Science Watch
- 1. How X-Rays Work
- 2. Foreign Animal Species
- 3. The Road to Domestication
- 4. Demon Gene (Genetic technology)
Vanishing Vipers
Philip A. Purser
Dixie's much-feared rattlesnakes are disappearing from the
wild.
But they still have a few friends on their side.
"There's nothing here," I thought. "I'm wasting my time."
The steamy August afternoon found me standing on the foundation of an old farmhouse in northwest Georgia, searching the tawny weeds and limestone crags for any sign of my cold-blooded quarry. Armed only with a snake hook and a camera, I had ventured into an untamed portion of the Appalachian foothills on what many would consider a foolish and dangerous quest: rattlesnakes. For weeks I'd been conducting population and range-extension research on dozens of indigenous species of reptiles and amphibians throughout the northern region of the state. If a particular species was thought to live in an area, but had never been officially documented there, it was my job to search through the bush until I found one. I was to catalog the animal's size, habitat, and the exact location where it was discovered. This information would update textbooks and scientific journals as to the overall population of the species in question. On the docket today was the timber rattlesnake, a creature I hadn't worked with in years. That would soon change.
Convinced that there was no danger about, I stepped off the crumbling foundation and placed my right foot on a patch of open ground. No sooner did the dried scrub grass crunch under my weight than I heard a slight rustling behind me. I slowly turned to see not one, but two massive timber rattlesnakes lying silently coiled no more than six inches from where I stood, in the exact area I had diligently scouted only moments before. The smaller of the pair looked to be no less then four feet long and as big in girth as a man's forearm, while its much larger companion was pushing six feet in length and was twice as big around as the other. Like holdovers from Greek mythology, the two hydras gracefully flexed their scaled bodies and unwound from one another. Then they stared and flicked their forked tongues, inspecting the sight and smell of this unwelcome trespasser on their land. My hands trembled in surprise and fear as I popped the lens cap off my old Canon and began snapping hasty shots of the two serpents as they retreated into the dark recesses of their mason-work lair. When the timbers were back in the safety-theirs and mine-of the den, I sat atop the aged stone and mortar foundation, appreciating my health and the slight summer breeze in a way I hadn't in a long time.
An eastern diamondback rattlesnake can strike at 170 m.p.h. - nearly twice the speed of a major league pitcher's fastball.
Hated And Feared
The rattlesnakes I encountered were two of only seven known by
fellow researchers to inhabit the area and to winter in the den
site. The den itself sits in the middle of more than 900 acres of
hardwood forest and rolling, grassy piedmont (a stony, hilly
landscape bordering the Appalachian Mountains) owned by the State
of Georgia. The two snakes I nearly stepped on, therefore, enjoy
the protection of state legislation, which guards them against
any form of human intervention or harassment. These vipers, a
family of snakes defined by the forward placement of the fangs in
the mouth and their blood- and nerve-destroying venom, known as
hemo/neurotoxin, have been the subject of close study by
volunteer researchers Dan and Marie Jacobson of Palmetto,
Georgia. Dan, recently retired from the Douglas County Fire
Department, does most of the hands-on work, while Marie tends to
the book- keeping. They volunteer with the Georgia Department of
Natural Resources, but much of their research funding comes from
several private conservation organizations in the area.
Three times a year, each of the timbers is captured and measured for length and weight and is given a general health evaluation before being released back into the wild. "We want to learn more about their diet, growth rate and breeding patterns," says Marie of the couple's research goals. "Rattlesnakes are fragile creatures [who] may take five to seven years to reach sexual maturity. Even those females old enough to reproduce only litter once every two years." Marie goes on to explain that a damaged population, such as the one they study, can take a very long time to recover. A den the size of the one I stumbled over, she adds, should hold no fewer than 20 to 35 rattlesnakes.
Marie makes it her business to know the legalities of the issue. "There are laws on the books that protect these snakes," she says, "but enforcing those laws is nearly impossible. On state or federally protected land, these snakes are relatively safe, but what ranger or police officer is going to go after a man who kills a snake in his yard, especially a venomous one?" The Jacobsons are glad to see the State of Georgia taking steps to protect the snakes, but admit that fear and misunderstanding can muddle the situation. "Conservation is an important issue, but when human safety comes into question, the law usually takes a backseat. Most policemen whom I know have children," Marie says, "and they don't hesitate to kill just about any snake they encounter."
The links on a
rattlesnake's tail are made of keratin, the same substance that
forms human fingernails.
Each time the snake sheds its skin, it adds one link to this
"rattle."
Shy And Retiring
The Southeast is home to three distinct species of rattlesnake:
the timber, the pigmy, and the eastern diamondback. All three are
currently experiencing a decline in population, but the timber
and the diamondback are in far more danger than the pigmy.
