Feeding on desert lizards and geckoes, this slender and beautifully marked Namib sand snake is totally adapted to the harsh desert conditions.
The most common of the cobra species found in Southern Africa, this snouted cobra displays its typical defensive pose, ready to strike.
One of the only two back-fanged snakes considered deadly, the male African boomslang (tree snake) is often green while the females may be black or brown.
Incorporating the use of a 6-meter (20-foot) collapsible crane to enhance scenic cinematography while on location in Sudan.
My campervan amongst the great sand dunes of the Namib, home to a variety of desert adapted reptiles.
A dusky sunset over the Kinabatangan River while on film location in Saba, Borneo.
Catching and filming venomous banded sea kraits in the shallow coral reefs around the edge of Snake Island in Borneo.
Dodging the whipping tail and powerful bite of a water monitor lizard while filming on Survivor Island, Borneo.
Filming and photographing one of the worlds largest and most aggressive reptile species, the reticulated python, proved to be a difficult and daunting task.
An aerial view of the beautiful Komodo Islands, home of the largest living lizard species on the planet: the Komodo dragon.
Tall palm trees greet the dawn through a misty sunrise in the Komodo Islands.
A moment of overwhelming exuberance prompted me to take this dive into the sea after a fast swimming sub-adult Komodo dragon.
Swimming at full stretch I managed a touch the tip of the reptile’s tail, prompting a side-ways glare, followed by a burst of speed that left me floundering in its wake.
Known to consider humans as potential prey, this sub-adult Komodo dragon seemed keen to prove the fact as it enthusiastically pursues me up a tree.
Facing the ultimate snake, the awesome king cobra. Largest of all the worlds’ venomous snakes, the king cobra can reach 6 meters (20 feet) in length.
With twelve SLR cameras, two mini DV cams, and a 16 mm high-speed film camera, all focused on a central point, the set is prepared to secure a time-slice effect as the king cobra strikes.
Using the length of the digital HD camera body and lens as a buffer, the cameraman edges in for a super-wide close-up sequence.
CHAPTER 8
THE HELMSTADT SNAKE REMOVAL
At the time it had seemed logical. I had spent my youth as an amateur herpetologist studying reptiles and amphibians and later turned professional when accepting the position of curator of herpetology at the Hartebeespoort Dam Snake and Animal Park in South Africa. During my years spent at the park, I had published numerous articles concerning reptiles and other animals, supported by my own photography, established a World Record for spending 107 days and nights in a glass cage with an assortment of Africa’s deadliest snake species, and later published a book about my experiences. Was there any doubt then that a movie had to follow?
Well, be this indeed as it may, had I the slightest inkling at the time of exactly what such an endeavor might entail, I dare say I might never have attempted it. Though I had become well practiced in the art of still photography around the snake park, from where I collected images for my published works, I would now be drawn into the far more complicated world of the movie camera—a very different proposition all together. As it happened, this proved to be the least of my problems to emerge; the first being simply to find a second-hand professional 16 mm movie camera and accessories within a very limited budget . . . my life’s savings.
This matter resolved itself when a long-time friend, Jurgen Hergert, owner of a small reptile park in Germany, asked for my assistance in renovating and redesigning his park to accommodate an increase in reptile displays. I had helped design and bring the park into operation some years earlier, and Jurgen and I had remained in constant contact thereafter. Though I had many fond memories of the Nordharzer Schlangenfarm (Nordharzer Snake Farm) and the people I came to know in Germany, the cold climate and lack of wildlife and wilderness areas did not fit in with my long-term plans. Nonetheless, Jurgen’s offer now provided me with an opportunity to spend time in a country that was well known for its documentary wildlife programming, as well as for dealings in new and second-hand cameras and other paraphernalia used in making documentary films.
Taking leave of my life and position at the Hartebeespoort Dam Snake and Animal Park was not a decision taken lightly. However, there was restlessness inside of me—a feeling that there were other avenues still to explore—and once the idea to make my own documentary film became established in my head, there was no turning back. It is ironic that to do this I would first have to travel to a country far removed from the wildlife and wilderness that is Africa, the very wildlife and wilderness I now wished to capture on movie film. But such is the way of the world. With the cost of new 16 mm film cameras far out of my price range and my being unable at the time to find reasonable second-hand equipment in South Africa, the offer of work at the snake park in Germany, which included a place to stay, would at least pay me a salary while I searched for what I needed. Within a few weeks I was packed up and on a Lufthansa flight to Germany.
I had first met Jurgen many years earlier while employed as assistant curator of the Transvaal Snake Park, and later, on a return visit to South Africa, he had looked me up and come to visit at the Hartebeespoort Dam Snake and Animal Park, which had become my permanent home. Fascinated by all the animals and reptiles on show, the public demonstrations and the crowds of visitors, Jurgen asked if it would be possible for him to spend some time at the park, working closely with us, to learn the basics of reptile husbandry and the general running of a park of this nature. I conveyed the request to Jack, who agreed on one condition, that I take full responsibility for Jurgen while at the same time did not neglect my usual duties.
