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.