In the southern regions of Africa some 160 species and subspecies of snakes are recorded, of which, again, roughly 10 percent are considered potentially dangerous to humans. Only in Australia does the percentage of venomous snakes reach as high as 70 percent, though the bites of many of these are not usually fatal to humans. In Africa, the puff adder is the main culprit where snakebites are concerned, as it is a well-camouflaged, slow-moving species with a lightning-fast strike and long-hinging fangs. Most cases of recorded bites by this snake come from rural areas, where they are plentiful and often stepped on by unprotected feet. In spite of this, however, it is the almost mythical black mamba that is by far the most feared snake on the African continent, and with good reason. These slender, graceful creatures may grow to a length of four meters (over thirteen feet) or more, of which almost half this body length can be raised off the ground when angered, from which position it is capable of striking out at great speed. Unlike most other species, one would not easily step on a black mamba, as a face-to-face encounter would be far more likely.
Many of the relatively few black mamba bites recorded have been situated high up on the victims’ bodies, usually around the neck and chest areas. The long, needle-like fangs are situated far forward in the upper jaw to ensure an accurate bite. The venom injected through these fangs is a potent neurotoxin (nerve-affecting venom) and, in the case of a full bite, an adult human might feel the effects within just five minutes without treatment, death could occur within the hour. This presents a fearful picture indeed, but these are scientific facts only; there is another side to the story. Because they are agile and fast moving, there is little chance of a close encounter with a black mamba, unless you have it cornered—in which case it will readily defend itself with all of its formidable capabilities mentioned above. Known to be of a nervous disposition, the black mamba is often accused of attacking on sight. The mamba will not do this simply because, as is the case with most snakes around the world, humans are not considered prey and therefore are avoided at all costs.
The black mambas that shared the cage with me during the 107-day “sit-in” averaged around three meters long each. For most of the daylight hours they remained under the bed, presumably finding security in this less-illuminated area and showing little interest in my presence. At night, however, they became more active, often slithering across my chest and neck as they went about their exploration of the cage. Only once was I threatened with aggression from one of these snakes, and that was when I accidently stepped on one. This brought a quick reaction, with head raised high and mouth open, ready to strike . . . but the snake did not strike. Instead it watched me carefully, swaying slightly from side to side, as though calculating if my action constituted a potentially retaliatory threat or not. The silver-white fangs gleamed against the background of an otherwise velvet black mouth, and I knew at that moment that my careless mistake had rendered my life in the balance.
Frozen on the spot, I was literally staring death in the face. But after a few minutes of this, the snake seemed satisfied that my stepping on it was not an intentional threat and it lowered its head and headed back to its secure area under the bed. Slowly straightening myself up from the cramped, half-crouched position I was frozen in, I breathed a deep sigh of relief. If this was not proof enough that the notorious black mamba did not attack without reason, then I have no other explanation for what had just occurred.
A different scenario completely, involving a black mamba, took place on a farm near the town of Mafiking (now known as Mahikeng) in South Africa. The snake had been cornered in the farmhouse kitchen and was angry as hell, causing great consternation amongst the staff and owners alike. I, along with fellow herpetologist, Peter Langley, happened to be on a field trip in the area at the time. The local African population is always on the lookout for making an easy buck, and would on occasion be enticed to inform us of the whereabouts of any recently spotted reptiles. If the tip paid off and we succeeded in locating and capturing the specimen, the informer would be rewarded according to the size and species. Black mambas, being extremely elusive in the African bush, were always on the top of our list, and hearing about one already trapped between four walls brought us running.
Together Peter and I entered the kitchen, much to the dismay of the terrified owners. The snake, a large female, was indeed agitated and struck out repeatedly as we brought our longest pair of snake tongs into play. We soon had her safely bagged, but the snake continued to protest violently, biting again and again into the fabric of her confinement and leaving wet patches of venom on the cloth. I secured the top of the bag with an elastic band and dropped it into the back seat of our car, where the furious snake continued to thrash about wildly. Back at the park, the snake would be measured and marked, have some venom extracted, and then returned to a safer area away from human dwellings. Thanking the relieved farmer, we headed for our bush camp some twenty kilometers outside the town.
The day was hot and dusty, and our nerves stretched from the excitement of capturing such a large and potentially dangerous reptile. In the back seat, the furious snake continued to wiggle around in the bag.
“I feel we deserve a little celebration,” Peter said, wiping sweat from his brow. “How about a beer?”
“Damn right!” I answered immediately. I was sweating too. The mamba, cornered as she was, had been really angry. One wrong move and one or both of us could have been bitten. I recalled a recorded case where just such a specimen, cornered in an African village by the resident dogs, had defended itself against seemingly impossible odds. The snake eventually bit and killed eight of its canine attackers before escaping to freedom. An angry black mamba is not something to fool with.
Peter reached back between the seats, fumbling for the cooler bag. “I could do with a dozen,” he laughed. Then, turning fully to face the rear, he suddenly froze, the laughter dying in his throat.
