How Do You Get A Rattlesnake Out of the Birdnet?

Snake caught in bird netting to
protect grapevines.

Neighbor Merlot Mike gave us the dormant vine cutting 7 years ago. We planted that stick as the cornerstone to our vineyard along the fence at the edge of our property and it’s now the largest vine in the vineyard and the Vineyardista asked me not to trim the vine this year because I broke her heart last year when I cut it back so we could use the gate door of the back fence.  The vine stretches over ten feet along the chain links and is loaded with Merlot clusters.

A Southern Pacific Rattlesnake (Crotalus oreganus helleri) became tangled in bird netting under the mother-lode vine at the corner of our property and the snake seems about as long as the vine.  There is always a serpent in the Garden of Eden. Always.

How do you remove a live rattlesnake from bird netting without a shotgun, 22 or shovel? Death was not an option. “Don’t kill it,” the Vineyardista pleaded. “The last time you killed a snake the princess became ill.”  Is not killing the rattlesnake you captured like pissing into the wind? After you let it go, what are the odds that it will come back to bite you (or worse, your dog)?

First,  I loosened  the net from where it was caught at the bottom of the fence, to Ms. Snake’s hissing and rattling. I could see a way to cut the net to free her, but it became clear she was tangled and would not be able to wriggle free. So, I called the SnakeBusters, aka our neighbor Steve who is something of a herpetologist with a naturalist’s respect for God’s great creatures, among which he includes snakes. When Steve arrived with a hoe this is what we did:

Releasing Tangled Rattlesnake From Bird Netting

1.       Cut netting around snake.

2.       Before cutting the final strands of net, Steve attempted to pin the snake’s head to the earth, so we could trim the net closer to the body. As the snake was on a steep slope of decomposed granite, traction was poor, and there was a chance Steve –could slip and fall onto the snake. (This California SnakeBuster works in sandals.)

3.       We cut the snake free of the snags and she crawled to lower ground.

4.       Steve climbed around the vines to level ground, met the snake, picked it up with his hoe and brought her to the dirt road by our shed. (Nothing like carrying a snake along a thin, steep path of grapevines. He could have easily slipped.)

Snake on ice.

5.       With Steve pinning the snake’s head down, we cut more of the net from the body.  Up close, we could see she was still tangled in net and potentially constricted.

6.       With darkness falling, we decided to bring the snake to the animal shelter in the morning, where they had the proper gear to take care of her.

7.       I picked out a wine fermenter (aka, 24 gallon Brute container). Steve lifted the snake into the container, and we put on a lid – leaving a crack for air. (Hint: Don’t knock over a  Brute container at your neighbor’s house in the country at night because you never know what’s inside.)

8.       In the morning, I checked on Ms. Snake. She was quite “genki” and still very pissed. I pulled the container to a shady area and she rattled at me.

9.       Back at the house, I tweeted and called the wild animal rescue shelter. I never got through.  Not seeing anything on their website about snake rescue, Steve and I discussed plan B.

1.   This was plan B, which in hindsight should have been plan A.

1.   After work, I bought two 10 lbs. bags of ice at the Deli.

1.   Got home, and carefully poured the crushed ice into the container. The first bag covered most of her. The 2^nd bag covered her completely. The snake was iced at 6:30 pm

1.   At 8 pm, Steve came over with his hoe (his favorite snake tool).

1.   We dumped the container, with the snake emerging on the top of the ice.  She was moving slowly, but I would say not immobile by any means. Ideally, she would have been on ice a few hours. Instead, it was 90 minutes.  Still, she was moving much more slowly than the day before.

Southern Pacific Rattlesnake on Ice.

1.   Steve pinned the head down and I started cutting the net, which was flush against the skin at the tangled part. I apply enough pressure to get the blade under the net, without slicing the skin and wounding the snake. As I’ve had experience cutting out birds tangled in net, I feel I have the skill to do this.   I’m having trouble reaching the other end of the snake so with one hand on the hoe Steve grabs the other pair of scissors and we’re both cutting away. At last, Ms. Snake is net free, and she poses for a photo on ice.  Steve picks her up with the hoe and puts her back into the Brute container and advises, “He’s too cold to let go tonight. Some predator or coyote will get him when he’s all cold like that.  Let him thaw out overnight in the container and release him in the morning.”  We put the top over the container and pull her back.