Suburban development, with its road construction, land clearing,
and forest destruction are major contributors to the plight of
these animals. Both timber rattlesnakes and diamondbacks are
highly reclusive creatures that thrive best in rural areas of
pristine environment. These snakes have established ranges-which
can be as great as two square miles-and require heavy vegetative
cover, such as thickets and dense forests, as well as open
expanses of field or pastureland, if they are to hunt and
reproduce successfully. Recent studies have shown that female
timber rattlers deliver their young almost exclusively in the
borderland between dense forest and open field. If such areas are
not available, most female rattlers will not even breed. Thus a
subdivision or thoroughfare that dissects an otherwise perfect
habitat can permanently oust a population of rattlesnakes.
Growing to maximum lengths of well over six and seven feet respectively, the timber and diamondback rattlesnakes play an important role in the food chain. They are predators of such crop-damaging animals as mice, rats and rabbits, and are in turn a major food source for red-shouldered hawks and other birds of prey. Unfortunately, the hand of man has put these marvelous serpents under the gun in a very serious way. Thousands of snakes are killed annually by automobiles when crossing a highway, and hundreds more meet their fate at the end of a shovel or shotgun wielded in fear. Countless individuals are poached every year for their skins, which are valuable to the illegal leather and garment industry. Still others are collected by the dozens to supply the ever-growing exotic pet trade both in the United States and abroad. Web sites such as faunaclassifieds.com specialize in the trading of exotic reptiles and mammals. While most of the sellers on this and other sites offer only captive-bred livestock, many still collect from the wild, and there is as of yet no means of screening poachers from conscientious breeders. As Dan Jacobson puts it, "Now is not the time to be a rattlesnake in the South." Researchers such as the Jacobsons hope to uncover more information about these animals and ultimately aid the rattlesnakes by unraveling the mysteries of their breeding cycles and reclusive lifestyle.
|
For Snake's Sake University of Georgia |
Speaking Up For Snakes
In the pine forests and palmetto thickets of Waycross, Georgia,
nearly 300 miles from the timber's den, another hunter patrols
the bush. Armed with a hook-ended golf club and a hand mirror,
William DeVine represents a radically different point of view
regarding rattlesnakes. A longtime resident of the Okefenokee
Swamp, DeVine has made a career out of crusading for the
conservation of the region's reptiles and amphibians. When he is
not leading tours through the swamp's untamed interior, DeVine
travels to local schools to teach students the important role
that snakes and other reptiles play in the ecosystem of the
Okefenokee. Even though his "snake shows" involve a wide range of
live serpents, DeVine is mindful to place special emphasis on the
eastern diamondback rattlesnake, a much feared and misunderstood
creature in that part of the state. I caught up with this
renowned snake-lover while he was giving a live animal
presentation at a local theme park.
"Who here is afraid of snakes?" DeVine asks the crowd as he sets up several wooden boxes along the stage behind him. Hands go up and a wave of apprehensive murmurs sweeps across the assembly as DeVine reaches with his snake hook into a box marked with a red skull and crossbones. Whispers turn to gasps as DeVine pulls from the box an animal he calls Atlas, a seven-foot long, 16-pound eastern diamondback rattlesnake. Flashbulbs flood the small arena with light, and children lean cautiously forward as DeVine taunts the huge snake into a striking position and circles the coiled serpent, careful to keep at a safe distance.
DeVine's shows may be half smoke and spangle, but a few solid facts and figures are all he needs to combat the prejudices and hateful lore that give rattlesnakes such a bad rep. "In 2000," he begins "85 percent of the rattlesnake bites treated in Georgia, South Carolina and Florida were inflicted on the hands, lower arms, and face." The crowd marvels at this statistic. "That tells me," DeVine continues, "that people get bitten because they try to pick up the snakes. We don't have a snake problem, we have a people problem." DeVine goes on to explain that rattlesnakes don't want trouble with people. They just want to find something to eat and hide from whatever might eat them, he says. "When snakes and people happen to meet, all that snake wants to do is get away." A few more bits of biological information, and DeVine ends his show by asking, "Who here is still afraid of snakes?" Only a few, diehard hands sheepishly take to the air.
Diamondback and timber rattlesnakes have been known to swim several miles through the ocean in order to hunt on the islands lying off the coasts of Georgia and the Carolinas.
"Education is key," DeVine says. "You just have to become familiar with the snakes that live in your area, and know which ones to stay away from. Fear kills rattlesnakes, not people."
DeVine's one-man campaign for diamondbacks reminds me of
something Marie Jacobson says about her population of timber
rattlers. "Saving the rattlesnakes is not something that
legislation and enforcement can do alone. People have to take the
time and effort to participate and become educated. The bald
eagle and the blue heron were saved because people wanted to keep
those animals around for their children to enjoy. The same thing
has to happen with the rattlesnakes."
Philip A. Purser, a freelance writer and photographer based in
Athens, Georgia, has worked with rattlesnakes for 23
years.
© 2002
ASPCA Animal Watch - Fall 2002
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