Snake Handlin'

It was the summer between my eighth and ninth grade school years. My family had just recently moved into a new house in a new subdivision about 12 blocks from where we’d lived for a little over five years. It was close enough that friends from the old neighborhood could come over. Late one afternoon, one of those friends and I were tossing a baseball back and forth in the back yard. Either one of his throws went awry or I flubbed an easy catch (there was a reason major league scouts never stopped by to watch us). In any event, the ball skipped across the street into a large, undeveloped lot.

This lot had a few trees – mostly red alder, madrona and western hemlock – and the typical undergrowth found on the land around Puget Sound in Washington State. There was a lot of red huckleberries, bracken fern and a shrub known as salal, which, like the huckleberry is a member of the heath family. My friend Gordy had thrown the ball fairly hard, so I figured it was about 20 feet into this thick mess. I got down on my knees and started crawling in where we last saw the white orb. This was the best way to tackle the task, since both the salal and bracken fern grew about three feet tall.

After going just a short distance, I spied the ball. I quickly noticed that it was perched upon a strange structure. In the dim light, I recognized it for what it was: a rather uncommon snake known as a rubber boa, coiled up as nicely as could be under the ball. Having a biological bent even at that age, my baseball game came to a stop as I retrieved my approximately two-foot long treasure. How I knew what it was back then I have no idea. To my knowledge, I’d never seen one before, and I don’t remember having ever read about them. But I just knew that was what it was.

I took the snake to the house and put it into the standard “Dr. G” collecting apparatus – my mother’s old galvanized washtub. There I supplied it with plant material to hide under until I could take it to school in a shoe box the next day. I had tolerant teachers. In drafting class I announced that I had something I wanted to show the others. When I dumped the snake out onto the table, there were several forms of excitement, ranging from shrieks to gasps of admiration (at least that’s how I took them). Rubber boas are about as docile as a snake can be – according to literature I checked as I wrote this they are not known to strike in defense. One will generally bury its head under its body, and if terribly bothered, release a strong musky fluid from the vent. But that is all. Fortunately, I didn’t irritate my snake.

The other thing that made it such a neat display object is that they are quite slow as far as snakes go. We had no trouble directing its movement, and quite a few of my classmates got up the nerve to actually handle the snake. The body, as can be seen in the photo, is very muscular (it is a Boa, after all) and has the feel of soft but firm rubber (hence the name). After a few days, my folks called the zoo in Seattle to see if they’d like it (they would) so we took it in to them.

I think it is wonderful that you can learn so much about snakes that you can identify them immediately. But a word of caution. There is one snake that we need to learn to recognize, but only at distance. He’s found world-wide and is quite vicious. He can be found described in both the book of Genesis and the book of Revelation. He is called the father of lies, a master of deceit. He is a champion of disguise, and is not to be trusted. He can appear in many forms, and is very aggressive, and will strike without provocation. He is best left to the Expert. Don’t try to deal with him on your own. To paraphrase Paul, Satan is out like a hissing serpent, seeking whom he may devour. Stay where the Expert has indicated it is safe.

Dr. G