1.   Steve calls Ms. Snake “him” but I’ve had experience with 1,000 year old cultivated snakes in China and I know that this is a snake princess from the Middle Kingdom who is seeking her revenge on me.

Steve manages the snake with his hoe.

1.   In the morning, I carry the container down to the open space canyon adjacent to our property, kick it over and out comes Ms. Snake, angry as ever. When I’ve let smaller snakes go in the past, they quickly scurry away, but Ms. Snake just sits there. I take “our favorite tool” (a stick we use to hang bird neck) and prod her down the hill as she rattles at me. I tell her the same thing I tell the birds I free from the nets: “Don’t come back.”

A friend asked me, “How long is she?”  Answer: “I don’t know – we were too busy to measure.” And we still didn’t measure her the 2^nd day.  I would say she was big enough and she commanded our respect. Steve called her a beautiful specimen.

In hindsight, plan B would have been a good plan A. After we had trapped the snake the first night, that would have been the time to put her on ice (making sure there wasn’t so much ice she would drown when it melted) and to ice her “overnight.” A few more extra hours of cooling would have made her a bit easier to handle. 

Born Free.

In the back of my mind during this adventure is the story of the Texan who caught a snake during a rattlesnake round up and put it into his freezer.  He took it out several months later (presumably to cook) and when it thawed it bit him.

"The Dogfather" Part I

Scene from "The Dogfather"

In scene 3 of "The Dogfather" Part I, Bluey (aka, Dogfather) discovers a bird of his flock has turned stool pigeon and is embezzling from the Family's property (grapes from the vineyard). Before the bird sings like a canary to bring in the Feds to investigate The Bootlegger's Express, Dogfather orders the hit. After the deed is done, Bluey utters these lines in the studio released version of the film: "Leave the nets. Take the cannoli." In the Director's cut, soon to be released on DVD, the Dogfather says: "Leave the bird. Take the grapes."

From Wine Dog To Bird Dog

A mystery: Sparrow caught in net to protect grapes from birds. Sparrow's head missing. How could that have happened? A coyote? But a coyote would just rip the whole bird out, no? Besides, I noticed no bird there 10 minutes earlier. Inspect the scene: fresh blood on the ground underneath the sparrow dripping from the headless carcass. And where is the head? Missing? Could this be the work of Bluey the wine dog? Where is that Aussie? I see him in the row below following the flapping noise of a bird caught in the nets frantically searching for an escape.

"Leave it!" I command, which he understands to mean leave it alone. I walk down to the row and he's in an attentive sit, staring at the bird, no longer moving. This one has its head, but the body is wet with dog slather. The mystery is solved as I hear Bluey sing a new song:

"Love to catch those birdies,
Love to chomp their feet.
Love to bite their heads off,
Love a delicious treat."

The bird wars have begun and despite the two causalities the birds are winning. They have damaged 3% of the Tempranillo crop so far and we are behind the curve, but hope to get caught up today. We are the first vineyard in the neighborhood with purple grapes and the birds know it and are throwing a party and inviting all their friends and family. I was able to save two birds (one last night and one earlier this morning) and I'll keep a closer eye on Bird Dog. Enough writing and back to netting.

The Netting of the Vines

The game of cat & mouse (better described as the Queen vs. The Birds), began yesterday. Today, the netting of the vines unfolds as the Queen hacks at shoots giving them a "military" haircut. "Take that, buchink! And that!" she shouts in Japanese as she clips and snips. "Basari!" It's no use for me suggesting diplomatically that perhaps, sweetheart, this shoot has been left too short without enough foliage to ripen the grapes, so the best I can do is inhale, relax, then pick up her cuttings (normally her job) and assist her pull the net over the vines (when you're just 5' tall this is a challenging task), then head to the top of the hill to fetch her a fresh lime from the tree and squeeze it into a Corona. ("Who wants to drink wine anymore?" she says. "Aren't you tired of wine?" she says, sipping on the cool one. "I now understand why the workers want to drink beer in the vineyard in the morning.") Meantime, I'm scheming. Perhaps if I hedge the vines before her, she won't cut them any shorter, I wonder, and decide to try that at dawn tomorrow before she gets up. Is this vineyardistos against the birds, or spouse vs. spouse?

