Every evening at 5:00 McGyver, our golden retriever, nudges his nose under an elbow or begins a low growl. Somehow he knows it’s time for his walk and he won’t take no for an answer. And every evening at ten past five we set out on a loop trail that begins in the National Forest two houses down from ours. In less than 100 yards our neighborhood fades and the pines take over.
It’s a forest full of life. Coyotes howl every other night and two weeks ago Scott saw a mountain lion basking in the sun not more than a mile from our house. We also have bears, deer, bobcats and rattlesnakes. Of all the creatures, it’s the snakes that get me. Three years ago, after a particularly wet spring, we found two in our yard. One we captured and released in the forest a quarter mile away; the other, a larger, older snake, slithered from our yard and into our neighbors. Neither of us saw it again. But I remember it was thick – over an inch in diameter.
That same summer, the people that own the property bordering our Forest, captured and killed four snakes. They cut their rattles off and nailed them to a post at the trailhead. A brief warning to 'Beware' was stapled next to the rattles. It was hand-written on a piece of lined paper that quickly faded to a sun-bleached white. We didn’t have a dog then but I ran the trail almost every morning and took heed.
Since that summer we haven’t seen any rattlesnakes in our yard or on our trail. But tonight, as I started my walk with McGyver, I came across a man with a stick and spade. He was crouched low, methodically poking at an overgrown sage with the stick. He moved deliberately, occasionally standing tall to peer down into the bush. I said ‘Hello’ and he motioned me to stop. He had been walking his dog Tilly when they came across the largest rattlesnake he had ever seen – an inch and half in diameter – sunning itself in the middle of our trail. He witnessed it move into the sage, quickly took Tilly home and returned with his weaponry. As he continued to poke at the bush I told him I was going to pass. He called over his shoulder, “Keep your ears open.” I nodded and suggested perhaps the snake had moved on, pointing to a pile of aging limbs.
As McGyver and I continued on our walk, I secretly hoped the man didn’t find the snake. I knew he would kill it. What if it was the same snake we had seen three years earlier? An old guy passing his time, enjoying the forest? While snakes give me the willies, I don’t wish them harm. I figure if I give them a wide berth, they will do the same. It’s a silent agreement I make every time I walk the trail and it seems to work. But, for now, I'll keep my ears open - though I'm not fond of snakes, I’m less inclined to carry a stick and a spade.
I have been traveling quite a bit these last 5 weeks. I started in Colorado in late September - photographing the amazing Aspen trees, continuing east to spend a few days in Lake Placid, New York. From there we slowly meandered south, visited family, saw Cirque du Soliel in Reading, Pennsylvania and drove the parkway along the crest of the Blue Ridge Mountains from Virginia to Tennessee. Today I woke up in Winter Park, Colorado - snow covered plains, views of the Contenental Divide and a sunny Halloween morning.
