'Tis the Season for Cottonmouths

Agkistrodon piscivorus. Near Perdido Bay, Escambia County, Florida. October 2015. Nikon D3000.

I thought I'd look back through the years and post a few things on my blogs from Octobers gone-by. This photo was taken bright and early the morn of October 17th, 2015, at West Campus. I used to hitch rides out to West Campus, a piece of Pensacola Christian College's land out on Perdido Bay, whenever I could. It was a struggle to find someone who would take me at all and sometimes quite costly, but I had to get into the bush to maintain my sanity.
Scrolling through my old photos from October 2015, I selected this one to show you because it seems that late September and early October is the best time to see cottonmouths. I've already seen several in the last two weeks, mostly neonates (juveniles) and I haven't even been looking.
It's a nice picture simply because the snake is mouth-open, characteristic of the threat display for this species. For those of you who would like to be specific: Agkistrodon piscivorus. Escambia County, Florida. October 2015. Nikon D3000.

Sunfish with Slider Turtles

Lepomis, either L. punctatus or L. marginatus, I think, in my 120-gallon home aquarium. October 17, 2015.

Over the years I've tried to find fish compatible with Trachemys scripta (sliders). Early attempts included Ancistrus dolichopterus (bushy-nose pleco) and Chromobotia macracanthus (clown loach). Unfortunately, the loach was harassed relentlessly by the turtles and under a lot of stress. I was afraid it might be devoured and decided to pull both fish from the tank, although the pleco was never bothered. The loach probably appeared to similar to the goldfish which I regularly fed to my turtles. Had it been larger and more mature, things may have been different.
Interestingly, two of my feeder goldfish did survive the first couple days with the turtles and went on to live happily in the tank for several months. Eventually, they grew large and got messy so I put them in a backward pond where they were promptly devoured by the local racoons.
I also tried Tanichthys albonubes (white cloud mountain minnows). These worked very well. I had a pile of rocks in the tank were the fish could retreat to and breed. The old and sick were picked off by the turtles (usually my Graptemys pseudogeographica) but the fish bred quite often, replenishing the population. I only rarely had to buy new fish. They were pretty little fish with white and red spots and stripes. However, I eventually stopped buying new fish and hand fed the last survivors to the turtles.

Trachemys scripta elegans, in my 120-gallon home aquarium. October 17, 2015.

I've always had an obsession for things that were "natural." It always secretly bothered me that the minnows were not native to the same rivers as the turtles. The fish were from China, the turtles from the United States. Once I moved to Florida, I decided to try some native fish with the turtles. I introduced two, then one more, Lepomis (sunfish) to the tank. They were all between 2-4cm in length. The turtles were outside enjoying the sunshine when I introduced the fish, so they could become comfortable before I returned the turtles. Hopefully, the turtles wouldn't see the new addition to the tank as food if it was already there when they arrived.
It worked like a charm. The turtles were a little curious at first and took a couple nips at the fish, but the fish were too fast and the turtles lost interest. They lived with the turtles for several weeks and I fed them bloodworms once a day, with the turtles regular feeding of krill.
Unfortunately, I had vacation plans in Canada over Christmas break and I left my little indoor community with a sitter. I also added a school of Gambusia holbrooki (mosquitofish) and another sunfish about a week before I left, but they seemed to settle in tolerably, with the exception of the disappearance of one of the mosquitofish. When I returned, all but one of the sunfish had disappeared. Just a couple days later, it too was gone.
I'm not sure exactly what went wrong. It might have been the hanging planter I installed as an egg-laying box for my female slider. Or it might have been an increase in bacteria or ammonia and nitrates. I wasn't here, so I don't know how the fish died. I'm thinking I'll try the whole thing again at some point, but maybe I'll just wait until the summer, when I'll, presumably, be at home more often.

Getting Close to Cottonmouths

Field Notes from October 17, 2015

Agkistrodon piscivorous near Perdido Bay, Florida on October 17, 2015.

