Snakemaster

by Austin Stevens

  Having collected as many toads as were immediately accessible, I laced up the rucksack, which fortunately was designed with air holes in place, in similar fashion to those of the toad bags. Leaving a note for Ned, I explained the situation, suggesting that he take a further look around the place for any more elusive toads. Accustomed to checking my boots for scorpions and other potentially dangerous critters when in the bush, I was not surprised to find a squiggling toad in one boot as I tried to put it on. What did surprise me, however, was the chorus of guttural toad calls emanating from my Land Cruiser when I opened the door. As suspected, toads had already been escaping from their bags long before I had reached the cabin. Déjà vu! My thoughts flitted back to the baby puff adders born in my Land Rover, as for the rest of that day toads appeared miraculously out of nowhere, nearly resulting in an accident when one croaked its distress on finding itself pinned under the accelerator peddle.

  As a herpetologist, naturally I am keen on frogs and toads, and it is with some sadness and regret that I found myself faced with the need to destroy these members of the latter group, however necessary it might be. It is a stark reminder of how humankind can so easily disrupt the balance of natural things, resulting in not only an environmental tragedy, but also the need to euthanize so many animals, innocent of any intentional crime.

  Of the numerous species of so-called “giant snakes” that are kept as pets by amateur and professional herpetologists alike, the Burmese python of Southeast Asia is one of the most popular. Known for their pleasant disposition, these snakes have been imported into numerous countries, where they have been bred and sold into the pet trade. And while it is true that these snakes are of a pleasant nature and feed well in captivity, they are capable of attaining great size, some being measured at over six meters in length and weighing close to a hundred kilograms. Over the years, some of these snakes have either escaped or been released by pet owners who are no longer able to care for animals that grow beyond a manageable size, in some instances resulting in breeding populations establishing themselves where conditions are favorable. Nowhere is this more evident than in the subtropical wetlands comprising the Florida Everglades where the first Burmese python was spotted as far back as 1979.

  Between 1996 and 2006, an estimated ninety thousand Burmese pythons were imported into the USA for the exotic pet trade. Between 2001 and 2005, more than two hundred Burmese pythons were observed by rangers and water-management workers within the boundaries of the Everglades National Park, with more sightings being reported north of the park’s borders. The discovery of a nest of eggs finally convinced conservationists that the pythons had begun breeding in the wild.

  Known to eat reptiles, birds, and mammals up to the size of deer, authorities became alarmed when an impact study published in 2011 concluded that populations of mid-sized native mammals appeared to have declined as the number of Burmese python sightings increased. Considering the potential size attained by these snakes and the fact that they are known to be long-lived (able to reach twenty-five years of age in the wild), it is not difficult to imagine the carnage that might ensue by their introduction into the Everglades. Despite the infestation being relatively recent, because of native species already threatened by human activity and habitat encroachment, python predation is of particular ecological concern.

  Florida enacted laws to prohibit the release of exotic animals into the wild. In 2012, in an attempt to control the number of exotic snakes imported into the USA and specifically South Florida, the Burmese python, African rock python, and yellow anaconda were declared illegal. In May of 2013, a Burmese python measuring 5.7 meters (18.7 feet) in length was killed by a Florida man. It is, to date, the longest Burmese python encountered in the Everglades.

  My interest in the Everglades’ python infestation was aroused some years earlier, when my team and I proposed to include an episode concerning the pythons in my series. At that time I was not fully aware of just how critical the situation was becoming, until one day I came across a four-meter Burmese python killed on the road, presumably by a vehicle passing in the night. I was astonished. I had been led to believe that a number of juvenile specimens had over the years escaped captivity and were considered a potential threat that might manifest itself in the future. To find a four-meter specimen killed on the road was a wake-up call that clearly demonstrated just how serious this problem had become. That there were enough of these sizeable snakes already sufficiently established that they were being killed on the roads astounded me. While filming in Asia, I had searched every nook and cranny for a sizeable specimen, finding only one large female after weeks of searching. The Burmese python is in fact endangered in its home territory, yet in the Everglades, half a world away, they were becoming that abundant as to be killed by passing traffic!

