In search of my nightmare
I was alone in the woods with a 6-foot long black snake. It was looking at me with black, beady eyes that followed me no matter which direction I moved in. Everything was silent. I couldn’t hear any birds or bugs. No leaves rustling in the wind or twigs snapping each time I took a step. Just silence between me and the serpent.
It never lunged at me, nor I at it. It just watched me. It didn’t seem curious about me, but the atmosphere felt sinister. I don’t know why, but I moved to either side of it a few times, while keeping about an 8-foot distance between us. My heart was pounding the whole time, but I didn’t run from it. I was facing it the whole time. Facing my biggest fear.
I had similar versions of that dream for three nights in a row leading up to the day of my snake hunt. In order to face my biggest fear, I contacted my old biology teacher, Matt Metcalf, and asked if I could join him next time he went snake tracking.
Metcalf is a graduate student at Florida Gulf Coast University pursuing his master’s degree in marine and environmental sciences. He graduated with a bachelor’s degree in zoology from Auburn University, where he took a herpetology course and became fascinated by snakes. For his master’s thesis, he has been studying snakes (specifically Eastern indigos) at Rookery Bay Reserve and tracking a few different species on FGCU’s campus.
He was excited when I reached out to him about tagging along. “No picking up rattlesnakes, though,” he said to me after he agreed to let me come with. “As if I’d get within 10 feet of that thing,” I thought to myself.
Metcalf explained to me that we would be tracking a large, female rattlesnake who had previously been captured and surgically implanted with a radio transmitter. They use “radio telemetry” to track the snakes to understand their behavior and habitat use. Herpetologists study these traits so they can make adequate decisions about conservation management for these snake populations. Currently, most of the data they have comes from snake populations in northern Florida and Georgia, both of which have very different climates than southwest Florida, which makes conservation practices for this region somewhat unfit.
We hiked out on a Wednesday morning. There was a nice breeze that day, which was unusual for early October in Florida. It had been hot and muggy ever since Hurricane Irma hit three weeks ago.
For the first half hour of our hike, I never took my eyes off the ground. Even when the swamp water rose to my knees, I still watched the ripples serpentine outward. I kept thinking about the black snake in my dream. How it looked at me and how ominous it seemed.
Metcalf continued to talk about the rattlesnake. “She’s around 5-feet long, 6-inches in diameter. By far the largest in the study,” he told me.
The two of us waded through the swamp and listened for the hollow pinging sound from the transmitter. We followed the direction of the noise for an hour and a half. As the signal became clearer and more frequent, my heartbeat began to match the quickening beeping from the radio. I knew we were close.
We came to a barbed-wire fence, the epitome of “KEEP OUT.” Metcalf proceeded forward and attempted to make an opening in the fence. He handed me the radio telemeter and said “whatever you do, don’t drop this into the water.”
“Oh God,” I thought as images of my fumbling hands dropping the expensive equipment into the water rushed through my head.
I held onto it so tightly that my knuckles began to turn white.
“Okay, pass it back,” he said once he had maneuvered through the fence. I anxiously handed it to him.
The radio made contact with his hands, and he grabbed it and set it down on some palm fronds with ease. Relief flooded through me.
He began to help me through the barbed wire and suddenly there was a thick, dreadful sound.
Plop. We both looked at each other, then at the barren palm fronds.
In two quick steps Metcalf made it to the rippling water and pulled out the radio, now spewing like a waterfall.
He tried to dry it out by blowing into it and wiping it off on his shirt, but the signal was lost. An hour and a half of hiking, and once we were within 100 yards of the snake, we had to trek on back.
I was surprised to feel a little bummed about not seeing the rattlesnake. I had been so nervous the entire time for no reason.
“I promised you’d see a snake today,” Metcalf said, just as my nerves began to subside. He told me I had to hold Dr. Herman’s Eastern indigo snake that he kept in a cage on campus.
Once we got back, Metcalf pulled the long, black snake out of the cage, and I watched as it gracefully weaved through his fingers. It was a sleek and shiny black, like the paint on a new car. It moved with confidence. Never pausing, it glided through its hadlers palms repeatedly.
