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.

How Do You Release a Live Snake From a Mousetrap?

King Snake, on the hunt for mice, finds
himself in a mousetrap.

With signs of a mouse in the garage I set traps at various points last night. This morning, when I checked the trap by the entrance - a favorite spot - it had sprung, but no mouse. I glanced under the sink and saw only the dark curved tube shaped as a U. Yellow stripes, not a rattler. Possibly a King Snake and possibly alive. How do you release a live snake from a mousetrap? P.S. Without killing the snake and without getting bit?

King snakes are our friends and have been spotted twice in the garage (7 years ago), once in the vineyard (5 years ago) and once outside the garage last year. They eat mice and are immune to a rattlesnake's venom and are said to eat small rattlers. King snakes are good to keep around. I remember our neighbor Steve the herpetologist telling me about the time he rescued a King and it bit him several times. Not poisonous, but still not his idea of a good time getting bit.  Not even a friendly King Snake knows how to say thank you. I gather gloves, some tools, a camera.

I've seen the"Crocodile Hunter" on TV, notably the episode when Steve Irwin catches the world's 10 most poisonous snakes. I've got our "favorite vineyard tool" (a 3-ft. stick we use to help hang  nets), a broom (in case I need to sweep him out), a bucket and a 32 gallon container.

It's overkill. The snake is not that big.  I use the stick to pull him out from behind the washing machine. He wriggles.  His head is pinned down.  I just pick up the mouse trap and carry it (with snake) outside to the vineyard. My idea is to hold the snake's jaws shut with one hand then use my other hand to lift the bar.  Then I find it's impossible to left the bar with one hand. Duh.  I need leverage.  Next idea, let go of the head, use one hand to hold the mouse trap, use a strong twig as leverage to open the bar of the mousetrap. As I do this the snake coils himself around the bar and won't let go. I shake ever so gently and soon he's on the ground and all balled up, like a tortoise inside his shell, trying to escape the world. He's not in good shape. I want to keep him on our property, so I find a shady spot in some ivy to let him be.

Recovering in the shade.

As I write this story, I make a discovery. The vineyardista keeps coming over to me and telling me her "honey do" list for the day and starts singing a song about why I'm wasting my time writing and she sees a picture of the snake on the computer screen, shrieks and scatters.  Peace at last.  Can I patent this new "Wife Away"?

Just Another Day in Critter Country

A bobcat walked by the door at dawn and trotted down the hill and off the property as I reached for a camera. Nice way to begin a day. Frank came over to spray the vines and as we discussed sharpshooter activity (making an executive decision to do the treatment next week to keep the bugs away) two daredevil hummingbirds split the three feet of space between us traveling so fast we couldn't see them, their sonic buzz and chirps the only evidence of their stunt. (Had the birds grown up watching movies of the pilot who flew under the Arch de Triomphe in Paris? Were these the same birds that starred in the movie Pocahontas?) We looked at each other and said, "Whoa."

The crazy lady managed to persuade the gophers on her side of the fence to infiltrate our side so I set traps as Bluey snorted among the rocks foraging for dried leaves (he thinks they're truffles). "Get over here," I called as it's warm now and they're out there. I thinned some of the strong Aglianico vines near the gopher holes and moved some 3ft. long wayward shoots inside the catch wires of the trellis system and spotted a full grown glassy wing sharpshooter and clamped fingers around it but he got away, the first one of the season. (These bugs are vectors for a disease that will kill your vines.)

I gathered up the shovel and extra gopher traps and making jingling noises as metal hit metal walked onto the path to head down the hill as Bluey led the way which he always does and I wished he'd stay behind me. Inside the squirrel hole by the path a black mass the size of large dog's turd was partially in the sun revealing a diamond pattern. I told Bluey to stay and I could only see the coiled girth of the vulnerable serpent without view of head or tail and unsure of his size. I brought Bluey back to the house and picked a weapon of choice (a metal spear) which I could thrust into the hole but the Queen was there and after explaining to her why I was putting Bluey inside she said "Don't kill it. It didn't bite you. I will go and tell it to leave."

