As soon as I glimpsed the small group of whitetail deer approaching the river I beached the canoe and quietly stepped into the shallow water.  I was wearing cutoffs and an old pair of sneakers as well as my well-used camouflage gear. 

The water was cool as I moved quietly to the downstream side of a large deadfall tree and positioned my camera securely on its tripod. 

I am always a tad uncomfortable as my imaginer paints pretty little pictures of things with teeth that just might be lurking under the surface of that murky, coffee colored water, due to the fact that alligators, large and small, populate the area in abundance.

Now, standing in the dark water that reached to perhaps eight or ten inches below my armpits I was prepared to photograph the deer.  

Ten minutes passed, then half an hour. 

The deer were nearing the river’s edge.  I was ready.  My camera was set up on the tripod mere inches above the calm surface of the water to enable me to photograph the deer from a very low angle as they swam the watery obstacle. 

Now and then I could see the twitch of an ear or the swish of a tail but for the most part they were still as they stood concealed behind a dense curtain of undergrowth. 

It was just at that moment that I was startled as something unexpectedly nudged me in the small of the back. 

My first thought was that a raft of water hyacinth drifting on the river’s surface had collided with me but I changed my mind rather quickly.  Generally speaking water hyacinth does not move of its own volition.  

Judging from the subtle motion at my back I was sure that I knew what it was. 

Here in Florida’s wetlands one of our most common denizens is the brown water snake, or, Nerodia taxispilota. 

The brown is not exactly a snake that will ever be nominated to be a contestant in a reptilian beauty pageant.  Drab, dirty brown in coloration, with darker brown patches on its body and a blunt, mean looking, practically deformed head; the brown just keeps getting uglier and meaner with age.  (Makes me think of some folks I know.)  A heavy bodied snake, it has been known to attain lengths nearing six feet but that is by far the exception.   The largest one I have ever captured exceeded four feet by only an inch or two.                                    

If you feel an irrisistable urge to grab brownie he will be more then willing to bite the everlasting, goobery snot out of you and as much as I dislike getting bit by this lovely chap I find his nasty habit of spraying almost more to be avoided than his bite.

When grabbed the brown is as likely as not to spray an evil smelling, liquid, musky  mess from his anus that seems invariably to be aimed at the face.  Not exactly the most pleasant experience I might add. 

The brown water snake, even though it is as mean tempered as a rabid rat and always ready to bite, is in fact quite harmless but If you do have the somewhat dubious honor of being bitten, the series of puncture wounds should be examined for the needle-like re-curved teeth that would likely have broken off in the wound at the time of the bite. This examination should be followed by a tetanus shot within a day or two if you have not had one recently to ward off the likelihood of infection or the unlikelier chance of lockjaw.                                               

Although I could feel the snake nosing about at my back I knew that I had little to worry about.  I would have moved away from my visitor but I was hoping to film the deer and did not want to spook them with my movements. 

The whitetail deer were still up on the riverbank and I was doing my best to ignore the efforts of my ‘harmless’ reptilian visitor and focus on the job at hand when the snakes tail was washed down alongside my right leg and I could feel it as the reptile tried to push against my leg to give it purchase in order to gain access to its desired perch which was obviously my head and shoulders.

O.K., enough already! 

The snake had carried our friendship about as far as I was willing to tolerate.   I was about ready to reach back and gently take hold of the snake to guide it on its way when I glanced down just in time to see the end of its tail break the water’s surface under my right elbow.  Suddenly I forgot all about reaching back to take hold of Mr. Snake and I forgot all about filming the deer, and I also forgot all about my camera as well as everything else.

The snake now had my undivided attention.

That tail was not the typical dirty brown of a brown water snake, it was black, and I realized that my visitor was a large specimen of agkistrodon piscivorus, a pit viper whose venomous bite though usually not fatal can be bad enough to cause crippling damage. Commonly known as the cottonmouth water moccasin, this guy could just possibly ruin my day!

As I said my photographic endeavors were abruptly shoved aside as I was faced with this somewhat uncomfortable and prickly situation.

The cottonmouth was still nosing about in the small of my back.   Somewhat sluggish from the cool water it was languidly rearing up in its efforts to gain access to my shoulders.  Even in the cool water of the river the snake could move extremely fast. 

Several years ago I had the opportunity to watch a cottonmouth as it fished. 

The snake lay very still in the foot deep water as a hand-sized bluegill cruised nearby.  When the fish was within range, perhaps at a distance of twelve inches, the snake struck.  For some reason I expected the strike to be slower than it was, perhaps assuming that the water would somehow impede the creatures movement or, just perhaps I did not know what to expect.

That snake flashed through the water in a lightening blur of motion faster than the eye could follow, so incredibly fast and hard that tiny scales were blown off the fish on impact.  It was the same effect I would expect from a bullet.  That fish never had a chance. 

In the name of Aunt Maggie’s dead cat that snake was fast!  

(It is a common belief among many people that snakes and snapping turtles cannot strike under water.  I have known this assumption to be incorrect for many years, after all, how else could they catch fish.) 

Standing there in the dark water of the Wekiva River, as the cottonmouth persisted in its endeavors I could feel its nose gently probing, exploring for some purchase to enable it to crawl onto this weird, uncooperative stump.