Three rows are finished today and we've protected the most threatened bunches. (But wait, did you tie the bottoms of the nets? Where are the ties? Where are the clothespins?) If we continue with three or so rows per day (with more on weekends) we should stay ahead of the birds and enjoy most of the fruits of the harvest. Famous last words.

Birds & The Bees In The Vineyard

After my nostrils were treated to the aroma of decomposed chipmunk before breakfast (I bet you never tasted that in wine -- I tell you there's more birds, squirrels, ants, slugs and chipmunks in wine then espresso and chocolate), I recalled a song we used to sing as children in North Carolina during the last Century:

Great big globs of greasy, grimy gopher guts
Mutilated monkey meat
Little dirty birdie feet ...
That's what I had for lunch.

Bluey and I traversed rows in the vineyard looking for bees (a sign that a bird had pecked a berry) and damaged, leaking fruit. Where we found it, there was sure to be an opening in the netting and perhaps a bird himself. Bluey came across the first sparrow -- he just wants to sniff their butts, not devour them--and I was able to reach in and eventually catch and release. (I was reminded of Snoopy and Woodstock.) We came across another bird, this one lifeless. I tried to pull it out, gently, and about to rip its head off, decided to leave it in the nets. Then we came across a "yellow bird" (shown at left) which we caught, brought to the Queen as a present, then released.

Our friends the honey bees made their appearance in the vineyard the other week, and we took preemptive action against the not so friendly yellow jackets, which I hadn't encountered in the vineyard until the Queen placed yellow jacket traps deep inside a row of vines (I suggested to her to place the traps outside the vineyard). I'm not sure what kind of yellow jacket mojo the traps contain but the person who harnesses a similar hormone in humans that causes women to swarm to men is going to be rich. There is a warning on those traps not to hang them during the middle of the day when the flying stingers are active and you are likely to attract the bastards to you. Folks, there is a reason for this. Pay attention to that warning.

As I walked back to the vineyard I passed the deceased sparrow, bless his heart, whom I could not remove from the netting. He was covered with yellow jackets, and I realized that the yellow jackets would be useful in cleaning up the carcass. When I returned the next day, there was just a skeleton. As I think about it, most creatures under the sky serve some useful function.

Last night, all the neighbors in Blue-Merle Country got together to honor Joe the Wino, hero of The Wine Summit hosted by Sarah Palin earlier in the week. They slaughtered a pig and roasted it and there were more than 100 people and more than 100 bottles of wine. What do you bring as a gift to a pig-pickin' party where the host has everything? I found the answer: Stone Beer. We were proud of Joe who, according to press reports, managed not to make a fool of himself. And I was glad that he honored us by requesting our wine. "Joe, what did Sarah think of the Blue-Merle wine?"
"Well partner, she's a Syrah drinker, K Syrah, Sarah."
"Shakespeare. Good one, Joe."
"When I poured her a glass of your 2007 Petit Verdot she said it was very floral. From her purse she pulled out a bottle of Channel #19 and emptied it. Then filled it to the top with your wine and sprayed it on."
"She's got class. I'm beginning to like her."
"I told her about a good follow-on to Cash for Clunkers our tech group had come up with: 'Cash for Klunkware.'
"I don't get it."
"You see, millions of people have old computers running old software. Under this new stimulus, the government will allow Americans to turn in their old software and receive a voucher to purchase new software."
"Brilliant. And who's going to pay for it? Microsoft?" Joe doesn't like Microsoft.
"How did you know?"
Dinner was served and Joe brought out the roasted pig wearing a Banana Joe's hat, sunglasses, a long sleeve linen shirt rolled up above the pig's knuckles and a Cuban cigar. The Queen would have nothing to do with this mockery and boycotted the event, saying it would bring bad luck. As the sun set and the moon rose the coyotes in the valley woke from their slumber and gave a first call.
"Joe, with all those coyotes living in the valley on your property, isn't there a problem with them chewing your drip lines?"
"Naw, I water them with a water trough. Since I started doing that, I haven't lost a drip line." I guess it kept them from chewing our drip lines also. "Drink at Joe's" must be what the coyotes around here say.