It's her birthday and I'm trying to be nice and respectful and listen to her and tomorrow's Mother's Day and so why start a fight? I marched up to the shed to get a 32-gallon trash container which we call wine fermenters in September and a long stick to scoop up the snake and release it in the wilderness and when I got to the spot the Queen was there telling the snake not to come back. I inserted the long handle of a shovel into the hole and the reptile woke from its slumber and moved into the tunnel out of reach. Though that network of underground passageways the snake could show up anywhere. (Yes Lera, Brian, Ginny, Steve, Katie and the Earthy Woman Under The Yellow Tennis Ball this is exactly where you were walking the other week and now you see why I usually carry a shovel in the vineyard this time of year and it isn't just to cut down weeds.) Personally I don't mind snakes and we share mutual feelings towards ground squirrels and gophers but snakes and dogs don't mix.

We started working the 3rd block of 30 "sad vines" which had put out more green shoots and with the warm, longer days and cool nights everything in the vineyard is growing rapidly. To work in a vineyard is entering a time machine and two hours passed before we snapped out of our trance and noticed we were hungry so the Queen went back to the house and I went back to the squirrel hole and Mr. Snake was back again. It's the Queen's birthday and I let him be and we'll keep Bluey on a short leash.

Gopher Wars Episode III: The Diamond Backs Strike

We filmed the second episode of Survivor: Wino's Vineyard Edition at Phantom Vineyard in Fallbrook on Saturday and I was able to win immunity from being voted off the vineyard by staying late to string the last irrigation wires and clean up. (As one of the real winemakers of the group it was my duty to stay until the work's done. That's just the code of honor among winemakers around here.) Of course that also earned me generous samples of Jeff's wine as we sipped his first Petit Sirah made from 3-year old vines and it tasted great for such young vines. And then for fun he opened up a bottle of Aglianico from Trader Joe's. Both Jeff and I are planting Aglianico vines this Spring (we already have about 180 in the ground) and Trader Joe's $6 bottle wasn't bad but by the grace of God we hope ours will be five times better and worth $30 so I can pay off the line of credit which the bank said is now due next week.

By the time I returned to Blue-Merle Vineyard I was feeling pretty good and even better after inspecting the traps Bluey and I had set that morning by the border of the Crazy Lady's property where the gophers had infiltrated in a coordinated counter offensive trying to outflank our defenses and there he was, the infiltrator, ally of the Crazy Lady, dead in his tracks.

This is the first time you've read about the Crazy Lady in this narrative and when you live in the country every community has one. She's the person who drinks more than you and staggers up to your house yelling she's against a winery in the neighborhood because it will attract too many drunks. There's an old proverb about letting dogs and crazy ladies lie and I believe it which has limited our ability to launch a preemptive strike against the gophers and the squirrels on her side of the demilitarized zone, providing them a safe haven to wax strong and borrow their Ho Chi Min trails and supply lines onto our property and invade, when we may need her approval for our winery permits in the future.

Bluey and I started the climb to the Top of the Hill to inspect what was going on back up there. Since Spring had begun and the weather was warmer and we were almost ambushed by a an unhibernating snake the week before I've been extra vigilant when walking the paths and always carry a shovel, my weapon of choice. A vineyardner in these parts without a shovel is like a marine without his rifle and I remembered my lesson from last Fall when I was unarmed and helpless as the serpent in this Garden of Eden slithered by my feet.

As I walked the path lightning struck again at the same place (it's not supposed to do that!) and my jaw dropped in disbelief as another snake appeared at the same location as the week before. Fortunately, Bluey had taken the high road through the fruit orchard or would have walked right upon his mortal enemy as I almost did (especially after a few glasses of wine). After positive identification of the viper's pointed head I dispatched the Diamondback, and hurried to cover up the evidence as the Queen ascended the mountain. Is it cheating on your wife to hide from her the fact you just killed a snake? Or, in her case is ignorance bliss? One rattlesnake on a path is a coincidence but two in one week is a conspiracy and it's clear that the gophers and the snakes have entered an unholy alliance against us.

