unless one goes about trying to pick them up or kissing them on the head. Most people aren’t willing to do this, for they are truly terrifying in appearance. American zoologist John Edwards Holbrook (1794–1871) spoke for many when he remarked in his fivevolume American Herpetology, or a Description of Reptiles inhabiting the United States, “[A] more disgusting and terrific animal can not be imagined than this; its dusky colour, bloated body, and sinister eyes of sparkling gray and yellow, with the projecting orbital plates, combine to form an expression of sullen ferocity unsurpassed in the brute creation.” The rattlesnake is unique to the New World. As a rule they are stout, heavy snakes with broad (and usually described as ugly) heads. And, unlike all other snakes, they possess rattles, loosely interlocking hornlike rings found at the end of their tails. Research by Laurence Klauber, research associate at the San Diego Zoo, has shown that the rattle evolved with the rattlesnake. More primitive species have proportionately smaller and less defined rattles. At present (and this is always subject to change), taxonomists list about thirty-one species and seventy subspecies of rattlesnakes—up from a mere forty-six in 1965. This is not because we keep discovering new rattlesnakes but because they are splitting the ones we know about into new species, a kind of shell game.

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Rattlesnakes probably developed in the Mexican plateau, with species differentiation occurring as the snakes spread northward. They now live in all the contiguous states except Maine, Rhode Island, and Delaware. They were exterminated in the first two of these states. Indeed Maine has no venomous snakes at all, and there is no record of their ever having been in Delaware. Florida is home to both the largest and smallest rattlesnakes: the Eastern Diamondback (Crotalus adamanteus) and Pigmy Rattlesnake (Sistrurus miliarius barbouri) respectively. The Pigmy Rattlesnake, in recent years, has found an excellent source of food in the lucrative Florida plant nursery business. The plants are grown in partially buried, moist containers that attract insects, which attract frogs and lizards, which then attract Pigmy Rattlesnakes. The snakes curl up contentedly in the pots and wait for dinner. They apparently do this in large numbers. When the pots are dug up and removed for retail sale, the snake goes along for the ride. More than one consumer has been bitten while checking out a plant for his garden. (These little guys are pretty aggressive.) This is one version of the Burlington Coat Factory snake story that really turns out to be true. The first mention of rattles in English was Captain John Smith’s account of Virginia in 1612. He notes only their ornamental use by humans. Wearing a string of snake rattles around one’s neck was supposed to bring good luck and ward off arthritis, sunstroke, and smallpox. The rattles are also said to have fertilityenhancing or aphrodisiac qualities and were once given to small children to soothe and protect them. (On the other hand, some folklore contends that “rattle dust,” whatever that may be, is poisonous.) Rattles are the rattlesnakes’ only unusual skin feature. Rattlers never have hair or feathers, even when they grown very old, although this notion is frequently mentioned throughout the hemisphere, from Brazil to the Ozarks. Different groups of Native Americans had different beliefs about rattlesnakes. In some cases they were honored as gods or creatures/messengers of the gods; in others they were feared or despised. For the Algonquin Indians, the rattlesnake and lightning were the embodiments of each other, and they called the serpent “Grandfather” to show their respect and awe of it. The Yuki Indians also used this title for rattlesnakes, but it was mostly a bribe. They really didn’t like them at all. The Cherokee performed some tribal dances that they believed were anathema to rattlesnakes. (Perhaps the snakes had no aesthetic sense.) The Cherokee courteously waited until the snakes went into hibernation, so that they would not be bothered by the noise. They also believed that seeing a snake of any species at the beginning of a journey was a harbinger of death. For the Pima folk, coming upon two rattlesnakes close together when they were looking for something was very unlucky. To the Micmac, thunder was created by seven flying rattlesnakes who cry out to each other and shake their rattles as they crash along the firmament. This is a notion repeated in Indian legends across the continent. Whether this serpent was considered holy or cursed, however, the same fate often resulted for those who ventured to touch or kill it; the offender was exiled

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from the tribe for a certain period of purification. In a very few tribes, the snakes were simply killed as pests. THE RATTLE ITSELF The secret of the rattle lies in the shedding process. In most snakes, the old skin is shed right down to the tip of the tail. But in rattlers, part of the old skin remains attached near the end of the tail and becomes a new segment of the rattle. The rattle is simply a series of interlocking, dry old pieces of skin that clatter together in a creepy way when the snake shakes them. Just because one hears a rattle from the bushes doesn’t necessarily mean that a rattler is lurking in there. Many snakes vibrate their tails against leaves to imitate the terrifying rattle sound. This works pretty well against most people. According to a Cherokee myth, the Rattlesnake mistakenly bit the Sun’s daughter through impatience; he was then given a rattle, so that others are warned of his intentions. Unfortunately, perhaps, snakes cannot hear their own rattle. They have no ears. It is not possible to tell the age of the rattlesnake by the number of rattles, which are formed with every shed, not every year. (The conquistador Francisco Hernandez is the first European to come up with that story and, more to his credit, the first European to have published a picture of the snake.) These snakes can shed several times a year, and end rattles can be broken off or dislodged. In 1648, Willem Piso (1611–1678), a Dutch scientist who lived and studied in Brazil, came out with the theory that the rattle was actually more dangerous that the snake’s bite or venom. Laurence Klauber, who has made an extensive study of rattlesnakes, reports that a string of six to eight rattles is the most effective for making noise. A shorter string “produces too few contacts for full stridency,” while an excessively long string interferes with a full vibration. In most rattlesnakes the peak frequency of a rattle sound is about 9,000 hertz, although there is considerable variation. The bigger the snake, the lower pitched the sound. At about a meter away, its loudness is 60 to 80 decibels, which is similar to the loudness of a baby rattle. But somehow it gives a different impression. Snakes also seem to be able to rattle most effectively when the ambient temperature is most ideal for their survival. About the longest a rattle can get appears to be about sixteen segments, although folktales are full of stories or even drawings of snakes with seventy or eighty segments. Fake strings are often produced in support of these claims—and they all turn out to be strung together from a number of different individuals. Some Indian people believed that the number of rattles on a snake indicated the number of people the beast had killed. Zora Neale Hurston recounts an old African-American folktale that explains the powerful connection between defense and offense with regard to rattlesnakes. According to the story, God made the snake as a decoration for the ground. However, humans kept stepping on the defenseless creature, so God gave the snake venom to protect itself. He also provided the snake a set of rattles to warn humans of his presence. Only when people do not heed the call of the rattle will

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the snake strike. In truth, the purpose of the rattle seems to be to warn away molesters—designed to protect the snake, not as a favor to the rest of us. It generally rattles and hisses at the same time, to make its intention all the clearer. (One experiment involved a rattlesnake and a weasel. When the rattles were left intact and rattling, the weasel left the snake alone; however, when the rattles were removed, the weasel did not hesitate to attack.) It has been reliably reported that an irritated rattler can keep up the rattling for hours. The angrier it is, the faster it rattles. Folklore claims that a rattle cut off from a snake’s tail will continue to rattle for 3 hours in the hand. Rattlesnakes occur in two genera: Crotalus and Sistrurus. Most rattlers are members of Crotalus; the Massasauga (swamp rattler) and Pigmy Rattlesnakes, which have only tiny rattles, are placed into the genus Sistrurus. Crotalus has big scales on the crown arranged in regular order, and Sistrurus has small irregular scales, although there is a big scale right above each eye. The word crotalus is derived from the Greek krotalon meaning “rattle” or “little bell.” Sistrurusis derives from the Lain sistrum and Greek seistron, referring to a tiny rattle, and from the Greek oura, meaning “tail.” Only one true rattlesnake lives in South America proper. That is the Neotropical Ratlesnake (Crotalus durissus), which lives in dry areas like grasslands and savannahs. It is apparently not well adapted to the steaming jungles of the Amazon basin, where other pit vipers have made their homes. This snake has the reputation of being able to break a person’s neck with its venom. This belief is due to a special component—crotamine—in the venom of at least some of these specimens, which relaxes the muscles of the neck, so that the head lolls around. Crotamine seems present only in snakes from certain parts of its range, mostly in Argentina. Crotamine does not occur in Mexican and U.S. rattlesnakes. All species but the sidewinder and the massasaugas bear the name “rattlesnake.” The Massasauga (genus Sistrurus) is said to derive its name from the Mississauga Indians of Ontario. Rattlesnakes also exist in several subspecies, a term that is defined differently by different zoologists. Abstruse questions of lineage, geographical distribution, size, and pattern or color variations are brought to bear. Fortunately, the complexities of the matter are beyond the scope of this book. Whether or not certain groups should be considered just part of the regular species, be named a subspecies, or get its own species name is best left to those who are passionate in such matters. There are more of those than you might think. Rattlesnake species also occasionally hybridize, even in the wild. This just adds to the confusion, but no one is brave enough to tell them to stop. While you might think a rattlesnake is easy enough to spot, apparently this is not the case. Early settlers were of the opinion that rattlesnakes had no rattles until they were 3 years old or that, as they had been assured by Native Americans, only males possessed rattles. This resulted of course in the destruction of many harmless snakes who were thought be young or female rattlers waiting to strike. It has been averred that a tortured or restrained rattlesnake will bite itself and die from its own venom. This is not true; most have the sense to bite their tormentors

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if possible. It is claimed that before a rattlesnake drinks, it takes out its venom glands and leaves them neatly on a rock so as not to poison the water. The rattlesnake has been called “the snake without a friend.” In Pima Indian myth, it was the Rattlesnake who brought death into the world. His first victim was a rabbit, and according to some traditions, the blood of a jackrabbit actually contains rattlesnake venom in memory of this long-ago event. The rabbit truly deserved to die, however, as he kept scratching the snake and wouldn’t quit no matter how many times he was warned. In 1751, Benjamin Franklin, complaining about the British practice of sending convicted felons to the colonies, suggested that we return the favor by sending rattlesnakes to England. However, the beasts are not without their supporters. The North American Brule Sioux people tell a story in which three brothers were changed into rattlesnakes, and thereafter helped and guided their people. Similarly, the Pomo people tell the story of a woman who married a rattlesnake prince and then gave birth to four snake children, who were able to live in both worlds. The early French-American farmer/diarist Hector St. John de Cr`evecoeur (1735–1813) seemed rather fond of them. After claiming that he knew of several antidotes for relief of their bite (but not bothering to tell the reader what they were), he continued in his Letters from an American Farmer (1782): They are extremely inactive, and if not touched, are perfectly inoffensive . . . I once saw a tamed one, as gentle as you can possibly conceive a reptile to be; it took to the water and swam whenever it pleased; and when the boys to whom it belonged called it back, their summons was readily obeyed . . . they often stroked it with a soft brush, and this friction seemed to cause the most pleasing sensations, for it would turn on its back to enjoy it, as a cat does before a fire.

