How many among us have never been in an awkward or foreign setting where all we wanted was to tap our ruby slippers together and murmur “There’s no place like home?”
I recently returned from a vacation in Arizona and I loved having the time off to pursue my favourite hobby, which is finding and photographing rattlesnakes in the wild. And believe me, there’s no better place to do that than Arizona in August.
To the casual observer, the differences between Canada and the U.S. may not be readily noticed, in most ways, we are similar. But it didn’t take long before I realized I was far from home, at least ideologically. The first noticeable difference was the general public’s attitude toward the rattlesnake hobby itself. In Canada, people generally nod politely, and some even ask a few questions. No one has ever threatened to kill all the snakes before I have an opportunity to photograph them. In the U.S., it is a different story. I find it remarkable anything still lives in the wild there.
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One night we were road cruising, scanning the asphalt for tarantulas and rattlesnakes. The snakes will often move onto the warm pavement at night to help digest their food. Because the temperatures are so hot during the days, snakes in the south (and even in Canada) enter a sort-of summer hibernation. They become nocturnal, often emerging after the rains. In Arizona, the summer monsoons trigger snake activity and prompt the females to begin giving birth. While road hunting, we spotted a decent-size snake, which looked to be a western diamondback. We switched our headlamps on and jumped out of the truck, snake hooks in hand. It didn’t take me long to realize the snake was freshly decapitated.
It really was sad. Though diamondbacks are not rare, they are sort of Arizona’s state snake, and certainly their largest rattler. They are an icon of America’s Wild West. Here was one of the larger ones I’d ever seen, writhing without its head on the pavement. Pulling my pocket knife out, I went to cut off its rattle and even without its head, it struck at me when I pressed the blade into its flesh.
I like snakes. I like zombie movies. But I do not like zombie, headless snakes that try to bite me with their cut-off head. I admit it, I spooked. I yelped and abandoned my efforts, just as I heard a voice in the darkness yell out: “What the hell are y’all doing out there?” (I also heard a shotgun being pumped, but that could have been my overactive imagination.)
I explained, as calmly as I could to the faceless stranger in the shadows exactly what I was doing. I also had an Arizona hunting licence, even though my intent was only photography. And just for sport, I also informed him I was Canadian, and I swear that’s when he warmed up some. As it turns out, he had found the snake in his yard, and killed it before dumping it on the road. He then informed me that the last thing I wanted was to run into a snake that still had its head.
Contrast that with a much different experience the first time I came to Saskatchewan and Alberta looking for rattlesnakes. I had accidentally wandered into someone’s yard, and a Saskatchewan rancher pulled up and asked me if I was lost. “No,” I said, “I’m just looking for rattlesnakes.” Once I had assured him all I wanted to do was photograph them, he said, “Sit tight. I’ve got one in my truck.”
Sure enough, he came back from his truck with a bucket and I fully expected to see a dead Prairie rattlesnake. But it was anything but dead. This rancher had captured it to release it near a known den site. He said he was afraid of them, but that they needed to earn a living too, and he sure appreciated how few gophers there were on his land.
It was the very first encounter I’d ever had with a Canadian rancher, and it instilled in me a memory I will never forget. Since then I’ve seen it time and time again, Canadian producers seem to have a higher tolerance for the wild things around them and many seem to harbour a deeper appreciation not only for what the earth can produce, but for Mother Earth herself.
I had a great time in America, and I adored all the longhorn cattle dotting the countryside. I loved all the deep and throaty southern accents, and I chuckled at all the store signs advising patrons to leave their weapons outside. The snakes were plentiful and the scenery was stunning. One day, I think I might like to spend all my summers in Arizona when I retire. But without a doubt, my heart sang a little to be back in the True North Strong and Free, because no matter where I go, there’s still no place like home.
———
“Idonotlikezombie, headlesssnakesthattry tobitemewiththeircutoff head.”