As the snake persevered mightily in its endeavors my anxiety and concern grew to quite interesting proportions.  I have always been thankful that I had not positioned myself closer to the deadfall that was behind me where the snake could possibly have gained access from that convenience.   Wouldn’t it be interesting to feel a gentle tap on your shoulder and turning, you are looking into Mr. Cottonmouth’s cute little vertical pupils? 

So that you might better appreciate the gravity of my situation please let me enlighten you.

In size the cottonmouth is second only to the grand daddy of North American pit vipers, the eastern diamondback rattlesnake.

The largest eastern diamondback that I have had the privilege of becoming intimately acquainted with was a lovely chap a tad over six and a half feet long.

Now it should be understood that there are a lot of stories of very large diamondbacks out there, tales of snakes ten, twelve even fifteen feet long.  And heaven forbid, I would never call anyone a liar, but it is a long standing and well known fact that there are a lot of otherwise honest folks out there who, when exposed to a snake, especially one that is known to be poisonous, are suddenly afflicted with a near lethal case of pernicious flatulence of the imagination, or, P.F.I.

P.F.I. can be a very serious malady, not affecting the storyteller so much as the subject of the story.  This affliction has been known to strike snakes, as well as fish, causing them to swell to unbelievable proportions due to some mysterious gas.  Ultimately the subject of the story explodes, leaving not the least trace as evidence to prove its immense size or even its existence.  And as long as we are on the subject of size my late friend, Ross Allen, world famous naturalist and founder of Silver Springs Reptile Institute could tell the truth on that matter. 

For over thirty years back in the fifties, sixties and seventies, Mr. Allen had an open offer of five hundred dollars for anyone that could produce an eastern diamondback rattlesnake, dead or alive, of eight feet or more in length.  And the snake, if dead had to be intact. 

Over a period of at least those three decades, Hundreds, possibly thousands of diamondbacks were delivered to the reptile institute and upon Ross’ death he had yet to see that eight-foot long diamondback and the five hundred dollar reward was never claimed.   Keep in mind that back then $500 was the equivalent of at least two weeks pay to the average man and Florida was not nearly as developed as it is today, therefore the chance of finding a truly large diamondback was much better than it is today.

According to my way of thinking it is highly possible that the eastern diamondback has in the past reached eight feet in length and possibly more, but today in this age of urban sprawl, when choice habitat is increasingly being destroyed in the name of the great god “progress” it would be an extreme rarity.

Snakes don’t usually bother me but when a large cottonmouth is endeavoring to crawl up my back and over my shoulder to gain access to my head he is taking the friendship a bit too far. 

I stood there very still with the cool, tannin darkened water washing past my bare legs wishing that I were somewhere, anywhere, else.   Again the snake’s heavy body moved in the current, pressing against the small of my back as its tail brushed against my leg.  I did not want to move but I could not repress an involuntary shudder.

The snake stopped moving as though it sensed my movement and then it swam around to my front, and in that little eddy caused by my body as it obstructed the river’s downstream flow the snake drifted against my tripod and laid there, floating on the water’s surface mere inches from my chest. 

The snake was larger than I had guessed, fat and perhaps in excess of four and a half feet in length. 

I stood there sweating in spite of the cool water as those mean little eyes seemed to examine first the camera and then me.  I watched its tongue slowly extrude from between its lips, through the little indent made for the purpose, that shiny black tongue sinuously flicking out, the ends dipping and then withdrawing, oh so casually.  

I was well aware of the fact that a cottonmouth this size would likely have fangs three quarters of an inch in length.  If disturbed, its bite and subsequent envenomation could very well be something that I could live quite happily without. 

Some experts, Ross Allan among them, considered the bite of the Cottonmouth water moccasin as the worst that could be inflicted by North America’s poisonous snakes.  The cause for this reasoning is the composition of the venom, a veritable witch’s brew of digestive enzymes as well as both hemotoxic and neurotoxic venoms.  As If this were not bad enough in and of itself, bacteria from the snake’s mouth is introduced into the wound.  This increase in the infectious bacteria drastically increases the risk of wet gangrene and subsequent tissue loss. 

The snake explored the area of my stomach and lower chest, probing; lazily and half heartedly rearing up to gain access to its goal, but as it did this the upward movement forced its body under water, so I was thankful it was a no win situation.  The snake then turned its attention to my camera, crawling up until it was draped quite prettily, with the front half of its body moving around in the air in front of my face.  

It might be said that the situation was rapidly going from bad to horrible.  

Then, much to my relief, instead of trying to reach me, Brownie slowly lowered his head and launched himself into the stream.  I stood there as the snake slowly swam away.  I noted its broad, dark head, made even darker by the fact that it was wet.   The white chin and those two distinct diagonal facial stripes cutting through the eyes as on so many of its kind were obvious.

The snake swam across the stream, floating high, its head held two or three inches above the water’s surface, as is the manner of the cottonmouth.  I stood still and watched as it swam into some dense waterweeds along the shore and disappeared. 

With a prayer of thanksgiving I picked up my camera and tripod and made my way back to the canoe.  It wasn’t until I was seated in the canoe that I began breathing normally again. 

How alive I felt!  I would have another day to photograph the deer but just then I wanted to shout, ‘thank you God!’  But Instead I whispered a silent but very enthusiastic, ‘Praise you Father’.

                                                                                                                                                 

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