“What’s the matter?” I asked, keeping my eyes fixed on the pot-holed gravel road ahead. “Bite your tongue?” There was no response from my companion, no movement even. Casually I glanced up into the rear view mirror and felt the blood drain from my face. I jerked my head around to verify what the mirror reflected. It was real all right, and it was raging mad! Small livid eyes darted from Peter to me, and I suspected strongly that this mamba was hell bent on delivering revenge upon those who had so unceremoniously stuffed her into the bag. Possibly the elastic band had snapped free, or maybe in my haste I had simply neglected to secure it well enough, but whatever the case, there was now a three-meter-long, enraged black mamba loose in the cab of our tiny, cramped motor vehicle.
Raising its rod-like body till its head pressed against the vinyl ceiling, the snake glared at us with venomous intent, its open mouth ready to strike, clearly displaying its deadly silver-white fangs. Peter’s eyes were stretched wide open. “Holy cow!” he muttered involuntarily. My mouth opened to scream as I realized the snake was about to strike, but there was no time. Like a bullet the grey head lunged towards us and as one man, screaming our terror at the top of our lungs, we threw open our respective doors and unceremoniously hurled ourselves from the car which was still cruising along at around forty kilometers per hour.
Connecting the hard gravel road with a terrible grating thud, I tumbled out of control, over and over, until being brought to a sudden bone-jarring halt by a barbed wire fence post at the side of the road. Scraped, bleeding, and bruised, I forced myself to my feet just in time to see Peter doing the same across the way, while on down the road trundled our car, both front doors wide open and nobody behind the wheel save a very angry, and by now frustrated, black mamba. Stumbling back onto the road, I ran as fast as my battered body would allow, chasing after the powerless car, which was now heading off the road directly towards a little wooden farm stall offering fresh fruit and vegetables for sale. Peter was close on my heels.
Two large-bodied African women minding the store noted with some surprise the driverless vehicle with ope
n doors heading their way. Raising themselves from their seats, they watched intently as the vehicle shuddered and stalled just meters from their store. Curious, they strolled over to peer nonchalantly through the open door nearest to them. Still running and stumbling in my haste to avert further disaster, and still a good hundred meters down the road, I opened my mouth to call a warning, but once again, too late. Spreading their arms to the sky, the two women screamed, turned, and as one charged headlong for the supposed safety of the little wooden stall, the mamba in hot pursuit, seemingly determined to take revenge this day on whoever or whatever presented itself as a target.
By this time both John and I had reached the abandoned car, panting and wheezing, unable to take another step. From inside the store came the sounds of terrible carnage as bags of potatoes, oranges, tomatoes, and everything else on display came crashing off the racks as the two screaming women attempted frantically to create a back door where none had been before. Reaching into the car, I grabbed hold of the snake tongs and headed for the stall. Fruit and vegetables, boxes and bags were strewn everywhere as the two hysterical women continued their futile attempt to escape. Having obviously recognized the mamba for what it was, the most feared reptile in all of Africa, they were not about to surrender themselves quietly to their fate or even venture a glance behind them, for that matter. The entire wooden structure of the shop shook with the chaos.
The mamba, in fact, deciding it had had enough of people and having spotted its avenue of escape, streaked past me as I approached, not so much as affording me a sideways glance before disappearing into the surrounding bush, never to be seen again. The two women, unaware of this change in the state of affairs and still in a state of blind, superstitious panic, continued their frantic efforts to put distance between themselves and the nonexistent mamba. And it took some effort between Peter and me to eventually calm them down and reassure them that the danger was passed. What astonished me most was that nobody had been bitten throughout the whole episode. Surely, if ever there was a time when somebody should have been bitten by a black mamba, this should have been the time. There was absolutely no explanation for it . . . other than blind, unadulterated luck.
“Not a good day,” Peter commented as we limped back to the car.
“Not a good day indeed,” I muttered in return.
Battered and bruised, with nothing to show for it, we climbed back into the vehicle. Starting the engine, I pulled back onto the road and headed towards camp.
There are numerous species of cobras found in the Southern African region, but by far the most common and widespread is the Egyptian cobra (later re-named the snouted cobra). These snakes are of course highly venomous and can attain a length of over two meters. Like most snakes, they will avoid contact with anything too large to eat, and thus are of little threat to humans. But if cornered or angered, these cobras will rise up the first third of their bodies and spread their ribs to display an impressively long and slender hood as a warning not too approach too closely. From this hooded position, the snouted cobra will usually exhale a powerful blast of air, further presenting itself as a potential danger not to be fooled with.
On a particularly warm and humid midsummer day, Jack had just put down the extension phone as I stepped into the breeding laboratory. “There’s a cobra trapped in somebody’s bathroom in a house not far from here,” he told me. “Seems it’s a big one too, so take a pair of tongs with you.”
“I’m on my way” I called back, collecting the address from the front office as I stepped out.