Its black scales looked like they were placed meticulously, each one fitting perfectly into the next. There were eight scales on its head that differed in shape and size from all of the others.
I watched it nervously. I realized we were stark contrasts to each other. The snake was skillful and comfortable. I was squirmy and clumsy with fear.
He held the snake out towards me and I didn’t know how to grab it. I was trying to hide my nerves and my hands had begun shaking.
“Start by grabbing his tail,” Metcalf said. I did and then I don’t remember how, but the next thing I knew, I was holding a snake.
It all happened so quickly, but I was seeing everything in slow motion. My chest began to feel tight and my throat started to burn. Before I had time to wonder why, I realized I was holding my breath.
I exhaled.
My eyes began to fill with tears, possibly from a mixture of excitement and fear. Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined myself holding the very creature that caused me the most fear and worries throughout my life, but there I was. The snake was smooth and cold. I imagined the scales being a lot rougher, but it actually felt similar to running your fingers down the side of a metal cup.
The colors were incredible. At first glance, it looked sleek and shiny black, but once I examined it up close, I noticed rainbows. Literally every color of the rainbow shone on the body of this creature. I was amazed by how stunning it looked.
After we put the snake away, I was feeling confident and proud. My adrenaline was still pumping when I told Metcalf that I wanted to come out again to actually find the rattlesnake. So, a few days later, we were trekking through the woods again.
I had the dream about the black snake for a fourth time a couple days before our second expedition, but the mood of the dream felt different. The snake looked exactly the same, but it seemed less ominous. I was curious about the it, but I still kept my distance. I realized in my dream that I wasn’t afraid. I kept looking for rainbow patterns on its scales, but its color stayed a solid black.
When I woke up, I made a mental note that the snake in my dream was not an Eastern Indigo.
We waded through the swamp again, my camera hanging around my neck and Metcalf’s (backup) radio grasped firmly in his hand.
There was less of a breeze that day, but the temperature was bearable and the snake was a lot closer to us than it had been the first day we went tracking. Time seemed to pass much faster and I felt ready to see the rattlesnake. I was still somewhat fearful, but I felt truly excited.
The pinging from the radio became clearer. Once again, we were close.
“There she is! Wow. Do you see her?” Metcalf said, pointing towards a small clearing in the woods. I could feel my heart begin to race again. I followed his gaze.
I didn’t see her at first. I was scanning near the bushes and logs, but then I saw her. Coiled up in the middle of the woods, about 10 feet away from me. Her eyes were open, but she didn’t move and neither could I.
“I think she’s sleeping, she’s not smelling around,” Metcalf said. I had learned the previous trip that snakes smell by tasting the air with their tongues. I learned during the second trip that they slept with their eyes open.
I slowly took out my camera and snapped a few pictures.
The encounter was short. Metcalf got closer to her and she woke up and slowly slithered into the woods.
The hike back wasn’t bad. We walked slowly, with the excitement of the day now behind us… and then there it was.
A large, black snake in the middle of the walkway. Metcalf walked right past it without noticing, but I came within a foot of stepping on it. I screamed and ran the other direction about 20 feet — so much for “conquering my fear.”
Metcalf told me it was a black racer, but I don’t know what else he said about it, because all I could think about was how eerily similar it looked to the snake in my dream.
After about a minute, it whipped around at lightning speed and darted back into the woods. I watched it from the spot I had run to, still too frightened to move.
I came to a realization as I watched it slither into the woods: I wasn’t nearly as afraid of the Eastern Indigo or the Rattlesnake as I was of the Black Racer. I’m not sure why. It might have been the fact that I hadn’t been expecting to see another snake, it might have been its incredible speed, or it might have been the fact that I was 99% certain I had seen it in my dream four times.
I think I did a good job of somewhat conquering my fear of snakes. I think learning more about them from Metcalf helped a lot, as well as physically tracking them. Would I still jump at the sight of one? Yes… But I’d probably hold a pet snake again, if I got the chance.
