With the constant flow of visiting public passing through the gates each day, and especially the huge crowds on weekends, it was part of my job description to mingle and liaise, supplying information and answering questions. I was of course also responsible for the snake demonstration shows, which took place hourly from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. on weekends and public holidays. These shows proved to be so popular that in later years, as the park grew in size, seal feeding and chimpanzee tea-party performances were introduced, the latter most often delivering unchoreographed, hilarious results, much to the delight of the audience.
Question-and-answer sessions were encouraged during public shows, and inevitably most questions were directed towards venomous snakes. Through widespread misinformation, bad publicity, and ignorance, people generally are raised to fear snakes, while at the same time experiencing a macabre fascination with them. Excited to view snakes from behind the safety of a glass window, people will otherwise often demonstrate an illogically exaggerated fear when confronted by one in the wild. By exposing the myths and presenting the facts at public snake-handling shows, parks around the world have always aimed to arouse a more accurate awareness of the plight of the snake—and reptiles in general—thus hopefully somewhat alleviating this misappropriated fear. Though research features high up on the agenda of any wildlife park, educating the public should remain a priority. Only through education can understanding ever develop, thereby creating the initiative to reach a compromise between human domination of the planet and the dwindling wilderness and wildlife that still remain.
CHAPTER 3
THE GABOON VIPER
Even the most idyllic of work situations experience their ups and downs, with people often posing the question, “Aren’t you afraid of being bitten?” It’s a logical question, I suppose. As curator of herpetology, I would hear it a hundred times a day, especially when found to be working inside a venomous snake enclosure. My answer is always the same: “As much as you are afraid of crossing the street in traffic, or driving your car. . . .”
Although the work I was doing may have appeared highly dangerous to others, I considered it no more perilous than crossing a busy road, providing you know the rules. It’s all a matter of knowledge. In the case of the pedestrian or motorist, knowledge of the rules of the road is imperative. In my case, knowledge of the behavior, habits, and potential danger posed by the reptiles I am working with was all important. Of course, this does not totally rule out the possibility of an accident.
When Gabby, our large and beautifully colored Central African male Gaboon viper, developed an abscess close to his right eye, I followed the normal procedure of transferring the snake to our laboratory area, where I could surgically drain the abscess in a sterile surrounding. Within minutes I had administered a local anesthetic to the infected area while my assistant at the park at the time, Paul Hammond, controlled Gabby’s writhing body, which was one and a half meters long.
The Gaboon viper is the largest viper species found in Africa, sometimes measuring up to two meters long and weighing up to ten kilograms (around twenty-two pounds). The snake is also known to have the largest fangs of any snake species in the world, the longest recorded being close to five centimeters in length. Although the species is considered fairly docile by nature, it will not tolerate interference and will retaliate with a lightning strike timed at seven meters per second, with the long fangs and connecting venom glands capable of delivering a huge quantity of a deadly concoction of nerve and tissue destroying venom. All in all, the Gaboon viper is a snake that even the most seasoned herpetologist should be wary of.
With the aid of a pair of thick leather gloves, Paul held down the snake’s thick, powerful body, leaving me free to grip Gabby’s broad, triangular head with my left hand while drawing the scalpel across the bulging abscess with my right. Because of the delicate maneuvering of surgical instruments required by the operation, it was necessary that my hands remain bare, other than for a pair of the usual thin, rubber surgical gloves. I felt no apprehension in doing so, as this was a simple operation, similar to many I had performed in the past. The scalpel pierced the tough skin, and instantly a dark brown pus oozed through.
“Got it,” I exclaimed, imagining the relief Gabby must be feeling as the pressure around the eye was suddenly released, and carefully I began to clean the wound with a sterile cotton bud.
Consciously, I was making sure to do everything correctly. My eyes were focused rigidly on the massive, squirming head, still held firmly down by my left hand, and I was holding the cotton bud directly above the head, a safe angle and distance from those terrible hinging fangs housed in the roof of Gabby’s mouth.
So how did it all go wrong?
In a split second and with a mighty effort, Gabby forced his head up and to the left, unhinging a fang far enough to slip past his bottom lip and hook my forefinger. There immediately came a fierce burning sensation, followed by a wave of shock as my mind struggled with the fact that the impossible had happened: I had been injected with a dose of powerful neurotoxic/cytotoxic venom; the worst, potentially most traumatic venom combination imaginable. But was it a lethal dose? Not wanting to believe it was, I stared at my finger as blood oozed from a tiny cut. Surely very little venom could have entered.
Paul’s eyes were wide with shock, but thankfully he still had Gabby’s writhing body under control, as I had his head. I quickly flushed Gabby’s wound with antiseptic fluid, and together Paul and I transferred the reptile to a holding tank. Now for the first time I had a chance to properly examine my finger. It was obvious the finger was swelling fast, right before my eyes, and as it did, the amount of pain increased accordingly. The fang may just have pricked my finger, but it was already obvious that a serious amount of venom had entered my system.
Dear God the pain!
