College is the first opportunity to chose where you live and it was not a close call – Florida. We had vacationed there for years plus the tales of natural adventures filled the books I had read. I simply wanted to cease being a tourist; I wanted to live there.
So I went to The Florida State University in Tallahassee. The cities’ Seminole meaning was an abandoned site whose resources had been exhausted. This translation amused many as “there’s nothing to do here” was a frequent complaint. Those people simply ignored the venue’s many opportunities.
Adventure destinations were always dictated by transportation; no car, one walk’s. So off to the nearest State Park I headed one Saturday morning in September. Despite several trips to Killearn Gardens I rarely had to walk the whole distance as a citizen usually stopped and offered a ride. My first expedition in the land of coral snakes, cottonmouths and the eastern diamondback rattlesnake produced a two foot eastern king snake which I knew only from books; fair enough!
As time went by the snake hunters found one another and somebody had a car. The Tram Road circuit was a biggie first shown to me by Joe from New Jersey and another guy whose sole goal was a diamondback over six feet (I heard later he found that which he had long sought). Starting at a point just off the truck route, the road could be taken to Wacissa and from there to deeper forest roads. Because much of the circuit was sandy roads it was often possible to gauge snake activity by the number of trails in the sand. Furthermore a trail with no tire track, encountered after a car passed, allowed some precision on when the snake had been there. Plus you could tell which way the snake had gone and usually some useful idea of species. More than one snake must have crossed the road and thought, “made it”, only to find himself suddenly in a pillow case.
Because much of the Tram Road circuit was unpaved it was pretty much a before dark trek; long on eastern king snakes, rat snakes, rattlesnakes. Because it was paved County 67, running south from Telogia, was the night time place. Good, lightly traveled, paved roads and an abundance of scarlet snakes and scarlet king snakes were its glory. Besides these two premiere species there was plenty else as 67 ran from hardwood forest down to the Gulf coast. Carrabelle was the turn around point where we’d get some little pecan pies and Dr Peppers and relax in an oyster shell parking lot before the trip back up 67. Those were the days (nights actually).
We all had this vague foreboding these places would be erased by civilization after we left but return visits suggest not. On one family vacation which, as luck would have it, me, Mrs. SS, and a pile of the shavings were dining on gas station food (the really fast food) in an oyster shell parking lot. We got back in the car, I started whistling the theme song from Indiana Jones, and they started screaming “NO DADDY, DON’T”. They generally enjoyed these little side trips once events unfolded but maintained that initially screaming put them in better voice for those times that screaming was called for. On this occasion a short drive up County 67 turned up a grey rat snake on its morning outing.
So I came to Carrabelle for my interest; I came for the snakes. And I was not misinformed.
Recently Shaving 3 loaned me a copy of In Search of Nature by E.O. Wilson. Chapter one is “The Serpent” where in is said “ I can testify from personal experience that on any given day you are ten times more likely to meet a snake in Florida than in Brazil or New Guinea.” I knew there were more snakes in Florida than in Tennessee and I also knew of no where there were more. Turns out, if snakes are what you seek, it’s the best place on Earth.
ML
6/4/07