Jurgen had explained to me at that time that he had begun construction on a snake park of his own, in the northern Harz mountain area of Western Germany, where he hoped to duplicate our style of display and demonstration. Probing a bit further, I soon came to realize that Jurgen in fact had little knowledge of herpetology other than what he had gleaned from brief visits to other parks. The bug had bitten, however, and knowledge or not, he was determined to succeed in his dream venture: the establishment of the first open-air snake park in all of Europe. I remember my mind reeling at the multitude of complications such a venture might entail, the cold climate being just the tip of the iceberg. But the fact that he had already begun construction of the building was proof enough of Jurgen’s determination, and for this I admired the man. I felt that the best I could do for him was to take him, step by step, through the basics of running a snake park.
Over the weeks that followed, Jurgen became my shadow, following me everywhere I went, studiously jotting down notes in German. He attended and watched with enthusiasm each and every public show I performed, furiously scribbling in his notebook and afterwards bombarding me with questions. Working closely with me in the venom laboratory, he learned how to feed the variety of species being housed and, later, how to perform the venom-extraction process. No teacher could have wished for a more attentive student. With Jurgen drilling me for information every step of the way, after many weeks of this rigorous educational training I was exhausted, as I believe Jurgen was, too. Much had been achieved in a short time, however, rendering Jurgen a very happy man, as he waved goodbye from the Lufthansa international terminal in Johannesburg. Little did I imagine at the time that I would, in years to come, find myself working side by side with Jurgen at his very own “Schlangenfarm.”
The Nordharzer Schlangenfarm, as Jurgen’s park came to be known, is situated some two kilometers outside of the little tourist town of Schladen, in the northern Harz mountains. A popular tourist destination, Schladen is one of a cluster of small, Gothic-styled villages to which tourists flock every winter to ski the gentle mountain slopes and skate the many naturally frozen lakes in the surrounding area. In the heart
of winter temperatures here sometimes reach below −20°C (−4°F). The region is lush green with forests of pine and fir, while the red and orange, steeply sloped and pointed roofs of the towns sparkle gaily at the foot of the mountain slopes.
Life at the Nordharzer Schlangenfarm was in many ways similar—and yet very different—from that at Hartebeespoort. The everyday running of the snake park was similar, as the daily needs of reptiles housed anywhere in the world are similar. But the park was much smaller and the surroundings and climate very different. Germany is not a country known for its great outdoors or wilderness. It is cold and small and cramped, with massive overpopulation, as most European countries are. However, I had a goal in mind and settled into the routine, while at the same time every day scouring newspaper and magazine ads for the 16 mm movie camera equipment I desired.
The first few weeks at the Schlangenfarm were chaotic as I busied myself with general reorganizing of everything that I found unsatisfactory to my way of thinking and experience. Familiar as I was with the park, having worked with Jurgen in the early years of its conception, there were now numerous additions to the building, with still more planned for the immediate future. The park now housed more exotic species, which brought about the need for more glassed enclosures so that the specimens could be displayed for the public. At this time, much of the collection was being housed in the laboratory, out of view of the general public. The huge number of smaller cages housed in this area were collectively temperature controlled as one, the entire hall being heated by hot oil radiators mounted on the walls. The larger outdoor public exhibition cages were also heated by oil radiators, but these were positioned under the floor so that the reptiles inhabiting the cages could self-regulate their body temperature simply by alternating their proximity to the subterranean heat source. This was an essential part of the park’s design, as the winter months in the Harz region were known to be bitterly cold.
The very first cage to be viewed by the public as they entered the park was the Asian cobra display. The cage was beautifully decorated with a formation of rocks, drift wood, and a natural-looking pond; but of the snakes advertised, there was no sign. Taking note of this and the telltale mounds of sand deposited in little heaps around the radiator area, I was quick to realize what was going on. By scraping sand aside with their necks, the snakes had burrowed their way in under the radiator. From experience I knew these snakes, having settled themselves in comfortably out of sight, would never again be seen by the public, coming out only at night when nobody was about. A totally unacceptable situation, which I set about to rectify.
Swinging open the large front window of the cage, I cautiously peered inside. All clear, definitely not a snake in sight. Carefully scraping away all the loose sand around the floor radiator, I probed underneath with a hooked snake-stick. This proved to be an awkward task, forcing me to crawl further into the cage in order to be able to force the snake stick under the radiator, which just cleared the concrete base by a few centimeters. In no time a crowd of curious spectators had gathered outside the open cage to watch intently as the crazy man probed around with his bare hands in a cage marked Asian cobra. Looking briefly over my shoulder, I called out, “Stay back, please! Keep well back from the door! There are venomous snakes in here.” Quickly I returned my attention to the potentially dangerous task at hand. I could not afford to be distracted.