Silently, I cursed my stupidity. How could I let this happen? A dizzy spell swept over me and I felt the need to sit down. My mind raced over the basic treatment for such a snake bite: adequate intravenous polyvalent antivenom; replacement of fluid loss, especially whole blood in extreme cases; possible need for cardiac and respiratory support measures. But the real question was one I was unable to answer: Could my body cope with the Gaboon viper’s terrible venom? Could I handle the excruciating pain I knew was coming? I knew of only one other recorded Gaboon viper bite, with the victim losing his arm below the elbow. Losing a limb is not uncommon where large adder bites are concerned, as their tissue-destroying cytotoxins (designed to digest the flesh of their prey) steadily devours the bitten limb until finally amputation is the only option to prevent gangrene poisoning . . . followed by death.
Opening the laboratory fridge, I grabbed the park’s supply of antivenoms and other emergency paraphernalia.
“Call Jack on the radio,” I ordered Paul. “Tell him to get down here quickly!”
Jack arrived minutes later, and together we began analyzing the situation. By now my hand felt as though it was on fire, and the swelling had spread to my wrist. My hand looked like a balloon. Seating me in a chair, Jack said calmly, “We both know the drill, but it’s your life at stake. Do you feel you need serum?”
This was the crucial question. Looking at my rapidly swelling arm, I was sure that I did. Even though Gabby had just broken the skin, I knew that this was a lethal shot of venom, no doubt about it. But what if my body reacted negatively to the serum? Anaphylaxis is not uncommon in such cases, especially where the patient had received serum in the past. It is not uncommon to develop sensitivity to the serum. Such a reaction would be immediate . . . and potentially fatal. Yet Jack and I both knew that my best chance of survival lay in receiving antivenom injected intravenously as soon as possible.
“Yes,” I said finally. “At least three ampoules.” The serum was contained in 10 ml ampoules and I roughly estimated that 30 ml might suffice. It depended on how much venom had been introduced into my system: the more venom, the more serum was required. From the prick I had received from t
he fang, I suspected not a great amount of venom had entered my system. But, knowing that just one drop could be fatal, I was taking a calculated guess.
The best defense against an allergic serum reaction is to inject antihistamine into the blood stream ahead of introducing the antivenom. However, a quick search through our supplies revealed that we had no intravenous antihistamine in stock. We did find some oral antihistamine though, which would take longer to absorb into my system. But at this point, it was better than nothing. So I swallowed down half a bottle, about 10 ml. This done, Jack injected a small trial dose of serum under my skin to test for possible signs of a negative reaction. After ten minutes, there was no obvious negative reaction. By this time I was feeling dizzy and the pain in my hand was like a roaring inferno. I was also, for the first time, beginning to feel generally apprehensive. Time was running out. I was facing potential death from either the venom or the serum; it was not a happy situation, but there was little choice. With the venom in my system remaining untreated, I could be dead within a matter of hours. Better to take a chance with the serum rather than the certainty of the venom finishing me off.
“Jack,” I said, “let’s do it.”
Jack sat in a chair opposite me, a syringe loaded with 20 ml of serum ready in his hand.
“You’re sure you don’t want to go to hospital?”
Going to hospital would mean a delay of at least an hour, an hour in which time the Gaboon viper’s venom would have spread along my arm to an extent beyond repair.
“Do it!”
As the needle entered my vein, Jack, Paul, and I held our breath. A minute passed—an agonizing minute that seemed to drag on for an hour, until finally . . . no reaction! I was in the clear. I would have experienced immediate distress if there was to be any negative reaction to the serum. Jack and Paul sighed with relief, as Jack steadily emptied the syringe into my vein and prepared another. Three ampoules in all, 30 ml, a rough estimate of what was needed. I would possibly need more later, depending on my reaction to the treatment, but I was still a long way from home base. Unfortunately for me, the worst had yet to come. Not all the venom’s properties would be neutralized, especially the cytotoxins, which would have to run their course. Once again it seemed I would live to fight another day . . . but at what cost? Painful memories of my puff adder bite while in military service momentarily surfaced in my mind. I pushed them aside. We were better prepared now, with the correct treatment being immediately administered. My chances were better than they had been when I was a teenager.
For the next four days I tossed and turned in bed. When the pain became unbearable, I paced back and forth, holding my arm aloft to somewhat relieve the pressure, as the pain and swelling in my arm raged like a fire all the way up to my shoulder. Back on my bed I thrashed about, almost crying in pain as a terrible dark-blue blood blister steadily grew out of my finger where the fang had punctured the skin. Destroyed blood cells were forcing their way to the surface, tearing the skin from my flesh. Double doses of powerful painkillers supplied by our local doctor seemed to have little or no effect against my agony. After the second day, I collapsed into delirium.
Twenty-four hours later I surfaced to focus on a smiling face looking down at me. It was Tanja, one of the park staff girls. She had been keeping an eye on me since day one.
“You look a mess,” she remarked casually, concerned humor in her eyes. “Don’t you ever wash or shave?”
She then looked at my hand. “Not a pretty sight.”
