My crew and I had become aware of capuchins in the area, as the monkeys made their curiosity concerning our movements evident by their brief appearances above us while foraging for fruit in the tree tops. We were filming general fill-in sequences while following my search pattern through the dense undergrowth close to a clear stream. The astonishing thing was that, when the snake had first been spotted by the capuchins and their initial, excited alarm calls reverberated throughout the immediate surrounding jungle, some members of the troop actually came across to where we were filming, as if to alert us as well. In fact, one capuchin was so adamant that we take notice that it maneuvered itself to within just a few meters above us, where it appeared to all the world as though it was excitedly beckoning for us to follow. I will never know with certainty if this was indeed the case or not, but it certainly was enough to get our attention.
“There’s definitely something going on up ahead,” I commented to the crew as we all stared up to where the capuchin bounced frantically up and down on a flimsy branch above our heads. “For the monkeys to be this excited, there has to be a reason. Let’s take a look.” I indicated to the lead cameramen that he better be ready for anything. Not needing to be reminded, the lead cameraman was already preparing himself, hoisting the camera high up on his shoulder while the second camera operator and sound technician positioned themselves from a different angle. This had the potential of being one of those rare occasions where everybody was ready to catch the action right from the start. Following the chattering capuchins, we cautiously maneuvered our way through the undergrowth, our eyes and ears alert for the slightest glimpse or sound that might give some indication of what was going on.
In spite of this, the first strike—when it came—was completely unexpected. Another step, and I would have been on top of the snake, which obviously had long been aware of my approach, preparing itself for the worst. Its camouflaged pattern so perfectly blended the creature into the surrounding foliage that my eyes had missed it completely, until I almost stepped on it. Glimpsing just the beginning of the movement—almost too late—instinct and fast reflexes were all that saved me, as I hurled myself sideways off my path of direction to plunge unceremoniously flat on my side in a tangle of bushes. For a stunned moment, I was unable to fully comprehend what I had just witnessed. As if in slow motion, my brain had registered the wide-open mouth reaching towards me at an impossible height—above my waist line—enormous hinged fangs pushed forward to their maximum. A seemingly impossible feat! Instantly the massive head retracted, disappearing once again into the foliage. Above me the capuchins were going ballistic, having apparently viewed the entire scene from an aerial point of view.
Scrambling frantically on hands and knees, I worked my way back a few meters, suspecting the strike action was about to be repeated. “Stay where you are, guys,” I called out to the crew, who were spread out around me at a safe distance. “It’s a huge lancehead viper . . . and it’s mad as hell!” Our established routine when filming dangerous reptiles was for me to lead into the first action sequence, thereafter directing the cameramen as to when and how safe it was to move in closer for the more dramatic sequences. However, my creating distance seemed to satisfy the snake that the danger had retreated, and the giant head remained hidden. By the size of that head—and its reach—I estimated the snake to be well over two meters in length, and, having just witnessed its defensive disposition, I knew I would have to proceed with extreme caution in approaching this specimen. My excitement aroused, I knew this was a snake I had to see and photograph in its entirety.
Knowing now where the viper was positioned, I decided to approach with my meter-long snake tongs extended out ahead of me, so as to hopefully divert any further strikes. “Get ready, guys,” I called to the team. “Whatever happens from now on . . . keep the cameras rolling.”
The hope that my snake tongs would suffice in protecting me from another strike proved to be an underestimation of the snake’s capabilities, as the very next lunge reached way over and beyond the tongs, forcing me to once again jump backwards, dropping the tongs as I did so. Never before had I witnessed a viper with such a reach. Around me the cameras rolled nonstop from a safe distance, while above us the cacophony of capuchin calls reached a crescendo. The viper was more exposed now, its most recent lunge having been delivered with such force as to have drawn it further out of the foliage onto a cleared, pebbly area close to the stream.
Butterflies in my stomach, my nerves a-jangle, and sweat breaking out on my forehead, I slowly picked up my snake tongs off the ground. There was no way I was going near this snake bare-handed. Most often, in the case of a slender, slow-striking snake (like a cobra), I would be able to maneuver myself into a position where I could reach for the tail and raise the snake off the ground for safe handling. This is not possible with the short, stubby, fast-striking vipers, and totally impossible with this extreme example of a two-meter-plus monster that confronted me now. This snake’s estimated speed of strike I knew to be somewhere in the region of seven meters per second. From within reach, no amount of agility could save me from a direct line of strike. In its present state of mind, that of active self-defense, I dared not even approach this snake with my still camera without risking a bite; and a bite from this snake, as far from civilization and medical attention as we were, would mean certain death—a slow, horrible, excruciatingly painful death. My mind reeled at the thought of the amount of blood and tissue-destroying venom this giant snake could deliver. Getting good close-up pictures was one thing, but getting killed for it was another consideration entirely.