I checked in with Ms. Connie (our ally in Texas) to see if she was alright because the enemy has proven it's ability to mount coordinated attacks on our various operations. As we have neighbors close by we rely on the shovel, to avoid the risk of stray bullets wounding innocent bystanders whereas Ms. Connie's security is provided by Smith and Wesson. It's not for nothing they used to call her "Hot Pistol Pants."

"Connie, we're under attack. Are you alright?" She sounded a bit shaken with a tint of slurred speech. "What happened?"

"I couldn't get a good shot at the coral snake on my driveway so I resorted to the old fashioned hoe for the slaughter. Then I went inside, popped open a cold beer, and patted myself on the back," she said. That was a relief and I thought of giving her a pat on the back the next time we met then thought maybe that's not a good idea cause she might shoot me. She continued, "I went back outside with a camera to take a picture for Winemaker's Journal - and there was a second coral snake, hosting a wake for her partner. It too fell under the swift and deadly hoe attack."

"Sounds like you need another beer."

"A bottle of your wine would be better. When's the next shipment?"

"The Bishop is coming on Sunday and I need to pack up three cases for the Diocese. I'll get you some more after I take care of him."

"Well, hurry up, will you. Besides, you've got quite a following down here asking for more. I tell you, getting close enough to a snake to use a hoe is not what I call fun, and I wouldn't put up for it except I like your wine. They used to call me 'Hot Pistol Pants'. I now have bird shot for my Smith and Wesson. I do hope the snakes around have heard of my reputation and the new box of 22 long rifle bird shot, and they go find another yard to lounge in this year. "

"Connie, you'll be fine. Thanks for defending the Blue-Merle. Remember the Alamo and don't forget what the gophers did to our last, remaining 25-year old kiwi plant. Somebody has to pay."

"Well you be on the lookout for slithering companions," she said, then warned: "I have heard hunters say that snakes can 'smell' or perhaps 'sense' where another snake was killed and will go to that spot. Not sure if that has merit - but I have seen hunters kill a snake and toss it far away. What did you do with yours?"

"Now you tell me. I just threw it over the fence. I guess its relatives will be back soon, right?" I thought for a moment and announced: "I've got an idea...."

New World vs. Old World Shoot Out at Blue-Merle Vineyard: Surprising Results

The Queen hummed a tune in the manner of a Dr. Seuss song:

"That Fidel I am,
That Fidel I am,
I do not like that Fidel I am."

As everyone knows, what you think about most of the time comes true and Fidel appeared waddling up the driveway. It had been almost a year since they last met when she fired him and took over management of the vineyard herself.

"Hey, senorita, ¿Cómo estás?"

"Hey Fidel, don't you senorita me. What the hell do you want?"

"May I have some of your lemons?"

"Can you set some gopher traps?" So a cease fire was arranged whereby Fidel set 5 gopher traps and took 5 lbs. of lemons, tangelos, oranges and limes. Normally he charged $10 per gopher (carrying around the same used-gopher-carcass from vineyard to vineyard collecting his bounty), but he was dreaming of margaritas that evening and offered his services in exchange for citrus.

When I got home from my daytime job she told me about her encounter with Fidel. I was glad to see they had reached a detente of sorts in their cold war. Bluey and I went out to inspect the traps.

Now Fidel is the legendary gopher trapper of Blue-Merle Country, and it's not for nothing that he could make a living catching the varmints. He certainly relishes the victorious hunt, celebrating by stringing up the victims on fence, tree or trellis as a warning to other gophers: don't you dare. The Fidel "technique" is to find an hole, clear it open and set some weeds as bait. This is totally at odds with the theories of Macadamia Bruce, who insists on finding a "main road" and setting traps in both directions and never uses any weeds as bait. Now I have never seen Macadamia Bruce's captured gophers, but I have seen Fidel's. Fidel is in the Mexican version of the Guinness Book of World Records for his prowess, and he does it by setting a single trap at the end of a tunnel.

As I inspected Fidel's traps, it seemed to me that they were not set deeply inside the tunnels. Also, it seemed he had selected squirrel holes for two of the traps. What was worse, there was an area at the top of the hill in the Aglianico bloc with recent gopher markings and no trap set. So, I decided at that point to challenge Fidel. Novice vs. expert. Student vs. teacher. New world vs. Old World, to see who could catch Mr. Gopher. Bluey and I set our own trap and as it was getting dark called it quits and retired for the evening.