This snake was supposed to be deprived of its fangs by giving it a piece of leather to bite, which was then yanked out “with great force” until the fangs were torn out. Apparently this was supposed to make a friend of the snake. This is not typical snake behavior, so De Cr`evecoeur was either lying or grossly misinformed: it’s hard to say which. However, there is a legend that a rattlesnake is such a gentleman that it will not bite a child under the age of seven.

PATRIOTIC SNAKES Snake imagery, especially that of the native rattler, appeared quite early in our nascent republic. The first known political cartoon (1754) was drawn by Benjamin Franklin—a figure of a snake cut into eight pieces, curved so as to resemble the eastern seaboard. New England (one piece) was the head and South Carolina was the tail. The slogan at the bottom read, “Join or Die.” The plea was for a unified front, not against the British, as we might suppose, but to defend the colonies during the French and Indian War. (Some early folklore asserted that a snake cut

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into pieces could be restored to life if put back together before sundown.) This cartoon, or variations of it, appeared all over the colonies. Rattlesnakes entered American political history with the famous “Gadsden” flag, which features a coiled rattlesnake. The flag was named after Christopher Gadsden, who led the Sons of Liberty in South Carolina. According to the South Carolina congressional journals: Col. Gadsden presented to the Congress an elegant standard, such as is to be used by the commander in chief of the American navy; being a yellow field, with a lively representation of a rattle-snake in the middle, in the attitude of going to strike, and these words underneath, “Don’t Tread on Me!”

Similar flags were flown through the Revolutionary War period, including the flag first flown by the U.S. Navy. The Gadsden snake was even painted on the drums of the very first marine units in 1775. The drums were painted yellow and depicted ferocious looking, ready-to-strike Timber Rattlers, complete with thirteen rattles. The famous motto, “Don’t tread on me,” was also included. Another snake flag featured rattlesnakes stretched from corner to corner of the flag field. In December 1775, an anonymous writer, now widely presumed to be Benjamin Franklin, commenting on the rattlesnake drums, speculated in The Pennsylvania Journal as to why this creature should be selected as an emblem of the new country. Franklin can be counted another “friend of the Rattlesnake.” First, he suggested, “the Rattle-Snake is found in no other quarter of the world besides America.” In addition, he wrote that the keen vision of the snake (a figment of Franklin’s fertile imagination), “may therefore be esteemed an emblem of vigilance.” Franklin also touted the rattlesnake’s temperament: She never begins an attack, nor, when once engaged, ever surrenders: She is therefore an emblem of magnanimity and true courage. . . . she never wounds ‘till she has generously given notice, even to her enemy, and cautioned him against the danger of treading on her.

Franklin was also able to draw many inferences from the rattles depicted on the image: “I confess I was wholly at a loss what to make of the rattles, ‘till I went back and counted them and found them just thirteen, exactly the number of the Colonies united in America; and I recollected too that this was the only part of the Snake which increased in numbers.” He then mused some more upon the symbolic value of the rattles: Tis curious and amazing to observe how distinct and independent of each other the rattles of this animal are, and yet how firmly they are united together, so as never to be separated but by breaking them to pieces. One of those rattles singly, is incapable of producing sound, but the ringing of thirteen together, is sufficient to alarm the boldest man living.

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This early flag snake bears a resemblance to the so-called glass snake, which supposedly has the power to crack up into pieces when threatened and then neatly put itself back together again. There are several species of legless lizards (actually called “glass lizards”) which can eject their tails when attacked—probably to discombobulate the predator. The lost tail twitches away for a while and breaks into bits. It can partially regrow, although the new tail is inferior to the old one. Some of these creatures live in the southeastern part of the United States, and their antics may have given rise to this myth. (American snakes haven’t learned this trick.) Innumerable urban myths are told about innocent shoppers (usually in discount stores) being bitten by rattlers while bargain hunting. In September 2003, a Texas man named Douglas Hatchett claimed he had been boot shopping in Wal-Mart when he was attacked by a rattler concealed behind a shoebox. He proceeded to sue Wal-Mart. Unfortunately for the success of his lawsuit, the hospital doctors said they didn’t notice any rattlesnake bites on Hatchett, and investigators remarked that the rattlesnake brought along as “proof” had been long dead, suggesting the possibility that “someone” had simply deposited the remains in the store. Who this “someone” could have been I have no idea. Boots and rattlesnakes have a strong connection in other myths too. A famous one is that a man steps on a rattlesnake, whose fang goes though his boot and kills him. The man’s sons inherit all his possessions, including the fatal boots, and all die after trying them on. One of the first of these tales is presented as truth by our friend Hector St. John de Cr`evecoeur, who maintains a farmer trod upon a rattlesnake and was bitten and died. “A few days after, the son put on his father’s boots, and went to the meadow. At night he pulled them off, went to bed, and was attacked with the same symptoms about the same time, and died in the morning.” In a variation, a man kills a rattlesnake and buries it in his backyard. Years later someone else digs up the snake by accident and gets pricked on the finger by the fang and dies. A similar myth circulated in Europe was that a woman once bitten by a snake while pregnant would transmit the venom to her baby when she nursed it. One story from Louisiana claims that if a person drinks milk after being bitten by a rattlesnake, he will die. These are more examples of snake–milk connections that crop up a thousand times, possibly testifying to the snake’s connection with fertility. Snake fangs aren’t always bad, though. The Cora people of northwestern Mexico make a love charm out of a rattlesnake fang by wrapping it in an oak leaf and carrying it about. Large collections of vipers are also frequently said to attack children playing in “ball pits” at Burger King (or sometimes McDonalds). Frequently the culprits are said to be a “family of baby rattlesnakes.” Burger King corporate office reported tersely on its Web site, “Burger King Corporation has learned of an e-mail being circulated on the internet that FALSELY alleges the injury and death of a child while playing in a playground ball pit resulting from a rattlesnake bite. To be positively clear, the incident outlined in the e-mail has no basis in fact relative to any Burger King restaurants.” There.

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There are numerous Cherokee tales which, modeled after Aesop’s version, tell of either the perfidy of the rattlesnake and/or the gullibility of those who pick them up. The point is made over and over again that a person succumbs to the wily serpent—after taking it in from the cold and carrying it up and down a mountain out of kindness or stupidity. The snake invariably bites the hand that helps it and taunts the human with the words, “You knew what I was when you picked me up.” While the stories are legends, they reflect the truth that hundred (perhaps thousands) of people are bitten every year when they go out of their way to pick up or torment snakes they know are venomous. Rattlesnakes and other pit vipers bite about 8,000 people every year in the United States. Over half the bites occur from someone actually picking up the snake, often while drunk. (The person, not the snake. Snakes don’t drink.) There is, in addition, the hubristic ones who feel they have a “special bond” with their pet rattler and that the snake would return their affection. These people are the victims of (a) severe self-delusion and (b) a very faulty knowledge of basic animal behavior. They are bitten with remarkable frequency but, thanks to good medical care, almost never actually die. And so they live to be bitten another day. One myth says that the roadrunner, which lives on snakes, waits until a rattler is asleep, then wraps it up in a thorn bush or cactus. When the enraged snake awakes it bites itself in its fury. It dies, and then the bird eats it. Eating rattlesnake flesh is safe enough—for those who enjoy that sort of thing; however, according to American folk legend, if you grind up a rattlesnake into powder (a difficult task in itself) and put the powder in your enemy’s coffee, your foe will be chock-full of little rattlesnakes within 4 months. Then there is the case of forty-eight-year old Doug Hiler. In September 2007, Hiler came into contact with what he thought was a dead rattlesnake. It turned out not to be dead and bit him on the left hand. “He was going to cut off the rattles, like most of us would,” his brother-in-law, Dan Godfrey, told reporters for the White County News (Georgia). Right. At any rate, the venom from the “dead” rattler did serious damage to his kidneys and liver. As long ago as 1615 it was reported that a rattlesnake head deprived of its body could live for 10 days or more. This is not true, of course, although it is known that dead snakes can bite reflexively for up to half an hour after the event. This is testimony to the miracle of evolution, which so designed the bite mechanism as to be essentially independent of the brain—thus allowing a lightning quick attack. A pair of doctors in Arizona, Frank LoVecchio and Jeffrey Suchard, estimate in The New England Journal of Medicine [340 (1999): 1930] that about 15% of rattlesnake bites occurred after the snakes’ death. They noted one case in which a man picked up a decapitated head, holding it at the back of the neck, so that the fangs pointed away, but the dead head twisted around and injected venom, causing the victim eventually to lose a finger. The largest of the rattlesnake clan is the Eastern Diamondback (Crotalus adamanteus), which has recorded lengths of 7 feet and anecdotal specimens of 8 or 9 feet. The Western Diamondback, Crotalus atrox (the English word “atrocious”

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comes form the same Latin root atrox, which means fierce, dark, and evil), from which we get the word “atrocious,” is second, measuring in at about 6 feet for the largest specimens. It is smaller than its eastern cohort but somewhat more aggressive and irascible. Its venom is also more powerful than that of its eastern cousin, but because of its smaller size, it produces less of it. Because it is so common and aggressive, it probably is responsible for more serious bites than all the other U.S. rattlesnakes put together. In 2006, near Tampa, Florida, twenty-eight-year-old police officer Brandon Parker was on an afternoon hike with a friend at English Creek Environmental Study Center when he was bitten on the calf by a 6-foot Eastern Diamondback. Within minutes he began to lose control of his arms and legs. His friend, after calling for help, tried to carry the 220-pound Parker but couldn’t. Help arrived via an all-terrain vehicle, which transported the injured man to a clearing, from where a helicopter carried him to the hospital. After 2 days in intensive care, he was able to return home to his wife and daughter. In November 2007 in Port St. Lucie, Florida, forty-four-year-old Ray Hunter, affectionately known as “Cobraman,” received a near-fatal bite. And it wasn’t from a cobra. According to the Port St. Lucie TCPalm, the biter was a 51/2-foot long male Eastern Diamondback. Hunter reported it was his forty-fourth “significant” venomous bite. (That averages to once a year.) He didn’t seem to be very careful. After the bite (the usual cage cleaning mishap), Hunter spent time shutting down his computers and changing his shirt before driving himself to the hospital. He passed out in the parking lot. However, a passerby spotted him and reported the unconscious Hunter to the proper people. Afterward Hunter said, “I thank God, that God’s given me another chance to go on living. I know he’s got some plan for me out there, I just don’t know what it is.” One can only hope it doesn’t involve snakes. SHIVER MY TIMBERS One of the most admirable of the rattlesnakes is the Timber Rattler (Crotalus horridus horridus), common in the eastern part of the United States. This snake is probably the slowest to mature of all snakes, not reaching true adulthood until the age of nine or so. As J. Hector St. John de Cr`evecoeur said of the Timber Rattlesnake, “[I]t is remarkable for nothing but its industry, agility, beauty, and the art of enticing birds by the power of its eyes. I admire it much and never kill it, though its formidable length and appearance often get the better of the philosophy of some people, particularly of Europeans.” Once again, we note the misunderstanding that snakes hypnotize their prey. Its venom is a mix of neurotoxic and hemotoxic agents, with the former found mostly in the southern parts of its range (where it is sometimes known as the Canebrake Rattler). It is a very common animal, but because it is relatively mildtempered, it is not blamed for many bites. However, on occasion a completely innocent person is bitten by an equally innocent snake. A friend of mine, whom I