At the same time, I knew it was important to get a sample of its venom for the snake-venom research laboratory. I considered my options and made a decision, calling the crew together. It was not often we could prepare ahead for the action about to take place. We huddled together, all the while keeping an eye on the lancehead viper, which remained where it was, folded into a number of tight “S”-shaped coils that were as taut as a spring, defiantly ready to defend itself. Partly exposed as it was now in the dappled light filtering through the canopy, I could appreciate the beauty of the creature, as its yellow tongue flickered in and out, continuously testing the air for smells. It was a magnificent specimen for sure, but knowing that I had to somehow secure it with my bare hands sent shivers down my spine. Seemingly satisfied that the snake was being taken care of, the capuchins now began to move off, their curiosity outweighed by their relentless need for food. This provided welcome relief from their chattering, which had begun to unnerve me, as I felt the need to concentrate fully on my handling of the deadly viper.
Taking a deep breath, I divulged my proposed strategy to the crew: “My best bet is to get the most difficult part taken care of first. That is to say, secure the snake, head and body.” This of course would be easier said than done, but seemed the most logical way to get the shoot running. The crew concentrated intently. There was no room for misinterpretation.
“Once I have the snake firmly behind the head, I will take us through the venom extraction process step by step—all on camera. By doing this, we will not only have attained some unique footage, but I will have drained the snake of much of its venom supply, thereby reducing the severity of any later accidental bite to my person . . . should we be so unfortunate.”
I of course knew well that a snake never yields all its venom supply, even when being “milked,” and that only a few drops were needed to kill an adult human, but I figured it sounded more positive for the crew. Certainly, the less venom injected, the better chance of survival. However, considering that it only took a drop or two . . . I could not at that moment in time take into consideration all the many facets, factors, and potential hazards of what I was about to do . . . or I would never do it. I knew the dangers; I would take it all as far as I trusted my abilities and experience.
“However it goes,” I continued, “we will have some great footage in the bag, and I can then release the snake for us to
collect some close-up photography as it moves off.” I could see doubts etched in the faces around me, but none were voiced. Everybody knew I had simplified the proceedings. This snake was an unknown quantity, larger and potentially more dangerous than any other viper we had encountered. In some weird herpetological or cinematic way, it made sense. Basically, if I was to get bitten before, during, after—or not at all—the cameras will roll and, one way or another, we will have some unique footage. “Let’s do it,” I said.
The meter-long Pillstrom snake tongs, manufactured in America, that I incorporate into the action (on occasion) are very well designed. Their actual grabbing action is very sensitive and accurate, enabling gentle manipulation of any snake too dangerous to approach bare-handed. In this instance, considering the potential reach of the viper, I would have to carefully secure the giant head with the tongs before allowing myself to reach out with a bare hand. This would be the most critical moment, as, without a doubt, any snake will jerk and twist in an attempt to pull out of the tongs. My timing would have to be accurately gauged between the gentle closing of the tongs on the snake’s neck, the snake’s reaction to twist and pull out, and the placing of my hand behind the head. Once my hand began moving in to take the head, there was no turning back. It will be done right . . . or I will be bitten. There are no two ways about it. And knowing that a viper with a head this size could be expected to have fangs over three centimeters long, my grip had to be accurate and firm. Otherwise the snake will twist in my hand and stab me with at least one fang, which is more than enough to cause trouble. Thinking back, I shiver at the thought of everything that could have gone wrong, way out there in the jungles of Costa Rica, endless kilometers from civilization and medical treatment.
Finally, with everybody in position and ready, I cautiously approached the snake, still warily keeping its defensive pose at the edge of the foliage. This was a rare example of a reptile prepared to stand its ground. Being left alone, it would have eventually moved off to go about its business. Attracted by our presence, however, and having already been forced to defended itself once, this snake was primed and ready, secure in its ability to do lethal damage. Snake tongs outstretched, I closed in to within two meters of the deadly head, which now angled towards me, tongue rapidly flashing in and out as beady eyes gauged my approach. The first strike came lightning fast and high, forcing me to lunge back out of reach. I changed angle and approached again. Though I had been ready for it, I was still astounded by the strike’s incredible height and reach. Another strike . . . which, if anything, reached even further and higher than before. This was one determined snake. A few more strikes and the snake began to hover, as though undecided whether to continue this path of defense, or run. This was what I had been hoping for, and, very slowly, to avoid further alarming the snake, I maneuvered the tongs so as to circle the snake’s neck, and gently closed them.
With a powerful and violent thrust, the snake twisted its head and bit at the tongs, squirting a jet of thick, yellow venom across the lower lever action. Releasing the grip immediately, I stood back nervously to regroup. My heart was pounding. That bite could have been my hand. The snake has to be relaxed in the tongs grip, for just a split second, in which time I must gauge it and grab with my hand. Under ideal laboratory conditions, I had secured large puff adders for venom extraction countless times, but this snake was twice as long and far more agile. The snake stared at me defiantly but did not strike out as I approached again. Secretly I hoped that it was beginning to realize that I was not intending it any harm; I was just being a nuisance.