This was by no means an unusual occurrence. The park received hundreds of such calls throughout the year, especially during the hot summer months. The Hartebeespoort area particularly, being a farming district surrounded at the time by endless acres of scrub bush, boasted a wide variety of venomous and nonvenomous snakes, some of which occasionally found themselves unintentionally entering human abodes. People tend to create areas that attract such creatures as rodents and frogs, be it a rubbish pile or a fish pond. As snakes are, after all, designed to prey on these animals, they will pick up the scent and come slithering along innocently to help themselves to a nice treat. Unfortunately, people are not usually sympathetic to this practice, and any snake—whether venomous or harmless—spotted near a home is likely to be destroyed. Sometimes the snake will manage to escape, causing even greater consternation, as its unknown location looms as an ominous, perpetual threat over the household. Although most people do not like to see a reptile on their property, once they have seen it, they are even more perturbed when it disappears. It is usually about this time that an urgent call is made to the snake park in the hope that the “experts” will know what to do. Of course, the snake park will react as quickly as possible if it means saving the life of the reptile; and, if it is feasible, these captured snakes are released back into the wild, safely away from human habitation.
As I drove the few kilometers up the road to the address I’d been given, I hoped I was in time. I pulled up outside the house and knocked loudly on the front door. Instantly the door was flung open and there stood a woman, young and lovely, and dressed only in a skimpy towel.
“Are you the man from the snake park?” she gasped, fidgeting agitatedly with her hands and hopping from one foot to the other as though she was standing on a hot tin roof. Without waiting for my answer, she continued: “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here! It’s so big! I saw it! It slid right past me and my taps are still running.” All this, and all I could do was stand and stare like the village idiot. She jumped up and down. “Please,” she cried, “do something, or the house will be flooded!”
Caught off-guard by this unusual call to capture a snake, I was struck dumb. The woman was exquisite, and as she continued nervously to bounce up and down in front of me, I battled to concentrate on the matter at hand. Finally focusing my eyes away from her, I stuttered uncertainly; “Uh—um—show me where it is,” and off she bounced down the hallway. The bathroom door was closed, and from within came the sound of gushing taps. There was indeed a good chance that the house might become flooded, as I noticed my boots splashing in the water that streamed out from under the door. Apparently the woman had been about the step into the bath when suddenly the cobra had appeared, scaring her out of her wits and sending her racing out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.
“I’m not afraid of snakes in the bush,” she explained apologetically, “but I don’t want to bathe with one.”
I couldn’t help smiling. She was quite lovely, and in her present attire I guess any man would have tackled the cobra for her with his bare hands. Cautiously I pushed open the door and entered the bathroom, which was now about a centimeter deep in flowing water. No sign of the cobra. I checked around the room, turning off the taps as I did so. The woman, secure now in my presence and keen to follow my progress, pressed against me from behind, peering over my shoulder, her closeness distracting me terribly. Together we moved over to the open washing basket, filled with dirty clothing. This was an obvious place to search for the elusive serpent. The woman remained tight against me, as though she felt safe with my body to protect her.
Slowly and delicately, I lifted the top item of clothing from the basket, all the while keeping my eyes peeled for any sign of movement. The woman squeezed even more tightly against me, causing a fluttering of butterflies in my stomach. Curiosity getting the better of her, she leaned over me, peering intently into the basket as I removed further items from it.
At first I did not register the source of the sound. Possibly I imagined it was the geyser topping up its water supply or the cistern ball-valve shutting off. But the sound grew in volume, and as the towel I was lifting from the basket cleared the opening, there came an explosive hiss, like steam escaping. And like an erupting volcano, clothes flew in all directions as a tower of pure fury came shooting up out of the basket. It was the largest snouted cobra I had ever seen in all my years as a herpetologist.
I jumped back in sheer
fright while from behind me came a terrified scream. Turning quickly, I was just in time to glimpse a white, towel-less bottom disappearing out of the door heading at top speed for a safer place.
In spite of its powerful display of aggression, I had little problem in securing the cobra. Once I had it safely tucked, and finding no trace of the woman anywhere in the house, I went outside . . . and there I found her, standing stark naked on the lawn with her arms clasped as securely as possible over strategic places in a futile attempt to cover herself.
Unable to suppress my smile, I apologized profusely for her fright before resolutely turning my back and heading for the truck parked outside the gate. I smiled all the way as I negotiated the winding road back to the snake park, quite unable to get the woman’s image out of my mind. And I thought to myself, what a body!
The most frightening and somewhat catastrophic encounter I have ever experienced with a snouted cobra was in no way of my own doing. The blame here I rest squarely on the shoulders of my long-ago friend, Gerald Nelson. Gerald was not your average amateur herpetologist; he was a man possessed with a passion for reptiles unequalled by any other. It might be safe to say that Gerald had a love affair with reptiles, and his private collection included exotic species from around the globe, both venomous and nonvenomous.
Snakemaster Page 6