It was a cool, autumn day in the panhandle of Florida State. A red sail on the water moved up Perdido Bay with the breeze as I blinked in the sunlight from under my felt hat. An early morning to check my minnow traps at West Campus provided me with a single, small sunfish. It was a male, so I wasn't sure it would get on well with my larger specimen back home in the tank. Oh, well. I chanced it.

With the fish comfortably settled into a bucket in my passenger seat, I set out for a bit of herping around the ponds. I started at the old bridge and work along the shore, closest to Perdido Bay. My snake tongs poked in and out of the grass and I followed a small clearing into the shallow water around the edge of the pond. Autumn rain meant the ponds were swollen and I took a moment to explore the soggy grass and ephemeral pools.

I spotted a dark brown striped pattern in the water and my tongs dove into the water to recover a young adult cottonmouth.

Agkistrodon piscivorous is a semiaquatic pitviper closely related to rattlesnakes and its venom works in a similar way. Although highly cytotoxic and hemorrhagic, the venom of the cottonmouth isn't as damaging to blood cells as that of rattlesnakes. Adults pack over 1000mg of venom but it would only take 150mg to kill me. Cottonmouths kill almost one person per year and I don't intend to be a statistic. 

For ease of movement, I cautiously lifted the snake with my tongs and slid it into my snake bag. Moving into an open field near the Perdido Bay shoreline, I emptied the contents onto the mowed grass. He was grumpy. I snapped several pictures of the perturbed reptile as it spastically threw its white mouth open in a threatening defensive gesture. It made very interesting photographs and my Nikon clicked away for about 15 minutes. As the snake calmed, I was more comfortable getting a little closer for some portraiture.

Suddenly, I noticed I had an audience. Some college staff had paused from their work across the field and were staring. Because you can never be too sure how friendly people are toward snakes, I bagged the viper again and returned him to the swamp.

Agkistrodon piscivorous near Perdido Bay, Florida on October 17, 2015.

Agkistrodon piscivorous near Perdido Bay, Florida on October 17, 2015.

Agkistrodon piscivorous near Perdido Bay, Florida on October 17, 2015.

Agkistrodon piscivorous near Perdido Bay, Florida on October 17, 2015.

Agkistrodon piscivorous near Perdido Bay, Florida on October 17, 2015.

With a prayer of thanks to God for the beauty of His creation and the exhilarating experience, I meandered over to where the two men were pounding stakes and tried to start a conversation.

"How many you catch?" called one of the men as I approached.

"A few," I said, "but only one today."

"I guess you took care of that one," said one of the men. I knew what that meant.

"Actually," I said, "there's no reason to kill 'em. They usually have great dispositions and only want to avoid people."

He sneered. "Not all the snakes I've seen! They'll attack."

Only when you're trying to hack they're head off, I thought.

"I kill every one I see," he informed me indiscriminately.

"I figured." There was an awkward pause as my disapproving glare communicated the meaning of my reply. They got back to work and I shuffled off, a little disgruntled at how selfish and disregarding most people are toward wildlife.

On the other side of the pond I started seeing ground skinks.

Scincella lateralis are extremely common in Florida but not often noticed. They push headlong through the forest detritus looking for spiders and other little invertebrates to devour. Catching these can be a delicate matter. They are very small lizards and most of the ones I've found are under 7 centimeters in length. They don't even use their diminutive legs when they have to move fast.

Besides the skinks, I also spotted a curious black wasp, about 2.5 centimeters long, scurrying around in the leaflitter. I'm not sure what species of wasp it was but it seemed to be searching for spiders or insects in the cracks of the ground.

Hymenoptera near Perdido Bay, Florida on October 17, 2015.

Scincella lateralis near Perdido Bay, Florida on October 17, 2015.