It was on the third try that I finally decided to take the plunge. I have no explanation as to how I might have recognized the moment, other than my many years experience working with venomous reptiles. There comes that fatalistic moment when, in some mystic way, my thoughts correspond with those of the snake, as though reaching a consensus and knowing that the time is right. Bending forward and grabbing for the snake’s neck as close behind the head as possible, I immediately released the tongs to free my left hand to grab the body. I knew if the body was not immediately secured the snake would shake itself free of my grip with little effort and certainly puncture my hand with a fang in the process.
Finally having the head in my grasp, I wrapped the powerfully wriggling two-plus meters of body around my arm so as to restrict its movement—a slight miscalculation in this case, as the snake’s powerful pull almost jerked its head free of my fingers. Quickly I unwound the body again and tried a less constricting grip, leaving the body partly suspended between my two hands and partly resting on the ground. On the biting end, meanwhile, the snake’s jaws worked ceaselessly, both left and right hinged fangs clearly visible below the bottom lips, where they were attempting to reach my hand. Thick yellow venom dripped down onto my fingers. This snake was so agitated now that it was already releasing venom. I had to get those fangs into a flask quickly!
Already prepared with a plastic membrane covering the top, I quickly fished out the venom flask from my rucksack, using two free fingers from my left hand, a hazardous maneuver that I wish never again in my life to repeat while clutching such a potentially lethal, writhing body in my grip. Watching those venom-loaded fangs probing determinedly just millimeters from my fingers was nerve-wracking, sending my heart rate through the roof. All this was happening while I positioned myself strategically for the cameras and kept up a running commentary. The snake now secured in my hands, and with flask at the ready, I indicated the “all clear” for the lead camera to move in for close-ups, so as to best exploit the anticipated “milking” action. All in place, I brought the enormous head towards the flask and gently pressed the lips over the edge.
The force of the bite registered instantaneously, so powerful as to almost wrench the flask from my hands. Delighted to finally be biting into something—anything—the giant head pushed forward, the opposing hinged fangs, each at least three centimeters in length, chewing at the plastic. Not designed to withstand such an onslaught, the membrane gave way, leaving the fangs barred and still grinding away over the far side of the flask opening, dispatching copious amounts of the sticky yellow venom over my hand. I was truly shocked; it took all my wits to keep my composure on camera while at the same time feeling the wet flask slipping from my grip. For safety reasons, I knew I had to release this snake as quickly as possible. Snake venom is not generally harmful on the skin—unless there is a cut or graze allowing for absorption—but I was not comfortable being exposed to so much of it. Aside from the venom running down my hand, there was a significant amount settled in the bottom of the flask from the first initial bites. As I had surmised, the amount of venom contained in the glands of this snake was remarkable. It was time to call it quits . . . while I was still ahead.
Carefully pulling the snake’s fangs back from the flask, the powerful body immediately attempted to twist in my grip, using leverage from the coils still partly wrapped around my arm. The snake was exerting great force, but with my left hand now free of the flask, which I had placed on the ground, I was able to loosen the grip. Once again the fangs were exposed and gnawing away in an attempt to reach my fingers. This was now one very angry snake, and I didn’t blame it. I was doing everything one should not do to enrage a venomous viper. A quick close-up of the snake’s head into the camera lens completed the scene, and I got ready to move away.
The method of release is simple—but dangerous—especially with a muscular viper of this size. With the rear end of the snake’s body still gripped in my left hand, as close to the tail as possible, I hurled the squirming head away from me, swinging the snake in a long arch safely clear of the ground. Dangling free now, the snake immediately lunged at me, its fangs just grazing my shirt at chest height. Normally I am very careful to place a snake I have been working with gently back down onto the ground, but after witnessing what this reptile was capable of and anticipating another lunge that I knew was likely to reach me this time, I spun round and flung the reptile
into the nearby stream. There it floated, in defiance, head raised, gazing directly at me, as though daring me to try that again. I was shaking all over. This was not something I needed to do too often.
Gathering ourselves together, the crew and I all breathed a sigh of relief, the crew assuring me the whole episode had been captured in its entirety (and from multiple angles). There remained now only the matter of my personal still photography. Being semisubmerged in the cool stream for a while appeared to have calmed down the viper. Probably fed up with the whole business of our presence, the snake swiveled its body around to slide gracefully across the water towards a protruding log, affording myself and the camera crew artistic photographic opportunities. As unperturbed by our movements as the snake now appeared to be, we remained careful not to approach too closely, a common miscalculation when one’s eye is fully concentrated through the viewfinder of a camera. Considering that this snake not long ago was being angered to the extreme, here again was clear evidence that, if left alone, even a highly venomous snake will choose flight over fight.
Our filming with the snake completed, I rounded off the shoot by delivering a final piece to the camera, as was the norm, before packing up to move on. Of the snake there was no sign, having silently slithered back into the undergrowth as we worked. I estimated a snake that size to be anywhere from ten to fifteen years old. I could not help but wonder what all it had experienced throughout its life, and what, if anything, it thought about what had just happened. Would it ever be seen by human eyes again? Or was I the only person ever to have that privilege? Retrieving my backpack, I joined the crew as they headed out in search of more natural wonders. It was a day I will never forget.
Snakemaster Page 20