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will call Elyse, was bitten by a Timber Rattler one summer dusk as she stepped out of her truck onto her driveway. The snake had undoubtedly been trying to absorb the lingering warmth of the asphalt and awoke rudely to the feel of being crushed. He attacked in self-defense and took off. Meanwhile, Elyse, who is a tiny woman, crumpled up on truck step. “It felt like two hypodermic needles,” she told me. She realized she needed immediate help and staggered into the house. (This was in the days before cell phones.) She knew dialing 911 would be useless, as she lived in a cabin in the mountains that would be hard to find by daylight, let alone at night. She dialed her neighbors, but by the time they got to the phone, she was swimming in and out of consciousness. All she could manage was, “It’s Elyse. Help me . . . ” The neighbors, of a kindly but of an always-be-prepared-for-the-worst mentality, took a few moments to gather their guns. They assumed, for no reason we were ever able to fathom, that Elyse had been attacked by a human. They rushed up to her cabin where they found her, her skin a mass of bruises from where the blood was disintegrating. The neighbors called 911 and agreed to transport Elyse to the main highway. “Who did this to you?” they demanded, beginning a search of the premises. Unfortunately for Elyse, she was no longer able to speak at all. “I could think the word snake very clearly,” she said. “I just couldn’t verbalize it. I thought I was going to die—simply because I couldn’t say the word snake.” The same scenario held true in the ambulance, with the EMTs demanding who had “beaten” her and she unable to say “snake” (or indeed anything at all). However, once in the hospital, the emergency room physician immediately spotted the fangs marks on her leg and called for antivenin. There wasn’t enough in the hospital, however, and the story ended by her being choppered to a much larger hospital in Washington, DC. On the way her breathing stopped, and she need an emergency tracheotomy, but she survived—without even a scar. The Timber Rattlesnake was made the state reptile of West Virginia in 2008, in response to a proposal by some fifth graders. Still, not all law makers, even those who voted for the resolution are impressed. Senator Shirley Love, of Fayette, emphasized the “official reptile” status in no way means the rattler enjoys protected status. “If I see one in the woods, I’ll blow its head off,” he said. In March 2008 a man from Arlington, Virginia, was unpacking his suitcase when he was bitten by a stowaway juvenile Canebrake Rattlesnake hidden inside it. He had the wherewithal to slam the lid down on the suitcase and called authorities. The man was taken to the hospital, where he recovered without incident. Fire and rescue workers took the less fortunate snake (and the suitcase) outside and blasted it with a carbon dioxide fire extinguisher. This had the effect of freezing the snake to death. (They had seen it done on TV.) How the snake got into the luggage remained a mystery, but human intervention was considered likely. The most famous Timber Rattlesnake of all time was the one who bit naturalist Marlin Perkins, during a rehearsal of the Zoo Parade series. He was preparing to show how to extract rattlesnake venom when he was bitten on the finger. He immediately opened the wound to “suck out the poison” (standard procedure for the time) and was escorted to the hospital, where he was treated and made an

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uneventful recovery, although he was unable to work for 3 weeks. This incident would have been unremarkable except that it gave birth to an urban legend of sorts. That is, thousands of aging baby boomers, their memories perhaps befogged with toxins from the 1960s, specifically recall having witnessed Perkins being bitten right on the very show itself, which was broadcast live from the Lincoln Park Zoo. However, they are mistaken. Later Perkins went on to the Himalayas with Sir Edmund Hillary to find the Abominable Snowman, but they missed him. In 2007 a Muncie, Indiana, man was caught disembarking a city bus with a box full of baby Timber Rattlers; it is unclear what his plans for them were. THE HOPI SNAKE CULT The Hopi people, who live in northern Arizona and New Mexico, devised an ancient snake cult. It is believed that the cult actually derives from Middle America, relating to Quetzalcoatl, the plumed serpent, and similar figures. Some have even suggested that it ultimately comes from India. However, it should be firmly stated that simply because two cultures have similar cults does not automatically prove a direct connection. According to Hopi myth, snakes were not symbols of evil but divine messengers who had the power to communicate to the all-important snake gods. Because of the snake’s totemic power among the Hopi, it is absolutely forbidden to eat snake meat, a prohibition most people probably have no trouble obeying. The Hopi tell a quest story about the origin of the Snake Cult and its famous dance, involving a union of an Indian man and the Snake Woman and the resulting snaky children who sometimes played with the Hopi children but sometimes bit them, too, resulting in the exile of the parents to Walpi, where they assisted in ceremonies. The woman then bore human children who founded the Snake Cult. More ethereal explanation says the dance is a fertility celebration of the Snake Youth (a Sky Spirit) and Snake Maiden (a chthonic spirit). The 9-day rain-bringing Snake Ceremony is traditionally performed every other August (or in some cases yearly) after the harvest. During the first four days of the ceremony, the snakes are collected by members of the secret Antelope and Snake Societies. Mostly these are nonvenomous bull snakes (genus Pituophis), but occasionally rattlesnakes are also taken. There may be as many as hundred individuals altogether. They are placed in sacred clay pots and stored in an underground chamber called a kiva. Gary A. David has made an attempt to connect this cult with the Nagas of India, drawing largely upon linguistic similarities of key words. However, this hypothesis is not widely accepted. Snakes are such potent symbols that it is much more likely the two civilizations independently developed serpent cults. The highlight of the ceremony occurs on the ninth day: at noon the snakes are dipped into jars of water. In most ceremonies the snakes are treated gently and with respect. The exception is the ceremony held at Walpi, where the snakes are thrown against sand paintings that depict cloud-thunder-rain spirits. A snake dance

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follows at sundown. During the shuffling dance, Antelope tribe members carry live snakes, sometimes in their mouths. After the dance the snakes are released, although I imagine some of them are rather the worse for wear after being thrown against the ground and then dancing all night. After the ceremony the snakes are sprinkled with sacred white meal. The ceremony which was once normally highly secret, was observed by J. Walter Fewkes in 1898. (It took quite a bit of persuading on his part to get the villagers to oblige, as it is a secret cult.) Today outsiders are not allowed to view the ceremony, but some who have recaptured the serpent participants report that the animals were defanged. Anthropologists opine that the snake ceremony is intended to fulfill cultic needs that vanished with the takeover of Indian lands by white people and the consequent decline or prohibition of hunting in the area. The agricultural side of things was controlled by women, leaving the men with little to do but devise ceremonies to regain a sense of power. Their serpent clubhouses were built of stone and soon took on military as well as religious overtones. According to other American Indian traditions, powerful serpents are found in all parts of the universe, including the sky, mountains, and the chthonic deep, and most of them are related to the rattlesnake. A rattlesnake swastika appears on a Mississippian Indian burial mound. (The snake even coils its way into the swastika, a nearly universal sign honored by cultures the world round until the Nazis spoiled it.) In its center is a solar cross, surrounded by four rattlesnakes in typical swastika position. These are no ordinary snakes however, for they bear signs of wings and strange doglike faces. Possibly they are connected with the feathered serpent deities of Mexico and Middle America. There is a story that elderly rattlesnakes grow feathers. This is untrue, of course, but the source of this legend may be very old, reaching back to Aztec days and Quetzalcoatl. His story follows. THE FEATHERED SERPENT AND THE CASCABEL Worshipped first by the Toltecs, then by the Maya and Aztecs, this winged and feathered rain god went by various names—Quetzalcoatl, Kukulkan, Ce Acatl, and Topilitzin, among others. The ordinary snake appeared as the fifth day-sign of the Aztec calendar. Since ordinary snakes were regarded as “poor” and “homeless,” it was considered to be bad luck to be born under its sign. These people were expected to become peddlers or warriors—two classes of people considered wanderers with no homes of their own. (The snake makes its appearance upon the Chinese calendar just as it does in the Aztec one. According to the Chinese system of astrology, the snake is the most active, philosophical, sophisticated, and serene of all signs. Snake people are admired for their wisdom and great physical beauty. They are regarded as thinkers rather than doers.) In the world of the Aztecs, however, while ordinary snakes were rather despised, honors were set forth for the divine plumed serpent, Quetzalcoatl, as well as Coatlicue, the Goddess of the Skirt of Serpents, who

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actually wears a dress of writhing snakes. She was the deity of both life and death and gave birth to the moon and the stars. Quetzalcoatl represented the place where bird and serpent meet—where the sky and earth, ground and spirit, commingle. He is always garbed in feathers of brilliant green—the color of life and renewal, of the young maize sprouting in the earth. The connection between birds and snakes was deeply apparent to the ancient peoples of Central America. The source for the feathered serpent may be the Cascabel (Crotalus durissus), a large and dangerous rattlesnake common in Central America. The word cascabel literally means “jingle bells.” (Some depictions of the god show him with rattles.) A companion of Cortez, Bernal Diaz del Castillo, wrote in 1636 in his True History of the Conquest of Mexico of the temple at Terraguco: Moreover, in that accursed house they kept vipers and venomous snakes, who had something at their tails which sounded like morris-bells, and are the worst of the vipers. They were kept in cradles and barrels, and in earthen vessels, upon feathers, and there they laid their eggs, and nursed up their snakelings, and they were fed with the bodies of the sacrificed, and with dogs’ meat.