A little farther along, at the far north end of the ponds, I spotted a ribbon snake (Thamnophis sauritus) slithering among the aquatic vegetation. I spent a considerable amount of time splashing around in the shallows trying to find that snake but, alas, I failed. In denial about my loss, I stood on the shore as motionless as I could staring at the water plants were I'd last seen the snake. I hoped it would reappear. Suddenly, some movement in the water to my right caught my attention. A large turtle cautiously poked its nose through the algae. For a long time, I contemplated my plant to catch the turtle. For a moment I vacillated waiting for the snake. I thought maybe I could catch both, but that would be greedy. I dropped my snake tongs and clumsily splashed through the water toward the turtle. It didn't move. It didn't even flinch. It never saw me coming. A miracle. I scooped the startled testudine out of the water and set all four of its scratching, flailing legs on the shore. Apparently, it was missing its right eye. So it really never did see me. It was a very large (about 35cm-long carapace) yellow-bellied slider (Trachemys scripta scripta).

Curiously, about four years back I had caught a snapping turtle the same way, in the same place, which was also missing an eye (the left one). Both turtles had a cataract.

After some photos, I released the turtle back into the wild and meandered back to my van.

Trachemys scripta scripta near Perdido Bay, Florida on October 17, 2015.

Trachemys scripta scripta near Perdido Bay, Florida on October 17, 2015.

PHOTO(S) OF THE... UM... YEAR: Amphiuma means

So I had this crazy idea and I don't know why, but here's a post on one of my old blogs. I guess I could have put this one on my new blog but, hey! I think I'm going to resurrect some of these other blogs and this is a great one to get back into it.

Went herping with another professor at the college where I teach yesterday. Actually, our purpose was to set some live traps for his zoology class. He was borrowing my minnow traps. Since last week, I feel like everyone wants my minnow traps. Actually, I find myself catapulted into popularity among the biology department. Everyone is asking, what's my secret? Lifetime herpers are wondering, how'd I pull a stunt like that? Everyone loves me. I can't go into the woods anymore without the biology paparazzi thronging to every stone I overturn. Nigel Marven called me the other day and asked for an autograph. David Attenborough asked me to join him for tea.

But I exaggerate.

It all started on Friday, November 6. A pair of great horned owls were singing over the ponds at West Campus on the shores of Perdido Bay. Like many Fridays, I chucked my minnow trap into the cold glassy waters and watched it sink into the dark. A beaver slapped its tail. 

And then I bought a pizza and took my sister to the wharf, but that's another story.

Bright and early the next morning I drove out to the pond alone. At 6am, the roads were shrouded in fog and I pulled my sweater up around my neck and my hat down over my ears. I bounced my minivan off the road through the grass to were my trap was set. I jumped out and sleepily pulled it from the water. I was both excited and intrigued when I saw the large, eel-like creature inside. Several things crossed my mind: snake, eel, salamander? It was, indeed, a salamander, but far from average. At almost two feet long, the Amphiuma is among the largest of the aquatic salamanders. And its legs are so small that it moves more like a snake than a salamander, especially on land.

Funny thing about amphiumas. Some have three toes, some have two, and a few have just one on each foot. This one had two. That makes it Amphiuma means, the two-toed amphiuma.

A not so funny thing about amphiumas. They can bite cruelly. Lock their little teeth into the skin and then twist. Usually peals the skin right off and stitches are in order. But I didn't know that at the time so I handled it liberally. Thankfully, I was never bitten. Only coated in the slime the amphiuma exudes from its body.

Finding an amphiuma to a herper is like finding sasquatch to an anthropologist. We think of them often, but we don't really take the thought seriously. But there it was, real as life, in my minnow trap. I took it out and put it in a bucket (along with a sunfish I'd caught in the same trap). After texting and calling everyone I could think of, sending pictures and bragging disproportionately, I released it back were I found it. What a profound feeling. Releasing a dream after only fifteen minutes of contact. Like baling liquid gold out of a sinking ship.

So back to yesterday, I've got high hopes that we'll have something in my traps. But first, I have to take this call from Jeff Corwin. I'll probably set the traps next weekend if you want to come. As long as you don't mind Austin Stevens coming along for the ride. If you come looking for me, I'll be in the center of the crowd, were all the lights are flashing. Get my good side.