The next morning as I walked though the vineyard and came to the spot where the chipmunk was tangled in the net I found no chipmunk; only a hole in the net. He had been ripped out by a coyote. Another useful function served by Mr. Coyote.

I irrigated the vines and where there was mildew damage in the Aglianico grapes a single droplet of grape juice emerged on a round grape, and I immediately recalled when Coyote Karen was over during the full moon and wine seemed to lactate from her as she had two purple spots at precise locations on the front of her white T-shirt. (Editor's Note: Discretion cautions us from publishing the photo.)

As I hung yellow jacket traps, yellow sticky traps (to keep an eye on the sharpshooters) and replaced 2-gallon per hour water emitters with 1-gallon per hour in an attempt to reduce the vigor of two rows of vines, the Queen busied herself raking then vacuuming the vineyard. As birds destroyed the grapes, she was cleaning the vineyard.

"Sweetie," I started out, "What would you think about fixing the holes in the nets to keep the birds out?" I suggested as gently as a man can say when he means what the hell are you doing?!
"I want to clean up. Please, go and get your own vineyard."
"Why don't you leave the leaves and the canes where they are? It's good organic material for the soil and will help control erosion when it rains."
"Why don't you leave!" When Bluey heard this he exchanged the grapes of wrath for the coolness under a giant grapefruit tree.

Well, this has become the source of a major disagreement and you can tell there's not going to be any birds and the bees between us. I began thinking of taking out a paid classified ad and tweeting: Seek vineyardista lifelong companion who likes composting and organic farming. Will work for wine and birds & the bees. As I thought about that and especially the birds and the bees part the Queen began singing a song about how it was her vineyard, and her dog, and her wine, and her awards and how I wasted her little plastic bags by filling them up with fruit scraps and coffee grinds for the stupid compost pile.... I really couldn't hear what she was saying because the silence of the vines turns the wife's song into sweet wine. When Jesus said love your enemy I think he meant wife. This is not easy.

She volunteered to go into town to purchase clothes pins to make the nets more secure and Bluey emerged from under the grapefruit tree and we cut the last row of Zinfandel and yes we put the cuttings in a neat row along the vines so the organic matter could work its way back into the soil and the rain would be slowed as it fell and trickled down the mountain carrying any topsoil that was left. Next, I put some of the cuttings behind the row in the most inaccessible part of the vineyard and she will never go there to clean it out because the access is difficult and for fear of snakes. I even made a little video of the work. Merlot Mike says it takes 3-guys to net his vineyard and it started out that way with us when we made it complicated by using gas pipes on either side and attempted to lift the netting (wrapped around a PVC pipe) over the vines which resulted in more singing by the Queen. She finally threw away the pipes and took the nets and did the netting herself while I was at my daytime job. She is barely 5 ft. tall and that was an accomplishment and I was more proud of her for the sixth time this year since Michelle Obama ran for First Lady and was proud for the first time to be an American.

The Queen returned about the time Bluey and I finished the netting and we hiked down the mountain and came to my favorite aloe which the Queen doesn't like and had apparently hacked to pieces as she stormed out. She doesn't like the aloe because it starts off cute and fits in a wine glass but as they grow they become larger than a barrel and they have sharp edges and she's always saying dig it out and I was planning to dig it out someday but not today and not this year but in a couple of years and she has taken vengeance on my favorite plant. Upon inspection I see that half the plant is eaten out by none other than Mr. Gopher -- who has been in retreat these last few months. I am pleased by this and even a gopher has his good points. As do coyotes, yellow-jackets and spouses.

I check Bluey's paws for foxtails and we go inside and the Queen has prepared sushi and an omelet made of octopus and vegetables. After lunch I top the barrels of 2008 wine which hold great promise, tasting along the way. Is this a chore?