The famous pyramid temple at Chich´en Itz´a in the Yucatan features an immense sculpture of the god running along the stairway. During the winter solstice, the shadows from the steps fall on the steps in a diamond pattern—looking for all the world like the pattern on the Cascabel. Quetzalcoatl is one of the most significant deities in Aztec and Toltec cultures. He is usually considered a creator god. He may be a representation of a rattlesnake, but his aura is generally very positive, as he brought law and medicine to his people. He helped the Toltecs find emeralds and grow prize vegetables. The Mexican Aztecs later picked up his story and applied it to their own culture. Indeed, at the center of the Aztec mythological world was Serpent Mountain, the very center of Tenochitlan, their holy city. Serpent Mountain was no natural mountain but a pyramid upon which were enacted the ritual sacrifices that gave life to the gods. It was also the entrance to both the underworld and sacred heaven. Just north of Tenochitlan was the pyramid platform of Tenayuca, surrounded by a coatepantli or “serpent wall” of twisting, writhing stone snakes. (The Venezuelan people, the Yaruro, also had a serpent creator god, Puana.) According to Central American mythology, Quetzalcoatl was the child of Coatlcue, the mother goddess who has snake hands and two snake heads for her face. Her child came to earth in the form of a pale and bearded man who taught the ancient people how to plant maize, work metal, and build houses and temples. He also taught them the secrets of time in the form of a complex and accurate calendar. Indeed all wisdom and knowledge came from him, although he was so terrifying to look at that he covered himself up with a sheet most of the time. He was not only not human but also battered and even monstrous. Plus, he had a very long and tangled beard, something totally alien to the Aztec people. However, he was known to live a pure and holy life.

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According to one myth, it was Quetzalcoatl who was ultimately responsible for the Aztec bloodletting culture. At one time the earth was peopleless after a great flood, and the gods mourned the fact. Quetzalcoatl went down to the Dead Land and spoke to the lord of the place. “I know you are keeping some bones down here,” he said. “Let me have them.” “Not on your life,” responded the Dead Lord. “I need them for myself.” However, Quetzalcoatl cajoled and begged, and finally the Dead Lord agreed to let him have the bones. First, though, Quetzalcoatl had to blow a trumpet of the Dead Lord’s that was not hollow, so he asked some worms to hollow it out for him. This disgruntled the Dead Lord considerably, although he had sworn to let Quetzalcoatl take away the bones. After a few misadventures, Quetzalcoatl managed to get the bones back into the sky. However, they were in pretty bad shape by then. Many of them, for example, had been nibbled on by some quail. “I don’t know what we can do with these old things,” he told Snake Woman, who was renowned for her healing wisdom. “They look shot to me.” “Have faith,” she replied, “All is not lost.” Then Snake Woman ground the bones to a powder and put them in a jade bowl. “Give blood from your own body,” she commanded Quetzalcoatl, “and these bones will live again.” The feathered serpent opened his veins and allowed some of his precious blood to cover the bones. The other gods did likewise, and the bones indeed came to life. “Huzza!” exclaimed the overjoyed deities. “Now we have humans again. As we gave our blood for them, they must now give their blood for us.” And thus the cycle of human sacrifice and bloodletting was born. The Spanish conquistadors took advantage of the Aztec ruler Moctezuma’s na¨ıve belief that Cortez was the reappearance of their beloved deity to destroy the Aztec empire. RATTLESNAKES ROUNDUPS IN THE UNITED STATES One American custom that fortunately has no counterpart elsewhere on earth is the despicable “rattlesnake roundups” held annually. The biggest one is in Sweetwater, Texas, but others are held in Kansas, Oklahoma, New Mexico, Alabama, Georgia, and Pennsylvania. The custom goes back all the way to colonial days, the first being held in the 1740s in spring, right after the animals emerged from hibernation. As the local snake population dwindled, animals were hauled in from other places, with prizes given out for the biggest or to the person who killed the most. Snakes are chased from their dens by spraying gasoline on them—which gets into the groundwater and pollutes it. Others are gassed, to expel them from their dens. They are kept without food or water for weeks. Even more ominous is the evidence that these roundups are making snakes more dangerous. It is easier to catch wild rattlers who are giving off their distinctive “rattle.” The roundup seems to have had the effect of removing most of the noisy rattlers from the environment, leaving the more silent ones to reproduce. Thus the

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public at large is deprived of the important warning signal that could save their lives. Today roundups are supposed to be family-friendly fundraisers, obviously aimed at those families who enjoy watching creatures murdered. There is often a Queen of the Roundup, a lovely young charmer who is expected to be able to milk a rattlesnake. Thousand upon thousands are killed every year. The animals are beheaded, deep-fried, and eaten, and their skins sold off to make trinkets, belts, hats, suits, jackets, and watchbands. This senseless slaughter is both cruel and environmentally disastrous. Handling the snakes also spreads salmonella among the human population. While people engaged in the roundups say they are helping everybody out by collecting venom to be used as antivenin, the fact is that these roundups consume more antivenin than they help create, as bites are frequent. Once in a while a human participant is also killed, but for the small and dedicated opposition to this “sport” or “entertainment,” it’s not nearly often enough. One man was bitten five times in the face while he attempted to bite off a rattler’s head. This doesn’t happen often enough to stop this disgusting spectacle, however. Although Indian snake charming is a time-honored profession, it might still be regarded as a version of “stupid snake tricks,” as charmers are not infrequently bitten. However, the master of stupid snake tricks lives not in fabled India but in Dublin, Texas. This is Jackie Bibby, “the Texas Snake Man.” In November 2007, Bibby shattered his own world record by spending 45 minutes in a see-through bathtub. (Thankfully Bibby was fully clothed.) He had company—eighty-seven rattlesnakes. “They can go wherever they want, as long as they don’t start biting,” said the Snake Man, as reported by the Associated Press. “The key to not biting is for me to stay still. Rapid movement scares a rattlesnake. If you move real slow and gentle, that doesn’t seem to bother them.” Not surprisingly, Bibby has been bitten on several occasions. Bibby also holds the world’s record for the most number of rattlesnakes he can hold in his mouth by their tails, perhaps in imitation of the Hopis. It was up to ten at the last count. Bibby also seems fond of climbing into sleeping bags with rattlers—both head and feet first. Bibby is the Central Texas Arm Wrestling champion, too, so you can’t say he doesn’t have diversified interests. He might consider arm wrestling a snake, but luckily for snakes, they don’t have arms. An earlier “snake man,” Ross Allen, was the proprietor of a “Reptile Institute” in Silver Springs, Florida. This was a gussied up name for a roadside exhibit in which animals were kept in inhumane conditions. Allen was famous not only for his reptile shows but also for allowing an Eastern Diamondback Rattlesnake to bite his arm (as a stand-in for Gregory Peck) during the filming of The Yearling. Wisely, he milked the snake first (several times) and suffered only a minor reaction.

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SHAKE, RATTLE, AND HOLY ROLLERS: SNAKE HANDLING CULTS Snake handling, however, often takes a more religious tone, here as in India. It seems a relict of our ancient urge to envision the snake as more than a simple reptile. Almost invariably, people engaged in his behavior refer to it as “serpent” rather than “snake” handling. Presumably serpent is a more biblical sounding word, or one seemingly imbued with a more supernatural meaning and power. However, a snake is snake no matter what you call it. While in India snake handling has a rich folk background, in the United States, it takes its source directly from the New Testament: And these signs shall follow them that believe: In my name shall they cast out devils; they shall speak with new tongues; They shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them; they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover. (Mark 16: 17–18)

These words were supposedly spoken by Jesus after the Resurrection; it is fair to add that many commentators feel this is a late addition to the text. Certainly there is nothing in the Gospels about Jesus picking up snakes or drinking poison. American snake handling has its roots in Grasshopper Valley, Tennessee, in 1909. Practitioners are part of a larger movement called Pentecostalism, although by no means are all Pentecostals snake handlers. Pentecostalism in turn sprang from the Holiness movement, which emphasized Christian perfection after redemption. The idea that once redeemed one was somehow immune from death by poison is false on its face, as the numerous deaths of believers has attested time and time again. However, this makes no difference to members of the snake handling sect, who continue their dangerous and cruel practices, always managing to explain away “accidents.” It should be noted that while snake handling has been treated with derision by the press, scholars who have studied the group firsthand present a remarkably empathetic and generous view, views generally not shared by members of the public. Judging from the number of sympathetic firsthand eyewitness accounts presented, the services may have more scholars than believers. On at least one occasion, the scholar himself (David Kimbrough) took a turn at snake handling and lived to tell the tale. Since the emergence of the practice in the early 1900s, it’s estimated that between seventy and ninety people have died from snakebites suffered during a church service. This is not counting those perishing from drinking strychnine, a habit even more dangerous than snake handling. The founder of the sect was George Went Hensley, who decided to test the words of the gospel for himself by collecting a rattlesnake and taking it to religious services. He also claimed he could drink poison, walk on water, and raise the dead. (Later snake handlers, such as Sherman Lawson, were accredited with the same

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feats on several occasions. However, it is not reliably recorded that anyone bitten to death by a snake was revived.) Hensley is held almost as a saint by later snake handlers, despite the fact that he was married four times. Hensley’s church was eventually named the Church of God with Signs Following. The first casualty of the new practice was one Garland Defries, who was bitten during one of the services and fell to the ground with the snake’s fangs still embedded in his flesh. He eventually recovered, but the incident put snake handling into a deep freeze for a while, although later it was claimed that Defries simply was weak in faith. Early accounts reported fanged rattlesnakes being touched or handled by men, women, children, and even a baby. Male members of the congregation started playing with fire, holding their hands in kerosene torches and a miner’s acetylene lamp and remaining (apparently) unharmed. More conventional behavior (at least in the context of Southern religious tradition) include talking in tongues, playing of musical instruments, hymn singing, and hand clapping. Sometimes the participants fall on floor and writhe like serpents themselves. Some writers, including Scott Schwartz, made a special study of the role music has in the services and its effect on a person’s physiology. Thomas Burton and Michael Woodruff conducted an electroencephalographic examination of Liston Pack, an experienced snake handler, during his “anointment experience.” They discovered a “sudden conversion from alpha to beta” brainwaves, but whether this “sudden conversion” was anything like a religious conversion is unclear, at least to me. Pack’s own brother Buford died after drinking strychnine. Pack watched. The new snake handling sect gained adherents and new locations as well as some media and legal attention. In 1938 a farmer named John Day sued the three members of the Pine Mountain Church, a snake handling congregation to which his wife belonged. Day had no use for snakes and didn’t want his wife fooling around with them. The congregants were actually arrested for “breach of peace” but were all acquitted at a trial covered by the Associated Press. In 1945, the first faith-based snake handler died. The victim was Lewis Ford of the Dolley Pond Church; another man, Clint Jackson, died in 1946. These deaths led to the official banning of snake handling in Tennessee in 1947. Ford’s wife tried to collect double indemnity on his insurance policy, which was available for those who had died “accidentally,” but the Tennessee Court of Appeals was having none of it, ruling simply, “One voluntarily handling a poisonous serpent is not accidentally injured when bitten by the snake. If you were picking blackberries in a field and received a bite, then that might be different.” This opinion was not universally held, however. In July 1951 a fifty-year-old woman named Ruth Craig of New Hope, Alabama, announced she was going to handle a rattlesnake. (It was a pretty big one—ten rattles.) She had brought it along to the church services she was hosting in her own home. She unscrewed the lid and tried to remove the snake, but the snake refused to come out, perhaps being publicity shy. Craig then smashed the jar. The snake immediately tired to slither for cover, but Craig pursued it and tried to grab it. At that point, the snake lost all patience and bit