Suddenly there came a hiss from under the radiator. I had located the missing cobras. Jurgen had told me there were two in the cage. I probed again. Another hiss, louder than before. The watching crowd, totally ignoring my instructions (or, in retrospect, having not understood properly my English) pushed closer, craning their necks for a better view. Suddenly a head popped out from beneath the radiator and I pulled back slowly as the rest of the body eased its way out. Cautiously I moved back towards the open window, calling a warning to the crowd over my shoulder: “Stand back, please! Stand back.” And everyone pushed closer to get a better look. I repeated the instruction more sternly: “Stand back, please!” There was a shuffle of movement. I backed up further, keeping my eyes firmly fixed on the cobra. Suddenly my rear end came up against something solid. I looked around anxiously, only to find that I was neatly trapped in the cage, the window having been forced shut by the crowd, now smiling at me safely from outside the glass door. The onlookers had closed me inside, and as this nasty fact dawned on me, there came another more forceful hiss from beneath the radiator, followed by yet another, and out popped two more cobras, irritably come to investigate the disturbance in their cage. Jurgen had said there were only two cobras in the cage!
Quickly I tried to turn my body, but the movement attracted the closest snake, which immediately reared up, spreading an impressive, threatening hood. This in turn startled the others and within seconds I was face to face with three angry cobras in a closed cage two meters by two meters in size. I had a definite sense of déjà vu! Glaring defiantly at me, the menacing cobras swayed slightly from side to side, poised to strike at the slightest provocation. Desperately I pushed against the closed window, and as if by prearranged signal all three cobras struck out determinedly. With a Herculean shove, I threw my weight against the glass door, forcing the crowd back, as I dove headlong into their midst.
Suddenly all the smiles disappeared, as the crowd registered the seriousness of the situation, and three angry cobras, no longer hindered by the confines of their cage, came slithering out close at my heals. And with their escape, the air came alive with a chorus of “Mein Gott!” as one and all galloped off towards the park exit, where there were a few desperate moments as twenty people attempted simultaneously to pass through the turnstile. This left me lying alone on the ground where I had landed, the wind knocked out of my lungs, faced with the problem of three escaping cobras. Ignoring the lack of oxygen in my lungs, I forced myself up, grabbing for another snake stick that I had fortunately left outside the cage. Within a short while I had everything back under control, with the snakes safely bagged. I was now freely able to work in the cage without further danger of being killed. Curiosity getting the better of them, slowly, one by one, the nervous crowd gathered outside the park, popped their heads back in around the entrance way. Cowards, I thought to myself, still fuming from their behavior. Ignoring them, I proceeded to get on with the task at hand.
The German people display some great interest in wildlife. They can be found in group tours around the world in even the most remote of regions. Wild animals, especially of the African variety, seem to hold a special fascination to them, and many top-quality film documentaries on the subject of wildlife in Africa are produced by German camera teams every year. Some of the world’s most prestigious wildlife magazines too, are based in Germany, Das Tier (which unfortunately ceased publication in 2010) and Geo being two good examples. On the whole, it can be said that the German nation strongly supports wildlife and the conservation thereof. However, the law in Germany concerning the keeping of venomous reptiles is quite plain. It states simply that no venomous reptiles of any description are to be kept by any private member of the public.
Catching up with some paperwork in the laboratory one day while Jurgen was away on business in Hanover, the phone from the front office rang, redirecting to me in the laboratory because of Jurgen’s absence. My German being as basic as it was, I preferred not to answer calls myself, as from experience I knew the simplest discussion could quickly become confusing. The phone rang again. Reluctantly I picked up the receiver.
“Guten Tag,” I said. The response was immediate. “Herr Stevens? Polizei, Schladen . . .” followed by a tirade of rapid-fire German delivered in a guttural tone of which I was only able to catch a word or two before the voice declared “Alles gut!” and the phone went click in my ear. “Alles gut” indicated that everything had been discussed, worked out, and a time set. Of this I had caught only my name, the time—2 p.m. that same day—and the fact that the Schladen police wished to discuss a matter with me. They would be
collecting me at the park; no further information was offered and no questions asked. I broke out in a cold sweat. Had I unknowingly broken some sinister Schladen law, or passed through a speed trap? The insecurity of being in a foreign country where I was barely able to converse loomed menacingly in my mind.
My thoughts flashed back over the past few weeks since arriving in the Harz. Sure, I had had a few rowdy “beer nights” in one or two pubs with Jurgen, but everybody did that, with the Germans making more noise than most. It had to be something else. My mind reeled with illogical scenarios. Maybe Jurgen was involved in something illegal and had now fled the country, leaving me to face the music. He never did disclose to me from whom he had purchased all his exotic reptiles. I dismissed the thought. Jurgen loved his park. He would never do anything to jeopardize it. My mind roamed for further possibilities. There was of course the incident a while back when I accidentally dropped a cobra at the feet of some diplomats while doing a snake demonstration . . . but that had been all smoothed over and apologized for. No, it had to be something else, but for the life of me I could not imagine what. I just had to sweat it out.
In no time at all 2 p.m. arrived, and with it, promptly, as is the German norm, a Schladen police green and white VW Golf arrived. A few minutes of discussion brought relief as it was explained to me that I was to accompany the police to assist them on an unusual mission to investigate a house in the little town of Helmstadt, some forty kilometers away, where it was reported that a man had been bitten by a red diamondback rattlesnake. He had injected himself with his own serum supply but was later rushed to hospital, critically ill. Naturally, the police were informed and a full investigation into the matter was called for.
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