The next day (last Friday afternoon to be exact), Bluey and I went on patrol to inspect the traps. First, we visited Fidel's. Not only were there no gophers, there were no bites. Nada. Then, we checked the trap we had set, and there he was, Mr. pesky Gopher, deceased. What a way to begin the weekend! Fresh from our first round victory mano a mano against Senor Fidel we headed to our neighborhood Belle Marie Winery carrying bottles of Petit Verdot, Petit Verdot Plus and Petit-Petit wine for a little wine shoot out, after setting a couple of more gopher traps in other areas of the vineyard.

The next day, Bluey and I were out vineyarding and inspecting the traps and there were still no bites at Fidel's traps and we noticed that we had caught a gopher in the Grenache area from the trap we set the day before (that's two in two days and an auspicious continuing for a really good weekend). Just as Bluey was pulling on the chain to get the gopher out of the hole Coyote Karen called, offering us some brownies and mint-chocolate cake. Would we like any?

"Would you like us to come over and catch some gophers for you? Only $10/head!"

"How about a bottle of wine per gopher?" It's the new economic age of bartering.

"Deal."

The score after two rounds of the shoot-out: Gringo 2: Fidel 0. I reset the traps.

Bluey and I went out on patrol early this evening carrying a shovel which I used to strike at weeds along the way and we inspected Fidel's traps and there were still no gophers nor any bites. So I took out his traps and used the shovel to fill in the holes so the gophers would have to work if they tried to come back that way. Bluey went up ahead of me and took up position where I had set my last trap Sunday evening and by his stance I suspected that we had caught another one. Damn. 3 gophers in 3 days. I guess we had caught this one on Sunday and it was now Tuesday evening and he was a little gamy and Bluey had tugged on the chain pulling him out of the hole (good dog) without eating him (good dog). Now the Queen had gone to Japan on Friday carrying with her a case of the Blue-Merle's finest wine to find us a distributor and to host wine tastings in the Land of the Rising Sun as our wine is enjoyed from Texas to Oklahoma, from Connecticut to Japan, and since she was gone there hasn't been much to eat and I was thinking that a little gopher stew might be pretty good. But as this one was riper than road kill we threw it over the fence for the coyotes.

Thoughts were going through my head: 3 gophers in 3 days. America shuts out Mexico in Gopher Championships 3 - 0! Outlaw winemaker declared gopher champion in Blue-Merle Country. Boy, would the Queen be proud of me. And as I had these I heard voices of the Three Priests who warned me that perhaps I shouldn't be so proud. That perhaps the good, gracious Lord might just put a little rattlesnake in the next gopher hole I stuck my hand in, so with gracious, humble, humility in mind I walked down the Rue Jean Baptiste -- the road we had made straight and level in the hills -- with shovel in hand scraping weeds as I walked and there he was on the side of this main path feeling warm against a short concrete wall. What is it the experts say? What you think about most of the time comes true. I raised the shovel and made a positive identification of the tail before striking. The temperatures had climbed well above 70 degrees this afternoon, this almost first day of Spring and the rattlesnake had come out of hibernation. Bluey was a few steps away from me and I had been thinking of enrolling him in a rattlesnake avoidance class and used this opportunity to teach him about "bad" Mr. Snake and to "leave it" while allowing him to experience the scent from a safe distance.

I gave thanks for our blessings and in the manner of Disney's Country Bear Jamboree I sang a little country tune as I washed my device of self-defense:

"Blood on the shovel,
Blood on the sha-a-a-a-ovel...."

I looked at the the snake and remembered I was running out of food with the Queen being in Japan and thought that this would make a pretty good meal and it was fresh. In order not to offend our gentle readers I will simply state that I have been to China and I have eaten Chinese food and fried snake is good (and grandpa has eaten it too and even drunk the bile and has had a good long life) and if Ms. Connie from SouthTexas had been here she would have enjoyed it and I'll leave the rest of the story to your imagination.