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her several times before escaping through an open door. Craig sank into a coma and died. The coroner ruled the death an “accident,” since snake handling was not banned in Alabama. In 1954, a snake handler name Reece Ramsay collapsed and died after handling what was termed a “satinback” rattlesnake, a species unknown to science. It proved real enough to kill him however, although the coroner listed the cause of death as “unknown.” Those were simpler times. Some early snake handlers also played around with poison of another sort. A certain Ernest Davis consumed several gulps of a “salvation cocktail” made of strychnine in 1947. He died 5 days later, not pleasantly. His wife is said to have remarked, “Ernest just had too much faith.” It is difficult to know whether or not she was being ironic. Hensley himself, according to researcher David Kimbrough, at divers times drank strychnine, battery acid, and other lethal liquids. However, it was an old fashioned rattler who finally did him in in Florida, in 1955, when he was in his seventies. He died vomiting blood and refusing aid. During his life he estimated that he had been bitten over 400 times. But it’s always the last one that counts. Another preacher, Lee Valentine, died after being bitten by a rattlesnake in Fort Payne, Alabama. He was the fourteenth member (but not the last) of the sect to die by rattlesnake bite. The police confiscated the snake, who was charmingly named Alabama. A week later in Savannah, Tennessee, another woman died after refusing medical aid, preferring the spiritual aid of her coreligionists. As late as 2004, Dwayne Long, a preacher in Rose Hill, Virginia, died while handling a rattlesnake in his home during a Pentecostal Easter service. He refused medical attention. Then there is the Glenn Summerford story. Summerford was a snake handling minister in Scottsboro, Alabama. In 1991 he tried to kill his wife Darlene with the snakes he handled in church. He grabbed her by the hair and forced her to put her hand in a box of rattlesnakes. (He hit the box with a pipe first to make the snakes mad.) She was bitten twice but survived. He got a 99-year sentence. (Much earlier a man in California attempted murder by rattlesnake against his wife. However, it didn’t work out as planned, and the wicked man ended up having to drown his spouse instead. Another murder by rattlesnake was attempted in 1978 by Charles “Chuck” Dederich, sixty-five, the founder of the religious group Synanon. He tried to kill Los Angeles attorney Paul Morantz by putting a rattlesnake in his mailbox.) The snake handling tradition continues to the present day, with snakes being dangled, gripped, draped, tossed about, and held against the face. Sometimes the snakes bite their tormentors, but probably not often enough. More often they seem to go limp from shock or despair and just give up. Despite the fact that it is illegal in every state except West Virginia, it has been estimated that as many as 2,000 people in forty churches practice this risky ritual in the United States, mostly in hardscrabble Appalachian regions. Most of the practitioners are poor and uneducated. It has proved equally fertile ground for folklorists, historians, psychologists, and anthropologists. The frenzy displayed and ignited in these

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Appalachian churches, however, down to its very details, is seen in other traditions. The Sioux, for example, believed that if a young man in the trance of a sacred dance was bitten by a rattlesnake, he would achieve union with the ultimate—that is, if he didn’t die first. There’s always something. Psychologically, of course, the ideas of the Indian charmers and the American snake handlers flow from the same dark well—the almost irresistible urge to tempt death and to control fate. One apparent difference is that while Indian snake handlers worship the cobra as an incarnation of the divine, American snake handlers see the snake as the incarnation of evil—true to the Christian idea that the snake of Eden was Satan. Religious snake handling cult members sometimes “cheat” by keeping their charges at low temperatures which makes them lethargic, although other do indeed handle and taunt and mistreat active creatures. They are frequently bitten and sometimes die, as they may refuse medical aid, waiting for God to heal them. Although it might seem that God wouldn’t let them get bitten in the first place, many snake handlers apparently brag about how many times they get bitten and recover. However, most people bitten by rattlesnakes recover, and many snake handlers are not averse to going to the hospital to aid their recovery. Many of the researchers permitted to study and film snake handling services are extraordinarily empathetic to the practitioners, even while acknowledging the “apparent” craziness of the whole endeavor. Thomas Burton, who has produced three documentaries and written extensively on the subject, writes in Serpent-Handling Believers: One can feel after a attending a service that it is completely irrational, wild— people running around, falling down, quivering, uttering strange sounds; drink deadly poisons; taking venomous serpents (giant and tiny ones, coiled, extended, limp, knotted together, rattler, cottonmouths, copperheads, cobras) and staring at them nose to nose, wrapping hem around their necks, wearing them over their heads, pitching them, carrying armloads of them, shaking them, petting them; displaying arms tattooed with snakes, hands atrophied by bites, fingers missing, clothing embroidered and etched with snakes—or feel the same sense of the bizarre after going into homes and seeing live deadly snakes in closets and adjoining rooms, pictures framed on the wall of people with handfuls of rattlers, photo albums of disfigured bodies from venom poisoning, or a huge frozen rattlesnake taken out of a freezer by a relative of a person whom the serpent killed during a funeral service for yet another snakebit [sic] victim. All of this can seem as abnormal as an episode from The Twilight Zone.

Seem abnormal? “These people are not just religious fanatics; they’re not strange people,” said Burton, during an interview with Laurence Hammack of Roanoke.com after the Dwayne Long incident. “They’re members of the Holiness Pentecostal faith, and they are religious fundamentalists who believe the Bible is the inspired word of God that should be taken literally.”

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It seems a terrible shame that this glorious, powerful, and iconic animal should come to this—a pawn in the human religious game: “charmed,” tossed, and otherwise brutalized for the enlightenment of our own doomed species. But in a way, that’s where we began our journey together, in the Garden, in the Dreamtime, in the primeval darkness. As snakes were here before the beginning of time, in the depths of the watery Chaos, so will they be with us at the end. According to Norse myth, during the time of the Twilight of the Gods, the great serpent of the sea, the lord of Chaos, will rise from the depths. This is the Midgard Serpent, J¨orjungandr, the child of Loki, the trickster god, and Angur-Boda, a giant, whom Odin cast into the sea. Thor will kill him with his thunderbolt, but during his last moments, the serpent will spit forth the venom that destroys the great god himself. The sun, moon, and stars will blink out. The tale is ended. Chaos will come again.

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Afterword Snakes. We mythologize them, worship them, loathe them, honor them, kill them, capture them, dream them, and fear them. The snake has been our grandfather, our victim, our enemy, our god. But he has never been our friend. He is too “other,” too cold, too dangerous, too holy, too disgusting, even to touch. His teeth are too terrible, his coils too creepy. His eyes flash fire, his tongue drips poison. Not just a natural animal, he remains the most universal and potent symbol humankind has ever devised. The theme of the serpent has wound itself into the very fabric of human culture. The snake has been at the center of religious cults, the climax of nightmare, the subject of art and literature, the psyche’s secret symbol. As a species, we are obsessed with our terrible and beautiful cousin. But what are we to him? In all honesty, he has probably never given us a moment’s thought.

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Selected Bibliography Beidermann, Hans. Dictionary of Symbolism: Cultural Icons and the Meanings behind Them. Translated by James Hulbert. New York: Meridian, 1994. Best, Michael R. and Frank H. Brightman, eds. The Book of Secrets of Albertus Magnus. York Beach, ME: Samuel Weiser, Inc, 1999. Bierhorst, John. The Hungry Woman: Myths and Legends of the Aztecs. New York: Quill, 1984. Bloomfield, Maurice, trans. Hymns of the Atharva Veda. Reprint edition. Kessinger, 2004. Budge, E. A. Wallis. Gods of the Egyptians. Reprint edition. New York: Dover, 1969. Burton, Thomas. The Serpent and the Spirit: Glenn Summerford’s Story. Knoxville, TN: University of Tennessee Press, 2004. ———. Serpent-Handling Believers. Knoxville, TN: University of Tennessee Press, 1993. Campbell, Joseph. Masks of God: Occidental Mythology. New York: Penguin, 1964. ———. The Mythic Image. New York: MJF Books, 1974. Coleman, Loren and Jerome Clark. Cryotozoology: A to Z. New York: Fireside, 1999. Cozad, Laurie. Sacred Snakes: Orthodox Images of Indian Snake Worship. Aurora, CO: Davies Group, 2004. Eberhard, Wolfram. A Dictionary of Chinese Symbols. Translated by G.L. Campbell. London and New York: Routledge, 1986. Flank, Lenny, Jr. Snakes: Their Care and Keeping. New York: Howell Book House, 1998. Florescano, Enrique. The Myth of Quetzalcoatl. Translated by Lysa Hochroth. Baltimore, MD: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1999. Greene, Harry W. Snakes: The Evolution of Mystery in Nature. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1997. Heuvelmans, Bernard. On the Track of Unknown Animals. Third revised edition. London: Kegan Paul, 1995. Katz, Brian P. Deities and Demons of the Far East. New York: Friedman/Fairfax, 1995. Kimbrough, David. Taking up Serpents: Snake Handlers of Eastern Kentucky. Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 2002. Klauber, Lawrence M. Rattlesnakes: Their Habits, Life Histories, and Influence on Mankind. Abridged edition. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1982.

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Knappert, Jan. African Mythology. London: Diamond Books, 1995. La Barre, Weston. They Shall Take up Serpents: Psychology of the Southern Snake-Handling Cult. New York: Schocken Books, 1969. Linzey, Donald W. and Michael J. Clifford. Snakes of Virginia. Charlottesville, VA: University Press of Virginia, 1981. Mattison, Chris. Snake: The Essential Visual Guide to the Snakes of the World. London: Dorling Kindersley, 1999. McNamee, Gregory, ed. The Serpent’s Tale: Snakes in Folklore and Literature. Athens, GA: University of Georgia Press, 2000. Menez, Andre. The Subtle Beast: Snakes, from Myth to Medicine. New York: Taylor and Francis, 2003. Minton, Sherman A., Jr., and Madge Rutherford Minton. Venomous Reptiles. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1969. Narby, Jeremy: The Cosmic Serpent: DNA and the Origins of Knowledge. New York: Tarcher/Putnam. 1998. Rubio, Manny. Rattlesnake: Portrait of a Predator. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1998. Schwartz, Scott. Faith, Serpents, and Fire: Images of Kentucky Holiness Believers. Jackson, MI: University Press of Mississippi, 1999. South, Malcom, ed. Topsell’s Histories of Beasts. Chicago: Nelson-Hall, 1981. Spawls, Stephen. Sun, Sand, and Snakes. New York: William Morrow and Company, Inc, 1979. Stidworthy, John. Snakes of the World. New York: Bantam Books, 1972. Stutesman, Drake. Snake. London: Reaktion Books, 2005. Walker, Barbara. The Woman’s Dictionary of Symbols and Sacred Objects. New York: Castle Books, 1988. Zug, George R. and Carl H. Ernst. Snakes. Smithsonian Answer Book. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Books, 2004.

