It’s something I have to see for myself, so
here I am in
A week ago he had called
me from the same spot, a bit breathless from excitement. After the success of his first Rattlesnake
exploration (see Pennsylvania
2008), Billy scouted another Crotalus
horridus location, but this one
is remarkably different. So now I’m with my
friend, Danny, and carefully we work our way up a talus slope, looking for a
very specific rock. It seems almost
impossible, there’s so many slabs, each one text-book perfect for
Timbers.
Fortunately, as per
usual, Billy’s instructions are precise, and finally the particular boulder
he told us to watch for comes into view.
But, still, we’re unprepared for what we see.
Danny and I stare in
disbelief. It’s an image so startling,
we have a hard time absorbing it.
What we’re witnessing
is a rookery, a concentration of gravid females sharing the same space during
gestation. (Rather than lay eggs, Rattlesnakes incubate their embryos
internally, giving birth to live young.)
Research suggests that individuals in such gatherings may be related
to each other, raising the interesting possibility of timbers living in
family groups, a social structure generally unknown among snakes. (For more on this subject, read the article
Social Lives of Rattlesnakes.) Who knows why they
chose this singular spot --- to us humans, the surrounding boulders seem to offer
identical conditions --- but obviously there’s something special about this
rock: repeated trips found the females
in exactly the same place, where they remained throughout the summer.
The initial shock
gives way to fascination. The rattlers
are totally alert, yet completely calm, getting on with their day. For the next three hours we simply watch
what unfolds before us. The amazing thing is
that the snakes are constantly in motion, the entire mass changing shape
every few minutes. After a while we
detect a pattern. Not all of the
snakes move at the same time. Every so
often some individuals retreat from the sun deck and join others resting in
the shadows beneath an overhang, crawling silently through a tangle of black
and brown bodies, insinuating themselves into the shifting pile.
At the same time,
others stir and make their way outside to take their turn at basking. We wonder if it’s a deliberate rotation;
perhaps some form of heat exchange, the mass temperature of the pile adjusted
by individuals recirculating between sun and shade?
The morning heat
forces the majority back into a miniature cave, but a few snakes continue to
venture back and forth, always staying within a few feet of the rocky opening
and each other.
By mid-day it becomes too hot, and eventually all the snakes disappear
deep into the crevices of the cave.
We’re left alone, still feeling a bit dazed. It’s been an experience unlike any other I’ve ever had herping, beyond
memorable. To be so close to so many
Rattlesnakes for so long, watching how they live at home, observing their
behavior and wondering what it means, is to catch a glimpse of the mystery in
nature and the curiosity it inspires.
Of course, we
don’t just want to contemplate, we also want to play. Enough of these venomous serpents, give us
something we can catch and hold in our hands! There’s a nearby field with reliable trash, good for Garter Snakes and
the occasional Redbelly. Conditioned
by our time with Rattlesnakes, we make sure to use proper equipment before
free-handling these wild-caught snakes.
This field was also the unexpected site of a lifer for me. Billy and I are walking through the grass,
looking for boards to flip, when he turns around and spots something at his
feet. “There’s a turtle,” he says
calmly, assuming it’s a common Box Turtle, but then he picks it up and
exclaims, “It’s a Wood Turtle!” I get
even more excited, this being my first ever in the field.
Having one in hand allows me to truly appreciate the meaning of its
scientific name, insculpata, which refers
to the sculptured appearance of the turtle’s shell, complete with chisel
marks and carved edges.
Back at the rookery,
periodic visits were made to check on the Rattlesnakes, who were always
there. Predictability led to growing
anticipation; we knew what was going to happen, and we had a good chance of
being there at the right time. Late in the summer
Danny and I return with Billy. It’s a
bit cooler than previous trips, and a few leaves are just beginning to turn.
We arrive at the familiar
site and glance around. No snakes at
the special rock, it looks deserted.
But then, a few boulders over, we see what we were hoping to find: the rookery has become a nursery.
Gradually we realize
there are babies everywhere. Most are
hiding in crevices, the neonates being much more skittish than adults, but if
we remain still enough they slowly start to emerge.
It’s even better than
I imagined. More than the excitement of
seeing so many snakes, there’s something about the continuity, the connection
between knowing the mothers and meeting their offspring. Perhaps it’s that sense of wonder coming
full circle, the culmination of an unforgettable season.
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