OK, I admit it: I was naïve. Think of the herping hot spots in the But one by one, people kept telling me, “You
really should check out the Caught a pre-dawn flight from
It was early Spring and temps had been cool,
but Leopard Frogs launched into the water as we approached and a couple of
Garter Snakes crawled out of our way, a good sign that it was warm enough for
herps to be active on the surface.
We were walking beside the bog, scanning the
grassy edges for something snake-like,
when a thick brown stick caught my eye.
Blinked twice, noticed the scaly texture, then followed the S-curve to a triangular head raised slightly
above the ground. There it was --- my
first Massasauga!
It was a handsome, robust snake, a larger
chocolately version of the closely-related Pygmy Rattlesnake, though not
nearly as jittery. We ad
This was a main attraction, a mass migration
of serpents. The concept was
completely foreign to me. On one side, a series of swamps that shelter
a variety of snakes, dominated by Western Cottonmouths. Opposite, a ragged wall of limestone
bluffs rising straight up from the flat forest floor. Between them, a gravel road that’s closed
twice a year for migrating snakes.
In the Fall, Cottonmouths and other aquatic
species leave the swamps and head for higher elevation, crawling up to a
quarter-mile through woods that separate the rocks from the water. They cross the road (now we know why!) and
climb the cliffs to seek refuge in the limestone, descending deep into the
fissures where they will overwinter.
These den sites are shared with Timber Rattlesnakes, Copperheads,
Black Ratsnakes, and other species retreating from the surrounding forest
before Winter’s invasion. Come Spring
the migrants reverse direction, leaving the bluffs as the weather warms,
returning to the swamps for Summer.
During
migrations the road is closed to all vehicles (the only one in the country to
do so for snakes, as far as I know).
I’m told that on a good day it’s possible to see dozens of snakes in
just a few hours of walking, but unfortunately, this was not a good day. It was chilly (in the 50’s), it was cloudy,
but most of all, it was windy. Very
windy. As I pulled up to
Parked by the gate and just sat in the
car. I was the only one there,
testimony that inclement weather had postponed the migration. I had arrived too early, before the start
of herp (and herper) activity. As I’m staring through the windshield,
trying to decide if it’s worth getting out, I notice a stick on the road
about 100 yards past the gate. Did it
move? Too far away to tell for
sure. I suspect wishful thinking on my
part, but conclude maybe I should try with my glasses on. Still can’t tell. (They’re just reading
glasses, not much good for distance.)
Should I break out the binocs, or break out running? Oh, what the hell, I didn’t come all this
way just to sit in the car. I grab the camera and run towards the stick.
As I move in, it begins to move, too. I now realize it’s a Cottonmouth, and as I
catch up it turns to welcome me with open, uh . . . well, you know.
I’m
impressed. Despite the rotten
conditions, this hardy Moccasin is determined to uphold the reputation of Spent quite a bit of time climbing the bluffs and checking out crevices but found nothing in the rocks. Decided instead to go road cruising in slow motion, walking the gravel and keeping my eyes open for another suspicious-looking stick. Turns out that keeping my ears open was equally valuable. More than once I heard a rustle in the woods and discovered Cottonmouths on the move. My final one was another long-distance sighting. By the time I reached the spot where it crawled off the road, the snake had disappeared into the forest, but I tracked it by sound as it disturbed the crisp, dry leaves.
In itself, finding Cottonmouths was nothing special --- I’ve seen many more on other trips --- but this was very different. Besides the strangeness of following Water Moccasins in a forest, as if they were woodland wannabes, I was aware of just how deliberate their movements were. I could see where they were coming from, where they were going, and why they needed to get there. All of them out at the same time, all heading in the same direction, all for the same purpose: neither foraging nor mating nor thermoregulating individually, but migrating en mass to their summer home. Just like Arctic Terns returning to the tundra, only a lot slower and closer to the ground. With fangs. Although I didn’t encounter dozens of snakes, I wasn’t disappointed. I had come to observe the migration, and while it wasn’t in full swing, I was witness to its beginning. And for my first time, that was enough.
To read a
more thorough account of migrations at
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