My Nemesis

Every wildlife watcher has a nemesis.  That species that proves elusive despite persistent  efforts to find it.  Birders speak of theirs in hushed tones, “Everyone and their grandmother had a picture! I drove two hours, hiked six, and never saw its dumb face.”  Herpetologists get glassy-eyed and distant, “Flipped every rock, every log—nothing.”  A nemesis captures the imagination in a way that other species don’t.  Each evasion feels like a personal slight.  It sparks an obsession, a lifelong quest to see what so many—or so few—have seen.  A nemesis is the creature that keeps you up at night.  It haunts your dreams with imagined delight or insufferable escape.  It resides in the recesses of your mind every time you leave the house.  Optimists hold perpetual hope: maybe tomorrow, maybe tomorrow; pessimists shake their heads: never, never.
 

I admit, I have been on both ends of the spectrum.  For as long as I can remember, the creature that has resided solely in my imagination is the gray ratsnake (Pantherophis spiloides).  In Ohio, it is more commonly referred to as the eastern or black ratsnake.  The herpers among you may be puzzled.  You may be asking yourself, “has this guy never been outside?”  Congratulations, you can understand my frustration at never having seen one.  The funny thing about ratsnakes is: they aren’t rare.  They are downright common.  Telling a snake enthusiast you have never seen a ratsnake is like telling a birder you have never seen a red-winged blackbird.  It’s like telling a mammalogist you’re dying to see a squirrel.  It’s like confiding in a cryptozoologist that you have seen exactly the same number of ratsnakes as bigfoots. 

Let me clarify.  I have seen black ratsnakes in captivity.  During high school, I volunteered with the Cleveland Metroparks, handling the same big female ratsnake, Olive, every Saturday for four years.  I can honestly say (with volunteer hours as proof) that I have spent more time with that ratsnake than with many people I claim as friends.  Black ratsnakes sparked my fascination with Ohio reptiles and amphibians.  Not only are they our biggest native snake (growing up to 8 feet), but they are also incredibly docile.  I allowed people of all ages to interact with Olive, and she never bit or acted aggressively towards anyone.  I am proud to say she captivated hundreds of visitors, including myself.  

We kept other species of snakes, turtles, and frogs at the nature center, but Olive was what always brought me back.  I often found myself transfixed by her beauty and elegance as she slowly pulled herself up the branches in her tall, rectangular enclosure (essentially a specially designed fish tank turned on its side).  Children would huddle around Olive for hours, examining her bright round eyes, laughing at the flicks of her tongue, and remarking at the smoothness of her scales.  I never missed the chance to introduce a cautious family or an excitable grandmother to our friendly resident rat.  I watched as fear always gave away to curiosity and then joy.  It was uplifting how this seemingly unlovable creature could melt the hearts of so many.  

Ratsnakes are nonvenomous members of the colubrid family (containing most of North America's harmless serpents).  They are true constrictors, feeding on mice, rats, frogs, eggs, and anything else small enough for them to catch.  Natural climbers, ratsnakes are as likely to be found in the canopy as they are in the rafters and boards of barns, sheds, and decks.  Their affinity for human habitation has resulted in their pointless persecution by fearful homeowners. Ratsnakes are mild-tempered, striking only in self defense.  They directly benefit us by keeping disease-carrying rodents in check. 

So began my quest to find a wild ratsnake.  I scoured what seemed like every inch of the metroparks, turning up garter snakes, watersnakes, turtles, frogs, owls, beavers, raccoons, herons, etc.  Everything but a black ratsnake.  During my searches, I fell in love with the other creatures of the forest.  I learned to identify the songbirds and recorded all the wildflowers I could find.  I photographed and kept field notes; I talked and shared experiences with naturalists and visitors.  All the while my eyes and ears were tuned to the slither of something larger, the glint of black scales.

I have many fond memories of camping with my father at Findley and Salt Fork State Parks.  We would hike the day away, exploring every nook and cranny for my phantom snake.  When our own searches didn't turn up a black rat, we joined the Northern Ohio Association of Herpetologists.  In NOAH I met many experienced herpers and breeders and traveled to new locations around Ohio in search of the scaly and slimy.  Still no ratsnakes.  

Black ratsnakes occur throughout Ohio, but are more prevalent in the southern portion of the state.  When I got the chance to visit The Wilds, a large mammal conservation and breeding facility in Cumberland, Ohio, I felt certain the odds were in my favor.  I woke early each day to explore the campground.  On hikes, I bombarded the naturalist guides with questions about the serpents.  They informed me that ratsnakes were so plentiful they often had to stop their tour buses to move them off the road.  Safe to say I didn't find one.

On to college.  I often joke that I chose Ohio University 30% for the wildlife and conservation biology program and 70% to look for the reptiles around it.  Naturally, my first question for the OU Wildlife Club officers was “have you seen a ratsnake?”  “Yes” was the universal reply.  I felt confident.  I didn't have to find one immediately; I had time.  Between and after classes, every chance I got, I hiked up to The Ridges (OU’s old asylum and nature trails).  I spent hours exploring every trail and field until I knew them as well as any park I had ever visited.  No stinking ratsnakes.  I went on every hike and trip the club offered.  No ratsnakes.  Those two ominous words were beginning to work their way into my consciousness.  Never?  Never?

Then I got the opportunity of a lifetime: to be a field technician for a box turtle study.  I vividly remember telling Marcel, the master’s student conducting the study, “Ratsnakes are kind of my nemesis.”  “Oh, because they can be aggressive?” she asked.  To her utter surprise, I explained that it was because I had never found one.  “We’ll find one,” she assured me.  We laugh about this now.  A fellow wildlife enthusiast told me, “It’s funny you have seen timber rattlesnakes and spadefoot toads, but never a ratsnake.”  I assured him that the irony was not lost on me.  

To date I have never found a wild ratsnake.  I have seen half a dozen dead on the road.  I have seen and photographed ratsnakes found by other field technicians on other field projects (but animals in the lab don't really count).  We have found four foot black racers and box turtles to spare.  But no ratsnakes.  I had planned to write this post once I finally found my ratsnake, but this is somehow more fitting.  I don't doubt that I will one day find a black rat.  It will probably be a day like any other.  I’ll be out hiking, or road cruising, and our paths will finally cross.  I will check another lifer off my list.  It will be like any other encounter, but it will also be a moment to reflect upon.  I will stop, snake in hand, and breath a sigh of relief.  The search will be over.  

In many ways, however, the search will have just begun.  Ratsnakes, from their hidden realms, have influenced my life in a way no other creature has.  They sparked the passion that today defines me.  My drive to find these illusive serpents introduced me to the natural world.  My fruitless searches turned out to be quite the opposite.  I found creatures I had never dreamed of finding.  I learned to be patient, to accept defeat, and to keep trying. 

I will forever be an advocate for the voiceless and defenseless creatures of our world.  In particular the hard-to-love, the uncharismatic, the slimy, the scaly, and the potentially dangerous.  I hope to change the hearts and minds of people who would look upon a snake with distain, fear, or malice.  John Burroughs, an American Essayist, famously said, “You must have the bird in your heart before you can find it in the bush.”  If the same holds true for snakes then maybe tomorrow, maybe tomorrow. . .