I looked at it too. Indeed it was not a pretty sight. But something had changed. The pain had decreased considerably. The cytotoxins had run their course. The crisis was over. All that remained was to control the necrosis of the bitten area with suitable antibiotics and sterile dressings until the last remaining neucrotic tissue finally sloughed off.
Tanja helped me into the bathroom, where I stared shakily into the mirror. A pale, dark-eyed, hairy face stared back at me. I looked like someone who had been to hell and back . . . and it felt like I had.
I thought to myself, is that not afterall what snakebite is—every herpetologists potential hell?
And the time old question materialized in my mind:
Aren’t you afraid of being bitten?
Yes indeed, all herpetologists are afraid of being bitten by a highly venomous snake, and most are bitten eventually. But one tries not to think about it and just gets on with the job as cautiously and skillfully as possible. Working with venomous snakes every day, though, does tend to up the ante somewhat, just as those people who swim in the sea are more likely to be bitten by a shark. I had just survived a near-fatal, excruciatingly painful experience from a snake bite, and for a while thereafter I must admit I was more nervous about handling a potentially dangerous specimen than usual. However, this feeling soon faded as day-by-day running of the snake park once more became the norm, and I promised myself that the experience would never again be repeated.
Little did I suspect at the time that this was a promise not to be kept.
CHAPTER 4
A WORLD-RECORD SNAKE SIT-IN
There had been numerous snake “sit-in” records claimed from various parts of the globe over the years since Jack Seale first established his record of twenty-four days all those years ago, when he and I first met. Some records claimed sixty days, others more, but it soon became evident that most were not verified. Some were found to have used only nonvenomous snakes, while other challengers had not remained in their cages overnight, making their claims to the record invalid.
My main motivation for attempting a world record venomous snake sit-in was to raise funds for the purchase of a mate for Kaiser, the Hartebeespoort Dam Snake and Animal Park’s lonely gorilla. Kaiser was an adult-male lowland gorilla living in an enormous enclosure specially designed for his needs. Try as he might, however, Jack was unable to locate an eligible female for sale. The idea was not only to improve living conditions for Kaiser but to also attempt to breed these highly endangered animals. After much discussion and planning, Jack and I decided that a one-hundred-day sit-in might not only establish a once-and-for all, decisive claim to the ultimate world record for venomous snake sit-ins, but also arouse public awareness to the plight of Kaiser and African gorillas as a whole. Any funds raised during the sit-in would go towards the purchase of a mate for Kaiser, should one become available from an overseas breeding zoo. All this, of course, was assuming that I’d be able to survive the designated time in a cage of deadly serpents.
A special glass-and-brick enclosure was constructed on the lower level of the park grounds, opposite the primate and puma cages and close to the water’s edge. The completed structure measured roughly three meters by four meters square and two meters high, and was stocked with thirty-six highly venomous African snakes. These consisted of six puff adders, six boomslangs, six black mambas, and eighteen snouted cobras. And as the starting date drew closer, the more unsure I became of my ability to go through with it. It would be bad enough being isolated in a glass cage for a hundred days and have to deal with hordes of public passerby’s staring at me day and night . . . and then still to have to contend with venomous snakes all over the place. However, when the day finally arrived and the crowds of well-wishers and news reporters began to assemble, there was no turning back. So, I cautiously entered the cage of serpents. Unknown to me at the time, as matters were to develop, this would in fact become my home for an extended one hundred and seven days and nights—to say the least, a trying time of unusual conditions and proportions.
With the snakes constantly on the move in familiarizing themselves with their strange new surroundings, exploring every nook and cranny, the first weeks proved to be the most trying. I suffered periods of depression alternating with periods of frustration, alternating with periods of anxiety. This was possibly true for the snakes as well, as we all were forced to live together in the confined space of a cage. Territories had to be established, routines managed, all the while attempti
ng not to get in each other’s way.
Known for their lightning fast strike, large fangs, and terrible cytotoxic venom, the six puff adders—being heavy bodied and more sluggish—kept mostly to the floor, forcing me to watch my step at all times. The boomslangs, highly venomous but nonaggressive as they were known to be, spent most of the time perched on a small, dead branch planted in the cage for just this purpose. The six black mambas were the largest snakes in the cage, each almost three meters in length. The longest venomous snake found in Africa and known for their short tempers, nervous disposition, and powerful neurotoxic venom, they were the ones of which I was most wary. However, as matters turned out, these fearsome reptiles seldom bothered me, preferring to sleep under the bed most of the day to emerge only later at night, when they would crawl out over my sleeping body to explore their surroundings.
Of all the species of snakes housed in the cage with me, not surprisingly it was the eighteen cobras that were to provide the most problems, as they quickly discovered the warm confines of the bed and claimed it as their own, though they didn’t mind sharing it with me as long as I behaved myself. In the early days of the sit-in this led to a constant battle for the bed, with me most often the loser, forced to sleep in the chair, especially on colder nights when the bed was most in demand. It was usually necessary for me to remove all the snakes from the bed with the aid of a hooked snake stick, then quickly settle myself on the bed in a comfortable position in preparation for their return.
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