Index Aaron, 33 Abastor erythrogrammus. See Rainbow Snake Acanthophis antarcticus. See Death Adder Accordion movement, 42 Acrochordus javanicus. See Javan Wart Snake or Wart Snake Acts, Book of, 143 Adam, 32–33, 63 Adamu, 107 Adders, 6, 58 Adena culture, 4 Adi Parvan, 122–23 Adolfsson, Per Johan, 23 Aelian, 20, 90, 104 Aesculapian Snake, 52, 143 Aesop, 3, 47, 98, 142, 161 Africa, xi, 7, 28, 30, 37, 38, 40, 49, 67, 70, 84, 91, 96, 101, 106, 109, 112, 129, 130 African Egg Eater, 53, 68–69 African Rock Python, 111–12 African Sedge Viper, 88–89 Agkistron contortrix. See Copperhead Agkistrodon genus, 21, 152 Agkistrotrodon piscivorus. See Cottonmouth Aglyphous snakes, 14 Agni, 5 Ahaetulla genus, 49 Ahi, 102

Alaska, 37 Albanian, 49–50 Albino, 99 Alder bark, 86 Alexander the Great, 127 Almuj, 18 Aipysurus laevis (Olive Sea Snake), 50 Amelanistic, 35 America, xi, 7, 9, 18, 133 American Federation of Herpiculturists, 115 Amish, 48 Ammonia, 85 Amniote, 12 Amrita, 52 Amun-Kamutef, 104 Anacondas, 12, 28, 101, 107, 115–18 Ananta, 5–6, 120 Anasi, 142–43 Ancestors, 106–7 Anerythristic, 35 Antaresia Childreni. See Children’s Python Anaresia perthensis. See Anthill Python Antarctica, 1 Anthill python, 113 Antivenin, 87–89 Apep, 103–4 Apollo, 52, 108–9 Apophis, 103–4 Apparallactus, 29

180

Arabian (painted) Saw-Scaled Viper, 23, 55 Arapaho tribe, 37 Arboreal, 132 Arbuda, 5 Argentina, 12 Aristotle, 51 Arkansas, 23–24 Arrow, 19 Asclepius, 52, 109 Ash tree, 90 Asia, 28, 30, 31, 44, 49, 106, 121, 127, 130, 138 Asian Cobra, 70, 88 Asian Pit Viper, 21 Asita, 6 Asps, 129, 131 Assam, 125 Atharva-Veda, 5, 6, 86 Atheris nitschei. See African Sedge Viper Atractaspididae, 28, 72 Atoum, 104 Australia, 4, 18, 29, 30, 36, 81, 101, 134–38, 141 Austria, 4, 130 Axanthic, 35 Ayurveda, 5 Aztecs, xi, 165–66, “Balling,” 59 Ball Python, 39, 93 Bangkok, 23 Barkley, Alben, 153 Bear Lake Monster, 17–18 Bedouins, 55 Beheading, 22 Bengal, 97, 125 Bestiary, 129 Beverly, Robert, 10, 36 Bible, 6, 19, 32–33, 143 Birds, 31 Bitis arietans. See Puff Adder Bitis gabonicus. See Gaboon Viper Bitis genus, 145–46 Bitis peringueyi. See Peringuey’s Death Adder Black Mamba, 23, 44, 79, 132–33 Black powder, 87

Index

Black Racer, 44, 152 Black Rat Snake Black Snake, 81 Blindness, 75 Blind snakes, 11, 27, 28, 34, 35 Blood, 136 Blood Diamond, 132 Blotched Pipe Snake, 93 Blunthead, 42 Boas, 11, 28, 50, 60, 77, 101, 118. See also individual species Body design, 31–34, 46, 93 Boids, 13, 27, 28, 41, 50, 58, 101, 106 Boiga dendrophila. See Mangrove Snake Boiga irregularis. See Brown Tree Snake Book of the Dead, 104 Boomslangs, 80, 95–96 Borneo, 44, 128 Bothrops asper. See Fer-de-Lance Bothrops atrox. See Fer-de-Lance Bothrops genus, 31, 76, 148 Bothrops nummifer. See Jumping Viper Brahminy Blind snake, 28, 29 Brain, 56–57 Brittany, 4 Brown Snake, 135 Brown Tree Snake, 29–30, 135 Brumation (hibernation), 47 Buddha and Buddhists, 8, 120–122 Budge, E. Wallis, 103 Bull Snakes, 58, 59 Burlington Coat Factory, 2 Burmese Python, 25, 113–15 Burrowing asps, 28 Burrowers, 13, 30, 35, 41, 49 Bushmaster, 31, 150–51 Bushmen, 97 Byron, 10–11 Caduceus, 52–53 Cage, Nicholas, 99 California, 50 Campbell, Joseph, 138 Camouflage, 93 Canada, 37 Cardiotoxin, 72 Carnac, 4

Index

Carpet Python, 3 Carpet Viper, 147 Cascabel, 165–66 Cassandra, 52 Cat, 84 Catholics, 33 Cauterization, 87 Centipedes, 29 Central America, 44, 118, 118, 150, 166 Cerastes cerastes. See Desert Horned Viper Chaos, 103–4, 173 Chalk, 90 Charas, Moyse, 73 Cherokee, 161 Chicken, 84 Children’s Python, 112–13 China and Chinese, 7, 8–9, 24, 29, 40, 51, 60, 67, 82, 101 Chinese King Rat Snake, 94 Chich´en Itz´a, 166 Chondropython viridis. See Green Tree Python, 36 Chorote people, 118 Christians, 33, 48 Chunkhead, 42 Church of God with Signs Following, 170 Cicero, 98 Circle, 19 Clayton, John, 10 Cleopatra, 129, 130–32 Clifford, Michael, 48 Cloaca, 11, 58–59 Coachwhip Snake, 66 Coastal Taipan, 79 Cobras, 4, 14, 20–21, 23, 38, 60, 61, 72, 75, 76, 80, 82, 89, 93, 99–100, 102, 119–31 Cobra goddess, 6 Cobroxin, 89 Coils, 93, 103 Cold-Blooded, 46–47 Coleridge, S.T., 41 Colorado, 25 Coloration, 2, 35–37, 47, 82, 93 Coluber constrictor. See Black Racer Colubrids (Colubridae), 27, 28, 29, 30, 44, 93 Colubroidea, 13, 28, 77 Comanche, 86

181

Common Mamba, 133 Common Taipan (Coastal Taipan), 136 Concertina movement, 42 Congo, 109 Constriction, 28, 29 Constrictors, 101–18 Copperheads, 31, 59, 74, 81, 95, 100, 102, 152–54 Corallus caninus, 23 Coral Snakes, 30, 37, 75, 81, 82, 133–34 Corn Snakes, 29, 62 Cosmic Serpent, xi, 33 Cosmic Serpent: DNA and the Origins of Knowledge, 7 Costa Rica, 140 Cottonmouths (Water Moccasins), 17, 31, 74, 76, 94, 152 Coyote, 15, 63–64 Cozad, Laurie, 6, 121, 123 Crawfish, 84 Crocodiles, 31 Crotalidae, 31, 141 Crotalinae, 31 Crotalines, 31 Crotalus adamanteus, 161 Crotaus atrox, 21 Crotalus cerastes. See Sidewinder Rattlesnake Crotalus durissus terrificus. See South American Rattlesnake Crotalus horridus horridus. See Timber Rattlesnake Crotalus genus, 27, 31, 157 Cuban Boa, 62 Cucumbers, 95 “Curry porridge,” 86 Cuvier, Georges, 66 Daboia russelii. See Russell’s Viper Dahomey, 7 Dahl, Roald, 138 Danh, 7 Darwin, Charles, 148 Day, John, 170 Death Adder, 4, 136–37 De Cr`evecoeur, Hector, 48, 152–53, 158 Deer, 20

182

Defense, 92–98 Delphic Oracle, 109 Demeter, 44 Demons, 5, 7, 19 Deinagkistrodon acutus. See Snorkel Viper Dendroaspis augusticeps, 23 Dendroaspis polylepis, 23 Dermis, 35 Deschauenseei’s Anaconda, 116 Desert Black Snake, 55 Desert Horned Viper, 43 Desert snakes, 43, 47, 55 Devenomed snakes, 100 Devil, 32–33, 34, 50, 63 Diaphragm, lack of, 1, 55 DiCaprio, Leonardo, 132–33 Dickinson, Emily, 2 Digestion, 62–65 Dinilysia Patagonia, 12 Diodorus, 58 Dipsadidae, 69 Dispholidus typus. See Boomslang Ditmars, Raymond, 46, 128, 151 Dominic de Guzman, 143–44 Dominicans, 143 Dravidian, 5 Dreams, 67–68 Dreamtime paintings, 4 Drinking, 65 Dry Asp, 71 Duat, 103 “Dueling Water Snakes,” 57 Duvernoy’s glands, 14 Dwarf Boas, 36 Earless Monitor, 11 Eastern Diamondback Rattlesnake, 76 Eastern Tiger Snake, 49 Ecdysis, 38. See also Shedding Echidna, 21 Echis carinatus. See Saw Scaled Viper Echis coloratus. See Arabian Saw-Scaled Viper Eagle, 98 Eastern Brown Snake, 79 Eastern Diamondback, 161–62 Ectotherm, 46

Index

Eggs, 11, 61, 69, 101, 104 Egg Layers (viviparous), 60–61 Egypt and Egyptian, xi, 7, 11, 19, 39, 55, 61, 71, 102–4, 129 Egyptian Cobra, 130–31, Elapids and Elapidae, 28, 14, 27, 30, 55, 72, 73, 76, 81, 102, 136–37 Elaphe carinata, 94 Elaphe genus, 29 Elaphe guttata. See Corn Snake Elaphe obsoleta. See Black Rat Snake; Black Snake Elapsoidea genus, 37 Elephant’s Trunk Snake, 41 Emerald Tree Boa, 23, 54 End, George K., 25 Enuma Elish, 104 Epicrates cenchria. See Rainbow Boa Epicrates angulifer. See Cuban Boa Epiglottis, 55 Epic of Gilgamesh, 39 Epidermis, 38 Erabu Sea Snake, 25 Ethiopia, 104 Eunectes deschauenseei. See Deschauenseei’s Anaconda Eunectes notaeus. See Yellow Anaconda Eunectes murinus. See Green Anaconda Euronome, 104–5 Europe, xi, 31, 67, 82 European viper or adder, 31, 47, 60, 82, 141, 145 European asp, 48 Eurydice, 145 Eve, 32 Evil, 19, 23, 32 Evolution 12–14 Exodus, 33 Eyelash Vipers, 100, 146 Eyesight. See vision Facultative hibernators, 48 False coral snakes, 27 Fangs, 13–15, 28, 96–97, 137 Farancia abacura. See Mud Snake Fasting, 4 Fawcett, Percy, 116–17, 150