Herping after Dawn in the Florida Panhandle

A little late in coming, but I did go check my minnow trap at West Campus bright and early Saturday morning. Nothing. I could see some nice sized bass swimming around in the water but none of them would have fit in the trap. I'll have to try again in a different place were the fish aren't so large. And maybe I'll use some bait.

Anyways, I thought, the morning is young, so I went herping for the rest of the morning. Found a few dandy critters right there at West Campus including a few more leopard frogs (Rana sphenocephala) and lots of cricket frogs (Acris).

I had been hoping to find another cottonmouth (Agkistrodon piscivorus) or maybe a rattlesnake (Crotalus) because I had an audience (two of my coworkers/friends from the college came with me to pull up the trap). However, I didn't find anything venomous. This baby racer (Coluber constrictor) put on quite a show though. "Bit" me three or four times before I got the photos I was hoping for. Never broke the skin.

Herping after Dark in the Florida Panhandle

Here's a post from someone you haven't heard recently. I've been busy--very busy. It is not unusual for me to work 14 hours in a day and 9 hours is a short one. I worked hard this week and managed to keep up with all the homework and quiz grading common in the life of a college biology teacher. At the end of the day I rolled out of work at 4:00pm. Nine hours. After a quick dinner and an episode of John Acorn's Nature Nut show I grabbed my Nikon and a minnow trap and danced out the door.
Sometimes I have to schedule my moments of enjoyment just as religiously as my work and education. I'd been planning a trip out to set my minnow trap for a couple weeks and a Friday night seemed like a good time to me. However, my graduate class was hanging over my head as I pulled from the campus and I'm hoping I don't regret my choice of activity for the night. Good grades are encouraging but it's no excuse to procrastinate.
I had hoped to set a minnow trap at Tarkiln Bayou but that is a state park and I imagine it would be less than legal to remove any fish or wildlife from the park. However, I couldn't think of anywhere else to go. Whenever I have questions about the local wildlife I always find my way to Mr. Micah Bowman's office. A tall, lanky man with relaxed enthusiasm for zoology, Mr. Bowman spent his childhood in the panhandle and is far more adept at finding cool critters than I could ever hope to be. I asked my fellow faculty member if there were any places he could recommend for a minnow trap. His answer, always nonchalant, was so obvious I was embarrassed. West Campus was college property and fishing was encouraged.

I nailed these photos of a grass pickerel (Esox americanus) at Tarkiln Bayou last year (2014) near the end of November. I have been hoping to get a couple for my 120 gallon aquarium back home.

Yes, they are cannibals. My aquarium has three turtles at the present so trying to put some fish in there might be a bad idea. Sunfish would be nice but I find the predatory pickerel completely fascinating. I pulled the trap from the back of my minivan and made the short jaunt to the slough.
As I approached the rickety bridge over the algae-choked waters I spotted a black disk lying in the grass. It was just passed 7pm and the battery was low on my headlamp. I had to get close to see that it was a small cottonmouth snake (Agkistrodon piscivorus). Cottonmouths have a highly hemolytic venom that causes blood cells to rupture and tissues to break down, practically rotting off. However, I was delighted. In my excitement I ran back to my van to grab my ever-handy snake tongs and returned to where I'd dropped my trap before long. The snake was still there and I caught the snake without too much of a fuss. One strike and some degree of warning. It amazes me how placid these potentially lethal snakes are. This one seemed to have an especially calm disposition. The characteristic wide-open mouth display is an obvious message to threats. I carried the snake to the beach and took a few photos on the sand. Delightful.

Pumped with herpetological enthusiasm, I released the snake and started searching for more reptiles and amphibians with my headlamp. A southern toad (Bufo terrestris) hopped out of my way and soon I was running around the grass giggling like a four year old catching frogs.

Rana sphenocephala, the leopard frog. Loads of fun chasing these guys through the grass and catching them.

In the end I threw my trap over the bridge and watched it sink to the bottom. I tied the knot and headed back to my van. It was a good time and I don't regret it yet.

