Nothing in It’s not just the impressive size (though it
is the largest snake in the state) or the rugged pattern that varies down the
length of its body. I think it’s also
the powerful, self-assured way they move through the Pines, unhurried and
deliberate, avoiding detection until they command your attention. One day I’m herping with a friend at a site
I’ve hit many times before with no luck, when suddenly he cries, “Pine
Snake!” I look up
and see this massive female on the crawl, obviously gravid and opaque, but
completely docile. She just curled up
beneath a log and watched us take her photo.
Later that day we’re hiking
past an open, sandy spot and something catches my eye off to the right . . .
another Pine Snake on the move! This
was a smaller, somewhat underweight female, and when we took a closer look we
could see why. Her face had been
chewed up, with an injured jaw, one eye missing and the other covered over by
infection, effectively blinded. Always
a sad sight, but these critters are amazingly resilient. The wounds looked old and she had managed
to survive so far. Hopefully her luck
and recovery will continue.
Although
I’ve
flipped a few Pine Snakes, more often I find them in the open, rather than
under cover. Some have been partially
exposed, such as this half-hidden juvenile at the base of a crumbling
foundation . . .
. . . while others
have been curled up and basking in the shade of low-lying vegetation . .
.
. . . but coming
across one stretched out to its full length, imposing and formidable, is for
me the most exciting sight in the
Pines Snakes are one
of the few snake species capable of making their own burrows. An enlarged and pointed rostral (nasal) scale
allows them to dig in soft sand, scooping it to the surface with a curve of
their body. The results of these
excavations can be impressive, sometimes forming visible mounds.
Females often return each year to overwinter in the
same burrows, emerging in early summer to dig nearby nests and lay their
eggs. The first time at this spot I
saw evidence of recent activity, however, no snakes in sight . . .
. . . but the next time this
female in shed was basking by the entrance to her burrow.
One
morning
Dave takes me and Danny to another mound in search of a big female he had
seen earlier that week. We looked all
around, found nothing, and left disappointed.
But stoked by our first PB Kingsnakes and Timbers that same day, we
decide to press our luck. Returning to the Pine Snake site, we fan out and scan
the area, and then practically beneath my feet, I notice something
strange. A short distance from the
mound is a hole that wasn’t there just a few hours before. The dirt is newly excavated, with signs of
fresh drag marks; the beginning of a nest?
The three of us are standing there and
speculating, when suddenly Danny looks over my shoulder and yells, “Pine
Snake!!”
With a rush we run over to where the snake
has been circling around us, and confirming our suspicions, her nose is
covered in dirt. She retreats to the
mound, leaving us to hope that maybe next time we’ll be lucky enough to
observe her in action.
Another distinctive
characteristic of Pine Snakes (and others in the same genus) is their roaring
hiss, produced by a specialized flap in the throat that vibrates when the
snake violently expels air. It’s a
loud guttural sound, almost like someone clearing their throat. In fact, the Latin name Pituophis means “phlegm serpent”, a
most attractive image.
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