Index

Feathered Serpent, 133, 165–67 Feminine symbol, 19–20 Fer-de-Lance, 31, 81, 148–50 Fewkes, J. Walter, 165 Finch, Anita, 99 Fire God, 5 “Fluffy,” 112 Flying snakes, 1, 44 Flynn, Paul, 133 Ford, Lewis, 170 Forest Cobra, 23 Forsyth, Frederick, 138 Fossils, 12–13, 104, 138 Fovea, 49 Flank, Lenny, 69 Florida, 113–15, 161 Francis I, 85 Franklin, Benjamin, 158–59 Freud, 7 Frogs, 62 Fry, Brian, 13, 77, 137, 141 Fu His, 8 Gaboon Vipers, 79, 100, 145–46 Gadsden flag, 159 Gaia, 21 Galla, 40–41 Gall bladder, 65 Ganesha, 7 Garden of Eden, xi, 32 Garlic, 90 Garter snakes, 14, 28, 29, 36–37, 38–39, 47, 59, 60, 83, 94 Garuda, 122 Gee-chhe Manito-ah, 19 Genesis, 32–33, 91 Germany, 40, 53 Gigantophis garstini, 104 Giraffe, 108 Glass Snake, 160 Gloydius himalayanus. See Himalayan Viper Gnostics, 33 Gods and goddesses, 7, 8, 19, 21, 44, 104, 151, 166 Goethe, 8 Gorgon, 22

183

Great Spirit, 19 Greeks, 104, 108, 145 Green Anaconda, 115 Green, Harry, 148–49 Green Mamba, 23, 133 Green Tree Python, 36, 54 Green Snake (film), 60 Green Whip Snake, 42 Growling, 127 Guam, 29–30, 135 Guga-Navami, 125 Habu, 151–52 Haitians, 33 Hamadryad, 127 Hawaii, 2, 30 Hayden, Julian, 43 Hearing, 50–51 Heart, 56 Heliopolis, 104, 129 Hemachatus haemachatus. See Ringhals Hemipenes, 58 Hemotoxins, 74, 82, 136, 162 Hemp, 90 Hensley, Geroge, Went, 169–71 Hera, 21 Heracles, 21 Heraclitus, 20 Hermes, 52 Herodotus, 53 Hiler, Doug, 161 Hurston, Zora Neale, 156 Heterodon genus, 82 Heterodon platyrhinos. See Hognose Snake Heuvelmans, Bernard, 117 Heway, 36 Hewitt, Alexander, 10 Hiawatha, 17 Hibernaculum, 47–48 Hibernation, 47–48, 59 Himalayan Viper, 47 Himalayas, 4 Hindi, 147 Hindu, 5, 11, 119, 124–25 Hirundo, 71 Hitchiti tribe, 40 Hodierna, Giovanni, 52

184

Hognose Snake, 82, 96 Holowaka, 41 Hoods, 84 Hood, 126 Hoop snake, 7, 44–46 Hopewell culture, 4 Hopi, 164 Hopi Snake Cult, 164–65 Horn Snake, 9–11, 17, 35 Horus, 71 Horsehair, 90 Hudson, W.H., 22 Hydra, 21 Hydrophiids (sea snakes), 30, 72 Hygeia, 52 Hylonomus lyelli, 12 Hypnale, 71–72 Immortality, 32, 52 India, xi, 5, 7, 17, 41, 47, 52, 67, 91, 101, 125–26, 147, 169 Indian Cobra, 126–27 Indian Python, 61 Indiana, 115, 164 Indonesia, 29, 101 Indra, 4–5 Inland Taipan, 30, 136 Inoculation, 91 Insato, 107 Iodine, 84 Ireland, 2–3 Iridophores, 36 Iris, 138 Isidore of Seville, 51 Islam, 109 Isis, 71 Italy, 143 Jacobson’s organ, 53 Jains, 126 Janamejaya, 122–23 Japan, 21 Java and Javanese, 140 Javan Wart Snake, 41 Jaws, 68–69 Jesus, 50, 56, 169 Jews, 33

Index

Joggins Fossils Cliffs, 11 J¨ormungandr, 105 Josselyn, John, 56 Jumping Viper, 44 Kabwe, 109 Kalihari Desert, 108, 111 Kaliya, 125 Kalseru, 18 Kari˜na people, 118 Karong, 41 Kauffield, Karl, 76 Keats, John, 19 Kedige flowers, 125 Kekul´e, Friedrich, 67 Kenya, 98 Kerosene, 85 Kidneys, 64–65 King Brown Snake, 135 King Cobra, 61, 74, 79, 127–28, 129 King Snakes, 18, 29, 30, 61–62, 82 Kipling, Rudyard, 72–73, 138 Kissing, 127–28, Korea, 51 Kraits, 14, 30, 42, 72, 75, 80, 138 Krishna, 125 Kukulkan, 33 Kundalini, xi, 20 Kunin, Richard, 25 Kwakiutl tribe, 19 Labrynthodonts, 11 Lachesis genus, 31, 150–51 Lachesis muta. See Bushmaster Laishram, Digen, 78 Lake Tanganyika, 107 Lakota people, 17, 35 Lamia, 19 Lampropeltis genus, 29 Lampropeltis triangulum. See Milk Snake Lancehead, 148 Lanthanotus genus, 11 Laticauda semifasciata, 25 Lampropeltis genus, 61 Larynx, 55 Lateral undulation, 94

Index

La Venta, 4 Lawrence, D.H., 6, 144 LD50, 79 Lead beads, 90 Legless lizards, 11 Legs, lack of, 1, 11, 12, 32, 33 Lenge, 16 Lens, 49 Leptotphlops bilineatus, 26–27 Letisimulation, 96 Leza, 38 Liasis fuscus, 4 Libya, 19 Lichinura trivirgata. See Rosy Boa Liliuokanali, 2 Linnaeus, 27 Linga Purana, 11 Linzey, Michael, 48 Live-bearers (ovoviviparous), 60–61 Liver, 65 Loch Ness, 17 Locomotion, 41–46 Longfellow, 17 Long-glanded snakes, 14 Long-Nosed Tree Snake, 49 Lord of Waters, 138 Louisiana, 113 Lovage, 90 Lualaba River, 109 Lucan, 78 Lung and Breathing, 1, 54–55 Lyons, Gordon, 135 Lyre Snake, 80 Macrelaps microledotus, 28–29 Madagascan Boa, 36 Madagascar, 12 Mahabharata, 122–23 Malaysia, 30 Malawi, 16 Malta, 143 Mambas, 28, 30, 58, 72, 73, 82, 132–33 Manasa, 6 Mangrove Snake, 80 Mansa, 125 Manson, Charles, 22 Martinique Thread Snake, 27–28

185

Martin, W.H., 58, 87 Masculine symbol, 19–20 Masks of God, 138 Massasauga, 157 Masticophis flagellum flagellum. See Coachwhip Snake Maticora genus, 7 Maya, 18, 33, 165 Medusa, 19, 22 Melanin, 35 Melanophores, 35 Mensa Bet-Abrahe, 36 Mertens, Robert, 96 Meru, 5 Merudanda, 20 Mexican Horned Pit Viper, 9 Mexico, 37, 43, 44, 91, 155 Michigan, 112 Micrurus fulvius. See Coral Snakes Micrurus genus, 30 Middle East, 28 Midgard Serpent, 105 Milk, 66 Milk Snakes, 29, 63 Milky Way, 18 Minoan culture, 109 Minton, Sherman, 20–21 Minute Snakes, 28 Miocene, 29 Mississippi, 40 Mole Vipers, 28, 72 Mojave Rattlesnakes, 75 Monocle Cobras, 23 Mongoose, 20–21 Morelia oenpelliensis. See Oenpelli Python Morelia viridis. See Green Tree Python Morocco, 92 Mormons, 33 Moses, 33 Mosquito, 63 Mozambique 16 Mud Snake, 46 Muslims, 33 Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom, 117 Myotoxin, 76 Mud, 84 Mummy, 85

186

Naga, 5, 119–25 Nagaloka, 125 Nag Pa˜nchami, 124 Naja ashei, 97 Naja kaouthia, 23 Naja melanoleuca, 23 Naja naja. See Asian Cobra; Indian Cobra Naja nigricollis, 23 Nandi, 5 Narby, Jeremy, 7 Natal Black Snake, 28–29 Natrix stolata, 14 Navajo, 15, 34, 44 Neith, 19 Nepal, 47 Nerodia genus, 94 Neurotoxins, 74, 75, 82, 97, 162 New Delhi, 106 New Guinea, 29, 30, 36, 101 New Mexico, 90 Niaamwezi people, 111 Nidhogg, 33 Nigeria, 16, 106 Ningizzida, 52 Noah, 34 Nocturnal snakes, 49 Norse, 33, 105 North America, 30, 31, 66, 153, 154 Northeastern Anaconda. See Deschauenseei’s Anaconda Notechis scutatus. See Eastern Tiger Snake or Tiger Snake Nova Scotia, 1 Numbers, Book of, 911 Nyai Lolo Kidul, 140 Nyloxin, 89 Odor, 154 Ogdoad, 129 Ohio, 4, 99 Okanagon, 36 Olive oil, 84 Olive Sea Snake, 50 Olmecs, 4 Oenpelli Python, 33 Okinawa, 151

Index

Oklahoma, 57 Omaha people, 84 Onions, 90 Ophidiolatry, 123–24 Ophidiophobia, 2 Ophioctonus, 21 Ophion, 104–5 Ophiophagus Hannah. See King Cobra Opisthoglyph, 14, 80 Orpheus, 145 Ophryacus sp., 9 Orissa, 125 Ouroboros, 46, 67 Oviparous, 138 Ovoviviparous, 60 Oxyuranus, 23 Oxyuranus microlepidotus. See Inland Taipan Oxyuranus scutellatus. See Coastal Taipan; Common Owen, Sir Richard, 1 Pachyrachis probematicus, 13 Pakistan, 47 Palestinian, 62 Pancreas, 65 Pangaea, 13 Paradise, xi, 63 Paraguay, 118 Paralysis, 76 Parenting, 31, 60–61 Pasteur Institute, 89 Patrick, St., 2–3 Paul, St. 143 Pearl, 9 Peberdy, Chris, 136 Pecos Bill, 17, 45 Pelamis laturus. See Yellow-Bellied Sea Snake Pelvic girdle, 11 Pennsylvania, 40, 46, 47, 92, 100 People for Animals, 106 Perder, Franz, 4 Peringuey’s Death Adder, 43 Perkins, Marlin, 146, 164–65 Peyote, 86 Phallus, 19, 52