  Making contact with conservationists and herpetologists working in the Everglades region, I was informed that any Burmese pythons located were destroyed, except for a few specimens being fitted with tracking transmitters for research monitoring. Once again I found myself confronted with the dilemma of wanting to preserve these beautiful creatures while at the same time aware that, by the ignorant hand of humans, these snakes, through no fault of their own, had to be declared vermin because of their potential impact on the native wildlife in a country far away from their own. Having already found a large specimen killed on the road, I could only imagine what surprises lurked out there in the vast wetlands of the Everglades. I decided to have a look.

  The Everglades is a region of subtropical wetlands comprising the lower third of the Florida peninsula, fed by a slow-moving river that eventually empties from Lake Okeechobee into Florida Bay. While it is easy to imagine thousands of Burmese pythons of various sizes slithering through the dense swampy foliage in relentless search of native prey, I soon discovered it to be another matter completely to locate one. If ever there was place to hide, this was it. Pythons are expert swimmers, completely at home in swampy areas. My team and I, on the other hand, laden down with equipment and restricted to the shallows, found ourselves at a great disadvantage. Eventually incorporating the use of airboats, we were at least able to cross speedily from one vegetated area to another, but considering the raucous vibrating noise emitted by these machines, I imagine any wildlife was forewarned kilometers before our arrival.

  Some animals being slower to react than others, however, during the days that followed we were fortunate enough to come across and film a large snapping turtle, which conveniently surfaced close to the airboat; a bad-tempered venomous water moccasin, which I caught and displayed for the camera; an agitated opossum that snarled at me threateningly from an overhead branch; and a number of alligators of varying sizes.

  I have a particular fondness for alligators, having raised three specimens from hatchling to adult size while curator at the reptile park in South Africa. My first encounter with one in the wilds of the Everglades, however, took me somewhat by surprise, as it suddenly appeared from the gloomy depths of the waist-deep waters I was wading through, camera in hand. It was just meters from where I stood, and I am not sure who was more startled, me or the alligator, but both of us reacted at the same instant. A medium-sized specimen, no more than one and a half meters long, the gator swirled around to make its escape, while I in turn instinctively lunged for it, throwing all caution to the wind . . . and as it turned out in the excitement, my camera as well, hurled unceremoniously into the water in an attempt to free my hands to grab at the tail of the fast disappearing alligator!

  “Roll camera!” I screamed to my team as I splashed and lunged forward through the resisting swirl of water. “Keep rolling—I’m going to catch it!” From behind me I was barely aware of the flurry of activity as the crew followed up. My discarded camera furthest from my mind, my only thought was to catch this alligator so I could film it. What a great scene that would make: allowing me to point out specific features of interest on the reptile’s body while actually holding it in my arms. I just had to
do this!

  Lunging headlong now, my arms outstretched ahead of me, I grabbed desperately for the mottled body in the murky water at my feet. I had done this successfully before with a similar-sized freshwater crocodile while filming in Australia; no reason it shouldn’t work with an alligator. As it turned out this was not to be the case, as the alligator in question, unlike the freshwater crocodile, appeared to take particular exception to my hands closing around its neck, coming to the surface in a powerful eruption of muscular, twisting, water-thrashing body! And for just one second it seemed that I might achieve my goal as I raised the reptile clear of the water, until with a final powerful, twisting thrust of its tail, the alligator ripped free of my grip and lunged back into the murky darkness of the water, where it disappeared from view.