November, 2013 - West Campus, Florida

Actually, I did get out and do something this month. Namely, I was able to go sailing with a good friend of mine. Dakota Wilson is one of the only people who will follow me into the wildest places. We've trekked over sand dunes for several hours in temperatures of over 30 degrees Celsius without any water. We've waded through cypress swamps in the dead of winter and I've watched him drop into holes up to his arm pits. It seems like, whenever I'm caught in the searing heat, torrential downpour, or high tide amid migrating rays, Dakota is there. Why does he follow me into the thick? It's hard to say; his first love is music. Then again, he is a media production major at college and maybe he's looking for a good story. However, I think it's because he has an innate desire for adventure. And that is certainly what he got this month at West Campus of Pensacola Christian College. We arrived expecting to stay for a few hours of sailing in the beautiful bay of PCC's waterfront property. On the water, things were good. Mostly. The wind was oscillating (suddenly changing its direction) and there were eery gaps of little or no wind interspersed with massive gusts. Having taken sailing lessens through the college myself, I was not concerned. I should have been. After about a half hour, I decided to turn the helm over to Dakota. I instructed him that, if we should begin to tip, to simply let out the sail, and if we wound up in the water, he should hold onto the boat. Sceptical at first, he was soon racing back and forth through the bay on moderate winds.
However, the gusts were getting stronger, and I couldn't predict where the wind would come from next. Our "need for speed" drove us into some precarious situations. Finally, I spoke up. "On this next jibe, swap positions with me." He turned to make the move and one of the oscillating gusts hit us broadside. It was only a matter of seconds before we were both in the water. The rudder knocked Dakota in the head and part of the rigging, catching his foot, began to pull him under as the boat drifted away. Diving, he freed himself from this trap and popped up with a stomach full of cold salt water.

My camera had her own adventure. Thankfully, she was inside a pelican case when we tipped and tied to the boat with a rope. The pelican case worked just great and, once the boat was righted, I reeled her in. 

I was perhaps more fortunate. Rather than dropping backwards off the high end of the boat as Dakota had done, I held onto the mast and dropped head-first into the water. I found my face slapping in the water and my shoe caught in the ropes. True, I was attached to the boat, which is a good thing, but Dakota was not.
Afraid that the watchman at the shore hadn't seen our accident, I attempted to right the boat myself. Being the thin man that I am, however, I only succeeded in giving my hands calluses and blood blisters and exerting my muscles beyond what they were created to do. Thankfully, the speedboat soon arrived nearby. "Go pick up my friend," I instructed him. Apparently he didn't hear me so I repeated myself and pointed to where Dakota was bobbing in the water. After Dakota had been brought over and the two of us easily righted the boat, I climbed aboard. Dakota went with the speed boat back to shore, as I sailed back in alone.
The ride in was long, and I had my doubts as to the status of Dokota's attitude toward me. The pelicans and terns calmed my nerves as they scoped for fish and a dolphin surfaced near by, as if to assure me that nature was still in harmony. Of course, I had no reason to worry. Dakota was more excited than I was about the whole adventure. We laughed it up and drove home with music.