Index

Pharaohs, 131 Philippines, 120 Physiologus, 41, 48 Pigment, 35 Pilot Snake, 152 Pima Indians, 42 Pingala, 20 Pit Bull Terrier, 130 Pits, 15, 54 Pit vipers, 15, 28, 31, 54, 60, 72–74, 141, 148, 152 Pliny the Elder, 35, 40, 90, 144 Plumed Serpent, xi “Poison,” 138 Pomo Indians, 50 Pope, Clifford, 42, 92 Prey, 105 Pridaku, 6 Proteolysins, 74 Proteroglyphs, 80 Proverbs, 6 Pseudechis australis. See King Brown Snake Pseudechis porphyriacus. See Red-Bellied Black Snake Pseudenaja spp. See Brown Snake Pseudonaja textile. See Eastern Brown Snake Puff Adder, 35, 70, 76, 80, 82, 145–47 Punjab, 125 Puranas, 124 Pure Venom Snake Park, 112 Pythons, 11, 12, 28, 50, 77, 101, 106–15. See also individual species Python molurus molurus. See Indian Python Python reticulatus. See Reticulated Python Python sebae. See African Rock Python Python (stone), 108 Queen of Snakes, 125 Queen Snakes, 53 Quetzalcoatl, 166–67 Ra, 70 Rainbow Boas, 36 Rainbow Serpent, 18

187

Rainbow Snake, 46 Rain-bringing, 16, 18–19 Ramphotyphlops braminus. See Brahminy Blind snake Ramsey, Reece, 171 Rat Snakes, 28, 29, 94 Rattle, 93, 156–59 Rattlesnakes, xi, 4, 25, 31, 42, 56, 58, 59, 63–64, 74, 75, 81, 82, 84, 87, 93, 94, 100, 102, 154–72 Rattlesnake Den, 48 Rattlesnake roundups, 23, 167–68 Rear-fanged snakes, 14, 29, 80, 95, 96 Rectilinear movement, 43–44 Red-Bellied Black Snake, 135 Regina septemvittata. See Queen Snake Reptilia, 27, 31 Reticulated Pythons, 36, 41, 102, 112–13 Revolutionary War, 158 Rich, Joseph, 17–18 Rig-Veda, 4–5, 102, 119 “Rikki-Tikki-Tavi,” 138 Ringhals, 96 River snakes, 15 Roadrunner, 20, 161 Romanian and Romanians, 34, 56, 86 Romans, 52 Roosevelt, Teddy, 134 Rosy Boa, 43 Rough Green Snake, 42 Royal Python, 22, 35, 93 Rum, 85 Russell, Patrick, 147 Russell’s Viper, 70, 79, 82, 88, 147–48 Russia, 16 Sacred Snakes, 6 St. George medal, 90–91 Saliva, 14 San people, 108 Sand Viper, 82 Sanzina genus, 36 Sarpa, 41 Sarpanama (snake-naming mantras), 122 Sarpasattra (snake sacrifice), 122 Sarpavidya, 5 Savannah Twig Snake, 96

188

Saw-Scaled Viper, 55, 76, 147 Sea Kraits, 139 Scales, 11, 34–38 Scandinavia, 21, 145 Schlosser, S.E., 46 Schmidt, Karl Patterson, 46 Scotland, 35, 47 Scott, Michael, 35 Scutes, 34 Sea Serpents, 13 Sea Snakes, 25, 27, 30, 42, 55, 61, 72, 75, 76, 80, 138–40 Semen, 5, 59 Serpentes, 27 Serpentine movement, 42 Sex and Reproduction, 58–62 Sexuality, symbol, 32 Shedding, 38–41 Shesha, 6 Shield-tailed snakes, 27 Shinto, 21 Shiva, 5 Shoes, 90 Shoshone, 18 Sidewinder movement, 43 Sidewinder, 43, 46, 157 Sidewinders, 9 Simoliphis, 138 Sinusoidal movement, 42 Sioux, 172 Sistrurus genus, 157 Size, 47, 66, 81–82, 102, 107, 112–13, 116–17, 132, 161 Skin, 34–41 Skunk, 84 Sku-qua-wel’hau, 37 Sky serpents, 18 Slavic, 33 Small-Scaled Taipan, 30 Smell, sense of, 51–54 Smuggling, 23 Smyth, J.F.D., 9, 45 Snails, 69 “Snake,” 144 Snakebite, 66–100 Snake festival, 126–27 Snake-handling cults, 169–73

Index

Snakebite remedies, 84–92 Snake charming, 49, 126–28, “Snake hair,” 35 Snake-meat, 25 Snake oil, 25 Snake Prince, 110 Snake repellant, 89–92 Snake root, 86 Snakes as “pets,” 98–100, 113–15 Snake priestesses, 109 Snake sacrifice, 122–23 Snake soup, 24 Snakestone, 85 Snake worship, 123 Snorkel Viper, 76 Soft Child, 42 Solenoglyphs, 80 South Africa, 23 South America, 31, 106, 115, 134, 138, 150, 157 South Carolina, 152 South American Rattlesnake, 74–75 Spain, 12 Spawls, Stephen, 37, 133 “Speckled Band,” 63 Spectacled Cobra, 127 Spirit snakes, 16 Spit, 90 Spitting Cobras, 23, 71, 84, 96–98 Squamata, 27, 31 Squamation, 11 Sri Lanka, 41, 147 Stanceil, Micah, 88–89 Sternum, 1 Stiletto snakes, 28, 72 “Stinking Goddess,” 94–95 Stomach, 64 Storm God, 21 Stout, Rex, 150 Summeford, Glenn, 171 Sunbeam snakes, 27, 36 Sun Dance Wheel, 37 Sun god, 5 Sun, Sand, and Snakes, 97 Surinam, 142 Surucuc´u, 151 Surya, 5

Index

Susano-o, 21 Svaja, 6 Swallowing, 67, 109–10, 135 Swimming, 42 Sydney Funnelweb Spider, 79 Tails, 34, 42, 83 Taipans, 23, 72, 136 Taiwan, 67 Takshaka, 123 Talmud, 33 Taste, sense, 51–52 Teeth, 11, 14, 66–67 Texas Blind snake, 28 Texas Cat-Eyed Snake, 80 Texas Rat Snake, 94 Tanzania, 111 Tarvallo, Paul, 117 Temperament, 139, 153 Temple Pit Vipers, 152 Thamnophis genus, 29, 36, 83 Thelotornis genus, 23, 49 Thelotornis capensis. See Twig Snake Theotornis kirklandii. See Savannah Twig Snake “There Are No Snakes in Ireland,” 138 Thread snakes, 27 Thunderbird, 36–37 Thunderbolt, 19 Tiamat, 104 Tieholtsodi, 15 Tiger Snake, 30, 135 Timber Rattlesnake, 27, 58, 87, 162–64 Tirashchiraji, 6 Tiresias, 59 Tommygoff, 44 Toad, 84, 86 Toltecs, 165–66 Tongue, 51, 53 Topsell, Edward, 71–72, 76–77, 78, 86, 129 Totonto, 130 Totonac, 18 Tourniquet, 86 Treacle, 89 Tree-dwelling snakes, 42 Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, 42 Tree of Life, 33

189

Tree snakes, 44, 96 Triassic Age, 13 Trimersurus genus (Asiatic pit vipers), 31 Trimersurus spp., 21 Trimorphodon bicutatus. See Lyre Snake Trinidad, 115 Tropidolaemus wagleri. See Temple Pit Viper Tropidophis genus, 36, 95 True vipers, 31, 72, 141 Turkey, 52 Turtles, 31 Twig Snake, 23, 80 Two-Step Viper, 77–78 Turpentine, 84 Typhopidae (Blind snakes), 34 Typhon, 21 Uncegila, 35 Undulatory movement, 42 United States, 23, 28, 37, 42, 47, 70, 80, 81, 88, 105 Unktehi, 17 Ureters, 65 Urutu Pit Vipers, 76 Ustu’tli, 103 Vaccination, 88 Vagina dentate, 19 Vasuki, 5 Vedas, 5 Venom, 13–14, 29, 70, 72–80, 136, 139, 162 Vertebrae, 33–34 Vietnam, 24 Vinata, 52 Vinegar, 84 Vipera ammodytes. See Sand Viper Vipera aspis. See European asp Vipera aspis hugyi, 145 Vipera berus. See European viper Viperidae, 27, 28, 31, 72 Vipers and Viperids, 6, 14–15, 25, 27, 28, 30, 31, 34, 35, 41, 60, 73–74, 75, 81, 137, 141–73, 160 Viperinae, 31 Vision, 48–50

190

Vishnu, 6, 122 Vishnu Sharma, 39 Viviparous, 60 Volos, 33 Vomeronasal organ, 53 Vritra, 4–5 Vulture, 90

Index

West Virginia, 162 White, Gilbert, 62 Wildlife Protection Act, 126 Wisdom, 19, 32, 36, 56 Whiskey, 85 Worm snakes, 27 Xenopeltis unicolor. See Sunbeam Snakes

Wabende, 38 Wafipa, 38 Wagstaff, Simon, 88 Walterinnesia aegyptia. See Desert Black Snake Warao, 8 Warren, Robert Penn, 36 Wart Snakes, 35 Water, 4 Water Moccasin. See Cottonmouth Water Python, 4 Water snakes, 16–17, 57, 94, 139 Water spirits, 107, 118 Welsh, 39 West African Bush Viper, 100 Western Diamondback Rattlesnake, 21

Yamata-no-orochi Yao, 16 Yellow Anaconda, 115–16 Yellow-Bellied Sea Snake, 47, 140 Yggdrasil, 33 Yin and Yang, 19 Yinglinga Saga, 21–22 Yucatan, 166 Zamenis longissimus. See Aesculapian Snake Zeus, 21, 53 Zimba, 16 Zulu, 91 Zululand, 109

About the Author DIANE MORGAN is Adjunct Professor of Religion and Philosophy at Wilson College. Author of more than thirty books, she is a three-time winner of the Maxwell Award for excellence in writing on pet care. She is the author of Fire and Blood: Rubies in Myth, Magic, and History (Praeger, 2007), From Satan’s Crown to the Holy Grail: Emeralds in Myth, Magic, and History (Praeger, 2007), and The Buddhist Experience in America (Greenwood, 2004).