Alvin & the Chipmunks Visit For Lunch

I dedicate this post to Vinogirl, my favorite blogger, who says I should write a book. (What she really means is she would appreciate it very much if I would leave my long posts for a novel and write quick, short, succinct posts when blogging.)

Here goes:

I was walking through the vineyard this morning and it was good. I came upon a grape-thieving chipmunk, trapped in bird netting, decomposing. As I tried to pull him out his tail released as if he were a lizard. I left him there to dry. A new ingredient in San Diego's finest boutique wine?

Growing Grapes Is For The Birds. Or Maybe Not.

I've been thinking about nets and their useful purposes. An African man and woman demonstrate a mosquito net for life at the Episcopal National Convention explaining how millions of lives can be spared from malaria with an inexpensive, simple net. Earlier in the week when serving breakfast at a food bank I wore a net over my head and not one hair from my follicular-challenged scalp fell into the salad. And as I wrapped and tied nets around the first rows of vines, my mind dreamed of black lace stockings on a loved one's legs.....

Back to reality: As the vines in Blue-Merle Country were the first to break bud back in March I shouldn't be surprised that the grapes are already turning purple and flocks of birds gathered in the Poplar trees at vineyard's edge to plan their assault. To the disappointment of the perfectionist Queen, our Bluey, the Australian sheep dog and 9-time award winning winemaker, is not a "bird" dog and proved useless. (As a distant cousin of Wiley Coyote, he's only interested in the Road Runner and Bugs Bunny.) There was nothing to do but take a break from the cluster thinning, the mildew cursing and the leaf pulling to bring down one of the nets purchased from Sandra of Old Coach Vineyards.

Now Sandra is very conscientious about the nets, and she had rolled them meticulously on a PVC pipe. By attaching a metal pipe to either end of the PVC pipe, two people can stand on either side of a row of vines and unwrap the netting on top of the vines. For the fourth time since Michelle Obama ran for First Lady I am really proud of my wife as we were able to unroll the net successfully until we came to the growing oak tree in the middle of the vineyard which created an obstacle we surmounted. When there wasn't a tree in the way the net unwound smoothly and we'd go back and pull the net from the top of the vines and join them underneath with ties. And it was tying those nets that I was reminded of manipulating black laced stockings another time of my life ....

Back to reality: The vines are not thick and not overgrown at the lower part of the vineyard but four rows are a veritable jungle rain forest and you never know what lurks in the midst. A pack of rabid coyotes? An escaped bear from a circus? The lair of the neighborhood mountain lion? There is a school of thought that says you don't cut back vigorous vines, because it will just force growth into laterals. And there is another school of thought that says it would be nice to be able to walk down the rows and we need to let light and air pass through as a hindrance to the return of mildew. We decided to ask an expert for advice and he said go ahead and "trim" them -- note the word "trim". So that Queen of ours took her machete and she went on a rampage and began hacking, sawing and cutting vines. Now this woman is not very tall, so she was cutting the vines under the top wire in some cases and what we were left with looked like a well hedged garden wall from the castle at Versailles. She had given the vines a military crew cut and they looked good enough to start charging admission to let the neighbors have a look. But are there enough leaves left to allow photosynthesis and the maturation of a sweet, delicious grape so that the Blue-Merle can make more wine and win more competitions than Tiger Woods and Roger Federer? Maybe I should just grow grapes for the birds. That is, after all, what mademoiselle vine wants to do, all decked out in her black lace stockings.

I have these nets and I might as well use them. I think I'll also borrow Joe the Wino's shotgun as it gets closer to the harvest just to give the crows a little warning now and then. Nevermore. Nevermore will you dine on the fruit of the vine. Meantime, Sandra from Old Coach Vineyards will have established colonies of hummingbirds in her vineyard to ward off other birds, and she'll identify which birds are in her vineyard and broadcast recordings of their distress call. As for us, "Owl" Gore -- our very capable barn owl, only works at night and is focused on field mice and everyone else's gophers except ours. Perhaps what I need is a great horned owl (code name: "Horney" Clinton), to chase the birds. But how will we keep this guy from taking down the laced stockings of mademoiselle vine?

