Snakes on a Trail

“Here comes Peter Cottontail, hopping down the bunny trail…”

SO GOES THORTON BURGESS’S classic children’s tale.

Regrettably, if the Bunny Trail happens to be winding through the deep South Texas brush, Peter’s next hippety-hop might land him squarely in front of a huge western diamondback rattlesnake. 

The six-foot pit viper strikes in a blur and Peter squeals in pain and terror. Poor Peter did not just receive a long-overdue COVID vaccine; he got twin hypodermic doses of hemotoxic venom from statistically the most dangerous snake in North America.

He dashes several yards and falls. The burly rattler uncoils and, using its heat-sensing facial pits, confidently follows the warm-blooded trail to claim a satisfying meal.

Texas truly is snake country. The vast size of our state combined with mild temperatures and diverse ecological regions allows an abundance of snakes to flourish. At least 72 species have been documented (Texas Snakes, Werler and Dixon, 2000).

Ten of these species are rattlesnakes. The most plentiful and widespread (roughly the western two-thirds of the state) of the buzzing options is Peter’s nemesis, Crotalus atrox.

The western diamondback is the largest, with documented specimens topping seven feet. Such a diamondback might weigh 12 to 15 pounds. In the real world, that is plenty of snake. Most adults are less than four or five feet—and that’s still plenty of snake.

The eastern diamondback of the southeastern lowlands can exceed eight feet, but the distribution numbers are not there; they are seldom encountered.

The awesome eastern issue is not as irritable. This does not suggest that the western diamondback instigates attacks on humans. Instead, it tends to come out swinging—striking—when its space is violated, or it feels trapped.

Texas records approximately 1,000 to 1,500 venomous snake bites each year, and the high-strung diamondbacks account for roughly one-half of the tally. Southern copperheads, common in urban areas of southeast Texas, muster about one-quarter, with cottonmouths a distant third. That’s the bad news. The upside is that only one or two people die per year.

Fatalities are minimal because qualified medical help in Texas is rarely more than an hour or two away—and many rural facilities are experienced in dealing with snake bites. Contrary to western lore, the venom is relatively slow-acting on a human-sized target. But, by all reports, a “hot” bite (compared to a dry pop) is an excruciating and long-lasting ordeal.  

Incidentally, experts agree that several semi-rare rattlesnake species (mainly in West Texas) have venom that drop-for-drop is more toxic. But the diamondback boasts three trumps: great size, large glands, and long fangs. 

A four- or five-footer coiled in the typical aggressive posture with head and neck elevated in an intimidating “S loop” can use the wide, flat coils to launch a formidable strike. With solid purchase, the superfast lunge may carry up to one-half the body length.

Ironically, the bite from an immature diamondback is no bargain. Experts also conclude that in most cases the toxicity from a juvenile is stronger than that from a full-blown swashbuckler. The positive news is that the young snake has much less carrying capacity.

South Texas is the mother lode for diamondbacks, as any experienced brush country rancher or hunter will attest. Other high-density regions are western portions of the Hill Country and the barrier islands and coastal prairies along the lower and middle coast.

As a boy growing up in Houston during the late ’50s, I was a junior-high herpetologist, scouring the banks of urban bayous and fields for an impressive assortment of snakes. But not once did I see or even hear of a diamondback in northern Harris County. 

We eschewed parental warnings and captured the occasional southern copperhead, as well as several cottonmouths and Texas coral snakes, but the only rattlers I recall were two western pigmy rattlesnakes near Buffalo Bayou/Memorial Park.

I do not now condone catching dangerous snakes. Those rash forays occurred 60 years ago, and three of my “collecting” friends were bitten—one on the thumb, one on the index finger, one on the arm.

It is a minor miracle I was not nailed. Leave the poisonous ones to the experts and understand that sooner or later many rattlesnake handlers get well and truly zapped.

One of the oddities of the outdoors is that an individual utterly terrified of serpents cannot walk 100 yards through brushy terrain during mild weather without stirring up a wad of writhing coils. Meanwhile, those of us stoked to see the occasional flickering forked tongue can poke around for days without flushing so much as a piddly ribbon snake.

Frankly, following that theme, I have not encountered all that many —one here, one there, that sort of thing. I have yet to see an honest six-foot diamondback in the field.

Such a beast viewed at safe distance would be an awesome spectacle for anyone who appreciates the wildness of Texas. The fact that one could swallow Peter Cottontail says something about the bulk and mass of the reptile.

But, to repeat, the average western diamondback is less than four feet in length. Campfire smoke aside, those are the documented facts. I once had to hand-grab a furious, escaped diamondback that was at least four feet—but the less said about that herpetological misadventure, the better. 

If, on an innocent outdoor foray, a terrible mistake carries you within reach of a whirring buzz and a flashing strike, current wisdom recommends forgetting all the celebrated do-it-yourself treatments involving knives, razor blades, suction cups, tight tourniquets, ice packs or whisky bottles.

As they say, the best first aid for a venomous snake bite is a set of car keys. Or, increasingly, perhaps one of those snazzy vehicle starter buttons. Either way, crank that sucker and aim amid a cloud of dust and caliche for the nearest medical facility.

 

Email Joe Doggett at ContactUs@fishgame.com

 

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