  “Did you get that?” I called urgently back to the crew. “Did you get the action?” I was all excited, adrenaline pumping through my veins. Even though the alligator had gotten away, I felt sure the animal’s thrashing action as it fought itself free from my grip must have looked impressive in the late-evening sun, now setting low over the wide flat-water area of the Everglades where it had all taken place. “I got it,” the lead cameraman announced, “but only the last bit of the action. Not enough to make up a sequence, I’m afraid. All happened too suddenly. Sorry. Should make a nice introductory snippet for the film, though.”

  Dripping wet, covered in swamp grass, my camera sacrificed in the effort, I was disappointed by this news . . . but not discouraged. I felt that at the rate we were going, by the end of this shoot we would have collected enough interesting footage to make up for this loss. A few minutes of underwater searching with my feet eventually located my camera in the silt, both body and lens totally ruined, of course. Fortunately the digital memory card was retrievable and, after blowing it out with a can of pressurized air, proved to be little the worse for wear. Inserting it into my spare camera body, my team and I proceeded with our search for the elusive Burmese python.

  With all the emotional hullabaloo already evoked concerning the huge numbers of pythons speculated to be running unchecked in the Everglades, it was rather disappointing to not have encountered even one after eight days of searching. Though not unduly surprised, considering the vastness of the Everglades, I had nonetheless imagined by this time to have at least found some trace. Fortunately, the time spent searching was not wasted, as we were able to film numerous interesting examples of native flora and fauna offering itself to us as we explored the waterways from our air boat and canoe, and while on foot. One can never have too much general fill-in footage when compiling a documentary film.

  Camping out in the Everglades, however, proved to be a nightmare, as swarms of mosquitoes, seemingly impervious to repellents, competed with each other for the privilege of draining the last drops of blood from our bodies. Meanwhile, raccoons lived up to their reputation as masterly exponents of night-time thievery by stealthily raiding our supplies whenever our backs were turned. Simultaneously, numerous pairs of glowing-red, unblinking alligator eyes reflected in the beams of our torches reminded us that we were ever under constant scrutiny, not only from the land, but from the water as well. All that was missing was a Burmese python.

  Unexpectedly, it was the high-pitched distress calls of a juvenile alligator entangled in a piece of discarded nylon fishing net that brought me into contact with my first live, wild Florida Burmese python. No more than forty centimeters in length, the little gator called repeatedly, presumably in an attempt to attract the attention of its mother, who might be in the vicinity. As with crocodiles, alligators are protective of their young, the mother staying close to her brood for one to three years. Aware of this potential danger, I instructed the crew to keep a watchful eye while I quickly untangled the little reptile from the netting. We were in a marshy, heavily treed area right at the edge the deeper dark water, where a stealthily approaching adult alligator would be all but impossible to spot. With a camera recording my actions as the little alligator squirmed and twisted in my hands, unaware that I was trying to help, I managed to deliver a piece to camera concerning the thoughtless discarding of potentially hazardous materials into the Everglades, the entangled alligator serving as a perfect example. A short while later, still clicking away agitatedly, I released the alligator back into the surrounding swamp, hopefully to find the safety of its mother.

  And it was at just that second, while keeping a tight vigil on the surrounding marsh for any sign of an approaching adult alligator, that I spotted the hint of shiny mottled scales slipping away in the dim, marshy undergrowth. I had found my python!

  All thoughts concerning potentially dangerous alligators were quickly discarded as every nerve of my being turned to focus on where I was convinced I had fleetingly spotted the python. Following the sudden concentrated direction of my gaze, as though reading my mind, my crew came sloshing through the muddy water to my side, fully aware how important it was that we locate this snake that would represent the very basis of our documentary story. Plunging into the undergrowth, my eyes searched frantically for any sign of what I had seen. After two weeks of searching, time allocated in the budget was running out. If I did not find a python, the whole film was in jeopardy. Certainly we had collected enough footage to present an interesting story, but the key element that would tie it all together was still missing.

