A Serpent Is Driven From The Garden
Invasion
“Hurry, come here!” Susan had communicated sufficient concern to distract me from my writing, though her call was short of causing alarm. Saving my draft, I reluctantly agreed to visit what was occuring in our front yard. The worry was a foot-and-a-half long snake that had invaded our fish pond.
Mottled, dark and lacking a distinct color except for a splash of orange under its lower jaw, the predator was asserting territorial claim to my watery Eden.
Our small pond was originally stocked with two moderately sized Goldfish. We had been fascinated and delighted to watch the gradual appearance of several small creatures to this five hundred gallons of salty water. The pond borders our home and features a small cascade powered by an electric pump. Southern Leopard Frogs first made their entry followed by another family I learned were Chorus Frogs. Sunbathing shyly during the afternoon and partying each evening with loud strident chirping, they were at home. In the late spring numerous tadpoles appeared, a sign of health of the pond, we judged.
Treasuring sweet moment such as this, we rarely consider what we should know; they rarely last long. Such was the signal sent by the appearance of the intruder. “Be careful, it could be a Water Mocassin“, I cautioned. Sue decided the problem should be left to me.
Early Attempts to Repel
In my youth I had been a student of reptiles and amphibians. I had kept snakes, frogs and turtles as pets in terrariums in Central Philadelphia. I felt I was informed about the best method to eliminate this threat. However, aside from visits to the zoo, I had no experience with poisonous species.
The following day I noticed the serpent defiantly sunning itself on a warm rock ajoining the pond. I counted three frogs instead of five or six. The fish were unpreterbed. I immediately googled “Snakes of North Carolina“. After identifying the characteristics observed in my nemesis, I made an identification. It was a Red Bellied Water Snake. Further checking the images of the Cottonmouth, I read that a “prominent stripe over the lower chin was almost always present”. The “almost” was disquieting, but the photograph of the Water Snake was unmistakable and reassuring. This snake was not poisonous.
Anxious Quietude
While this information provided relief, I read further that the Red Belly feeds on frogs, tadpoles and fish. This precise a threat needed to be eliminated. 
Three days after I was presented with this crisis the defense of my peaceful oasis became a prominent preoccupation. Wearing gardening gloves for protection, I made a direct assault on the menace. I had hoped that I would subdue it and secure it in a pillowcase as I had seen on the “Crocodile Hunter”. It slithered between the rocks and vanished.
The Red-Bellied Watersnake
On the fourth day I saw no evidence of my cold-blooded rival other than further decline in the number of frogs. Quieter nights became disturbed ones.
The Capture
On Friday, the fifth day, I sat by the pond waiting for the beast to appear. Within a half hour a head appeared, like a miniature Loch Ness Monster, peering at me from the center of the pond. Cautiously, though without a clearly developed plan of attack, I approached the animal. Time moved in slow motion. As I came within an arm’s reach of the creature it fled to a place of shelter. It sought haven in the intake of the waterfall pump. A current at the entrance to the pump sucked the snake into a net that was designed to sieve flotsam entering the pump mechanism. In this net my enemy was trapped.
Wrapped in nylon mesh the snake was now my prey. I removed the entire assembly from the pump intake area. As I attmepted to transport the unharmed coil, the snake suddently jettisoned past my face as it emerged, like a jack-in-the-box, through some unseen defect in the fabric. As it escaped it threatened with open jaws. I believe I heard it hiss. Using an available stake retired from an over mature tomato plant and after a brief chaotic chase, I recaptured the animal. I handled it behind its head to avoid a bite while recoiling from the maloderous expulsion of musk from its anal gland. I placed it in an unused aquarium. It glared at me through the glass, perplexed and irritated by the outcome of the chase. I could barely resist mocking its helplessness.
Peaceful Quietude
I have not seen a frog for several days. No tadpoles wriggle on the stone bottom of the pond. I claim victory but much has been lost in this Darwinian drama. The quiet nights continue to agitate.
So, I turn my grief to productive use by telling this tale of death and life.
Tom Penders