October, 2013 - Pensacola Christian College, Florida

It's sad. As much as I wanted to get out into the bush, midterm exams, among other things, has kept me from leaving campus. I don't have any photos for this month, but that doesn't mean I haven't been busy. My copy of A Field Guide to the Beetles proved handy when I found a dandy little example of the Nitidulidae (sap beetles). Normally I wouldn't stop to identify a beetle on my way from lunch to the next class, but this guy was so small, round, and had two little spots on his abdomen that made him undeniably cute. His antenna ended in little round nodules, too, so identification was a must.
There are squirrel treefrogs on the sign outside of the Crown Centre. Anoles, both greens and browns, hang out on the warm side of the four winds and around the tennis courts. Mole crickets and katydids are working their musical wonders on the lawns and gardens and dragonflies are making meals out of smaller insects around the Rawson Chapel. I think the only truly successful animals on campus, however, are the fire ants. No matter how much they are bombarded by all the caustic chemicals that the grounds workers bombard them with, the still hang on. The Mediterranean geckos crawl out of their homes dazed and drugged, while the ants march to cary the next worm off the pavement. I can respect tenacity like that.
The trees on campus (there are a few beautiful live oaks) are mostly ruled by frisky, love-sick squirrels that chase each other in romantic circles about the trunks, but birds are seen around once in a while. There was a dead (rather flattened) Carolina wren outside the Crown Center (a church-goer must have hit him in the mad rush for a parking spot) and jays can be heard in the oaks periodically. I did see a house finch by the Varsity terrace. I think my favourite bird on campus is Mimus polyglottos. That is, the northern mockingbird. These guys sing regardless of the circumstances (The fellow by the Academic Center will even sing at 10:00 at night if it suits is fancy). He's one of those inspirational characters that make me feel a little better when I stagger out of a physics test.
I could do without the stray cats on campus. They are not good for the lizards or birds. I kind of feel like my only connection with nature is diminished by those introduced species on campus. Better here than in the country, I guess.
So, I apologize, but my life has been an academic one. My origins class has caused the birth of a number of projects featuring ape-men and Archaeopteryx that may appear on my Natural History page at some point. Hopefully next month is a little better for Field Notes. All the best to those nature nuts with a little more time on their hands. Let me know if something interesting happens in the natural world.

West Campus

Here are a couple shots from the pitcher plant bog at West Campus. To summarize the events that happened on this trip (and the one before), I will paste an email I sent to a friend of mine:

This is a white top pitcher plant. The colours of this
specimen are far more vibrant than the colours of the
specimen in the last post. I took it as a hint that the
Florida spring is finally underway.

"I am pleased to announce that I have found the elusive pitcher-plant! Twice, at that! The first time was in Blackwater River State Park (that was our starting point at least). After wading up to my waist through a flooded cypress swamp and watching one of my friends fall into the river while another flailed, screaming like a girl, from a large spider on the water, we found the precious plant for the first time. It wasn't really in the park that I found the pitcher-plant bog, though. It was a few miles down a game trail into the state forest. While there I experienced nearly every kind of habitat known in these parts, but I resolved to find a more accessible pitcher-plant bog nearer to home. That was last weekend.

A fresh fern frond pokes out from
the bog. Spring will come to this
part of West Campus.

This weekend, I had made plans to make it to West Campus, and I brought along one of the noblest companions a budding biologist could hope for, Tim Gurke. While I didn't know it at the time, he would prove to be the driving force that kept me from giving up hope. We were about to make two very important discoveries and one of them, alas, would change my life forever. When we first arrived at West Campus, I have to admit, pitcher-plants were not foremost on my mind. Cottonmouths were. We immediately moved for the ponds, the best and richest place for wildlife, when we made our first important discovery. All the places that were dear to my heart were gone. A bobcat and an excavator stood in their place. The shady paths around the rim of the ponds where I found my first cottonmouths, the little meadow where I found my first box turtles, the quaint grassy places where I found my first glass lizards; all was replaced by wood chips and churned soil. In despair, I resolved to go back but Tim, that intrepid soul, encouraged my heart and we moved on. We followed the fence up to its first edge and found that that path was flooded. All this water, being a good sign that the bog was near by, was encouraging so we veered off the path into the forest (for the bulldozers hadn't made it that far back). It wasn't more than fifteen minutes before I stumbled upon our first pitcher-plant. We took plenty of pictures and Tim took a specimen in the hopes of presenting it to you (and perhaps National Geographic). It took us some time to get back to the road. The bog became more of a dark, shaded cypress swamp the deeper we trod and the vicious thorny vines gored our legs and arms. Yet, though the blood flowed, Tim kept his pitcher-plant at his side. He displayed loyalty to the cause that would have put the best dog to shame. But, despite his best efforts, tragedy would strike. When we finally broke out onto the path (and the tics had been picked from our scalp and legs) fortune had shattered our hopes, and the coveted plant was gone, lost somewhere among the cycads. Thus, we bemoaned our failure and wondered how we could ever convince National Geographic of our story now. Then it struck me. We still had our photographs! And so these, at least, we can still give to you. Tim will forever be remembered for his bravery and heroism, however short of his goal he came in the end.