  Then I saw it, silently slipping away through the gloom: the unmistakable skin pattern of a Burmese python. Not as big as I had hoped to find, but at around a guesstimated three meters plus, a good size none the less. “I’ve found it!” I called excitedly to the crew. “I’ve found a python!” Within seconds the film team was setting up for an on-the-spot shoot, as with one more cry of exuberance I plunged in for the catch.

  As discussed earlier in this book, pythons have six rows of recurved teeth in their mouths, capable of inflicting a terrible bite. Though no venom apparatus is present, depending on the size of the snake and the locality of the bite, stitches are often required after such an encounter. The teeth are needle sharp, and when the gums are pushed back, may each be over a centimeter in length where bigger specimens are concerned. At a fairly modest size of three meters or so, it was to prove fortunate that my python was not yet that well endowed, as on my approach to grab it by the tail, the snake immediately retaliated by swinging its head around to lunge at me with wide-open-mouthed hostility. My peripheral vision detecting the motion of the strike in direct line with my face, I instinctively snapped back my head and outstretched arm, unavoidably leaving my torso vulnerable . . . and the angry snake clamped its jaws down firmly on the only remaining closest part offered to it: my groin!

  Being razor sharp and recurved, the teeth not only cleanly penetrated through my pants and underpants and into the delicate flesh that is my manhood, but also hooked on, as these teeth are designed to do when biting into furry prey (no pun intended). Jumping back, the snake’s head and body firmly attached to my groin. All unassociated thoughts instantly dissipated as it became suddenly critically important only to disengage that savage head from that most personal of regions, while at the same time preventing any unnecessary movement, especially the chewing motion that I knew was likely to follow. There were delicate matters to consider here! And all the while the cameras rolled. Though somewhat comical when viewed later on playback screen, I daresay it was not my finest hour on film.

  Fortunately, in its eager, angry desire to kill me some more, the snake managed to dislodge itself just as my hand was about to encircle its neck. Pulling back quickly, the python delivered another strike, and another, forcing me unsteadily backwards to topple unceremoniously off balance, arms akimbo, flat on my back into the surrounding swampy marsh. This was not how I imagined my first encounter with a Florida Burmese python should be! Moderate in size it may have been, but this snake was otherwise proving itself to be proficient in its instinctive ability to defend itself. Lying on my back, half submerged in the mushy vegetation, the vicious snake coi
led at my feet, ready to lash out again. I could not help but be grateful it was not a bigger specimen. Meanwhile, a slight sensation of pain and wetness was spreading through my loins. I sighed; I had experienced enough python attacks to last me a lifetime. And all the while, the cameras rolled, the crew making the best of my somewhat comical discomfort. Would I ever live it down? Consoling myself with the knowledge that only a very select portion of the footage would eventually find itself into the final product, I raised my weary, muddied body out of the swamp to prepare for the finale. The python glared its defiance at me, daring me to come close.

  Taking great care not to further antagonize the snake, I eventually coaxed it into the lower branches of a tree with the aid of my snake tongs, where it quickly transferred its thoughts of fight into flight. This done, I had basically achieved my goal of locating a foreign Burmese python in the wetlands of the Florida Everglades. All that remained was that I display the snake on camera, present some interesting facts and figures, and photograph it. Most often the final sequences to any of my film episodes are delivered with an upbeat edge to it, something positive for the future. This time, however, as I ploughed on with my piece to camera describing the beauty and wonder of this snake while at the same time shooting a selection of close-up photographs as it climbed effortlessly up into the overhead branches, I was overwhelmed with the saddening thought that because of its locality, it was to be destroyed. I had spent weeks in the Everglades excitedly seeking out this Burmese python, the object of my adventure; but having achieved this goal now left me deflated and faced with the consequences of my actions. I had located the snake, displayed its beauty for the world to see, and unwittingly, in so doing, condemned it to death. To release the snake back into the Everglades presented a threat to native wildlife. Declaring the presence of the snake to the conservation authorities, automatically, by Florida law, demanded it be euthanized. A catch-22 situation. I had to do something.