(How would you suggest we deal with the birds in Blue Merle Country?)

San Diego's Fillies Win in Wine: Old Coach Vineyards

Fillies are winning more than major horse races. They are making kick-ass vineyards better than the guys. Winemaker's Journal kicks off a series of reports on "San Diego Women in Wine" with Sandy from Old Coach Vineyards.

Sandy's European grandmothers, who were winemakers, allowed her to taste wine in their cellars as a young child, planting the seeds which sprouted into Old Coach. The founding of her winery goes back 20 years when the 41-acre property was acquired at the end of a dirt road surrounded by nothing. (Encroaching development has it situated a T-shot from the renowned Maderas Golf Club in Poway, CA.) Founded as a llama ranch in 1988, Sandy planted her first vines in 2003, and she's still planting. Over 5 scenic acres of Syrah, Petit Syrah, Grenache, Cabernet, Mourvedre, Tempranillo vines and more recently Italian clones including Primitivo and Nebbiolo. She, and other San Diego vintners, see a bright future for "the Italian" varietals grown in the region, and she planted another 600 Aglianico potted vines last week. The llamas, house, winery and most of the vines survived the October 2007 wildfires inspiring the name for the 2007 "Firestorm" blend.

The building housing the former llama nursery, six llama stalls and the vet lab has been converted into the crush pad, fermentation and bottling space. Sandra used her Bobcat to create an impressive naturally cooled cellar into the hillside which contains the cellaring operations. Like many winemakers these days, Old Coach uses 100-gallon and 300-gallon flex tanks, the Australian pioneered breathable tanks which are easy to maintain and allow for micro-oxidation of the wine as if it were in oak barrels. The attention to detail and quality in the cellar, vineyard and wine are impressive. Early on, she threw out a batch of Zinfandel made from three year old vines, because it didn't meet her standards (I bet the coyotes howled in delight!) "We've found that by aging wine for two years before bottling the results are better," she said.

During a tour of the vineyard, Sandra mentioned she watered the vines 3 times a week (an unusual routine not often encountered by Winemaker's Journal). Two emitters are on either side of each vine, and Pete Anderson, vineyard instructor from Mira Costa Community College suggested that the vine roots had grown into a ball near the surface (since deep watering was not used). Pete recommended she experiment with deep watering on one row once a week.

Determining the correct amount of water to use has been a real challenge at the site, because of granite domes and impenetrable rock formations not far under the surface. Despite the adverse conditions, with Sandy's perseverance the vineyard has taken hold.

Sandy loves to drive her Bobcat. Not only did she dig out the cave, she used it to terrace the land and dig holes for the end posts. She grew up on a farm in the Midwest, so farming is in her blood, and she does much of the vineyard work herself. A thick, leaf-dripping fog you can almost swim in has swept in this evening, and she's itching to get on her tractor and spray the vines to protect them from a mildew infestation.

When I visited again a few days later, she was strapped into the Bobcat, drilling post holes with an auger into compact decomposed granite. "See what I have to work with," she says about the lousy soil.

She decided to forgo nets three years ago, and establishes colonies of humming birds with feeders placed strategically throughout the vineyard. "Humming birds are aggressive and will keep away the other birds," she says. She also employs a computerized sound system that emits various bird distress calls. "I'll be out there and it will sometimes sound like a bird is getting killed -- but it's just the recording of a bird in distress. I've selected bird calls on microchips specific to the species we have in the vineyard, and it works. We don't start using the recordings until as late as possible -- otherwise the birds will catch on [that they're being tricked]."

Sandy and her son Jason (a certified financial planner during the day and 4th generation winemaker) have won 25 awards in San Diego's and Orange County's annual wine competitions which encouraged them to get bonded and begin selling their wines. I purchased one of their 2006 Petit-Sirah's on-line for $25 and was not disappointed and Bluey (cellar master of our winery) gave it 3-licks (always a good sign) and the wife and I fought over the last glass (always a good sign). Since there is no tasting room for the public, the wines are sold through an on-line cellar club, over the Internet and to a few upscale restaurants.

An award winner. One of San Diego's finest. Founded and run by a woman. Old Coach Vineyards.