Unfortunately, I don't have many of my friends left at West Campus, and I have been making many new ones in Blackwater River State Park (there's a gorgeous watersnake that lives there), so I wont be going to West Campus much anymore."

My Favorite Snake

Ready for action, this cottonmouth eyes me warily through my lens.

I spend about eight months of the year in the panhandle of Florida. My time is usually occupied with other things but, about once a week, I manage to get out and hike through the scrub or sail the coast. The coast is a place to see terns, gulls, dolphins, pelicans, and ospreys. The scrub, on the other hand, is perfect for creatures of the coldblooded kind, especially snakes. In dryer areas, the racer is the predominant snake species. Moving into the bogs and swamps, however, I find another snake of stark difference. Both the racers and my swamp-dweller are beautifully patterned as juveniles and both turn black as they age. That's where the similarity ends. Racers are fast. Really fast. I've only ever caught two of them before but I've seen about half a dozen. In contrast, my mystery snake is slow and fat-bodied. I've caught all but two of the many that I've encountered. Racers can be a little grumpy when caught, biting when given the chance. My most commonly encountered snake tends to be passive. But when they do bite, it can be fatal. Cottonmouths (or water moccasins) are one of the more venomous of North America's poisonous snakes. While they have a reputation of being aggressive, my experience indicates the contrary. The only cottonmouth that ever actually struck at me had every right to give me a considerable amount of discomfort, because I'd pinched his skin in my tongs accidentally.

This hefty five-footer was the first cottonmouth I've ever clapped eyes on.

This was the first cottonmouth snake I actually caught.
Just a pretty, little immature bloke.

I can still recall my first encounter with a cottonmouth. I had been looking for them, and I hadn't got my tongs yet. I was expecting a short, fat snake so when I saw a five foot monster bobbing across the slough I first mistook it for a gator. That prospect made me extremely excited, but I wasn't disappointed any when I looked again and identified it as a large snake. I marked the place it was headed for on the other shore and ran around with my Nikon to get some good shots and maybe catch it with my net. When I got there, she was waiting for me. She recoiled and vibrated her tail in anticipation of a conflict. For a few seconds I just stood there mesmerized. I'd never seen anything so impressive in all my life. Her eyes had an expression of intelligence and cunning as they glared out of the dark stripes through her eyes. I felt I had been outwitted already. She was in complete control of the situation, it seemed. Then, with a jerk of her body, she moved swiftly into a half-submerged snag. I have the utmost respect for cottonmouth snakes.

Juvenile cottonmouths are stunningly beautiful.

Cottonmouths are very placid snakes. They give plenty
of warning before biting.

Since then, I've caught about half a dozen cottonmouths between those Saturdays in the scrub. Their response is always the same. First, the recoil into an S-shaped pose. From this position, they can react appropriately to a threat. If I push in closer, the snake may vibrate its tail excitedly before trying to move away. Cottonmouths only ever want to move away. They never try to initiate a confrontation. If grabbed, it will quickly reform into an S-shape and, if it's a particularly jittery individual, it will open its mouth and display its white gums (the feature which gives it its name). If I continue to irritate it with my prodding (as I try for a photogenic pose) the snake will put an end to that by simply resuming its plan of retreat. All the cottonmouths I've ever met have wonderful dispositions.

With cotton mouth opened wide, this snake effectively says, "Back off!
I don't want to bite, but if you hurt me, I am fully capable!"

All those tails of aggressive cottonmouths just aren't credible. I've heard stories of swarms of cottonmouths emerging form snags on unfortunate swimmers, but as Alen Tennant in A Field Guide to Snakes of Florida testified, this is not a habit of the cannibalistic cottonmouth. Rather, those unfortunate swimmers are likely dealing with the much more sociable watersnake. And, in contrast to the cottonmouth, non-venoumous watersnakes bite readily.

There are few creatures as beautifully designed as the cottonmouth! When the Bible talks about the child putting his hand in the vipers hole on the new earth (Isaiah 11:8), that's going to be me. We all have something to look forward to!