"Snake!” Anna announced.

          I applied the brakes firmly while checking the rearview mirror. Good. No one was coming from behind us. Once the car came to a stop, I watched Anna in the headlights as she moved toward the reptile—flashlight in hand. The snake remained on the warm asphalt of Everglades National Park’s main road to Flamingo—more than twenty-five miles behind us. Reaching for my binoculars on the dashboard, I put them to my eyes. Yes! The first Cottonmouth of the evening. Hopefully, this snake hadn’t been hit by a vehicle, unlike the Yellow Rat Snake and Eastern Garter Snake we’d stopped for previously.

          How many snakes were killed by vehicles after dusk? They were hard to see on the pavement even at our leisurely 15 mph. Other drivers sped along at the posted 50 mph—most didn’t bother to slow much even as they passed us when we parked on the vegetated shoulder of the road. Unless the snakes were large, most drivers never saw them, or, if they did, couldn’t avoid hitting them.

          “This individual is nicely marked. Honey, why don’t you get a picture?” Anna suggested above the steady drone of the engine. I elected to take the hint, knowing it was actually more of an order.

          Placing the binoculars back on the dash, I checked the rearview mirror again.

          Damn! Why is it every time we find something a car shows up? We haven’t seen anyone for over half an hour.

          I winced as I opened the door, my lower back reminding me making haste wasn’t wise. Slowly climbing out, I tried to ignore the pain. I opened the rear door on my side and pulled my camera from the bag. With a glance up the road the headlights of a car over a mile away appeared. Did I have enough time?

          I moved into the brightness of our headlights as fast as I could. The flashlight beam moved onto the still-immobile snake. I aimed the camera and waited for it to focus. I smiled to myself. How long had it taken us to develop a good strategy to get pictures this way, hardly speaking, knowing what each of us would do?

          My wife’s interest in reptiles and amphibians wasn’t appreciated at all by her parents and siblings. We’d been friends for two years at college, and that had gradually morphed into something more. I’ve always suspected our mutual adoration for scaly creatures was one of the reasons she started dating me. It didn’t hurt that she was more skilled at capturing and identifying snakes than I was; I was better at birds and mammals. 

          She confessed after our engagement that either we were a match made in heaven, or in some murky swamp filled with unusual plants and animals. I’d always relished the idea it was the latter.

          The snake was in fresh skin, its bold pattern of black stripes, tan, and large brown spots striking. The strobe on the camera flashed and I moved to frame another shot that would show the entire animal, including its distinctive black tail. Flash! Flash!

          I was slightly hunched over in pain, even the weight of the camera seemed to tell me I wasn’t as young as I once was. Ignoring the discomfort as much as possible, I knelt for one last close-up. Flash! Flash! When I tried to stand, my back yelled: Not so fast old man! I clenched my teeth, then raised my hand, received a firm grasp, and pulled myself up. I could always count on Anna.

          The snake was on the move now and I gave another glance toward the oncoming headlights. The snake was moving into the opposite lane that the car would use to pass us.

          Shoot! This isn’t good. You should have positioned yourself on the other side where he would have left from your lane if he moved. You're responsible for him now.

          I stepped into the edge of our headlights to slow the vehicle, hoping they wouldn’t pass at all.       

          Come on Cottonmouth! This is no time to dawdle for a little more warmth.

          I watched as the snake came to a dead stop smack dab in the wrong place. I moved into the lane as the vehicle slowed and came to a halt.

          “Do you need help?” a voice called out.

          “No, we’re fine. I just don’t want this snake to get hit. I’ll try and get it to move,” I replied not wanting to get too close to a venomous snake this large in sandals and shorts.

          Anna was already moving closer to encourage the snake to keep moving when I saw the door of the car open. A man stepped out into the light of our combined headlights with a snake hook and urged the snake off the pavement toward the vegetation.

          Cottonmouth had an attitude, it was his home after all, and being man-handled seemed not to be to his liking. With a few more prods the snake moved off the pavement and disappeared into the leafy darkness.

          My back shouted as I turned toward my car: No quick moves or you’ll pay for it.

          Isn’t this fun? An old guy like you still chasing snakes when he could be snug in bed sleeping.

          “Thanks for stopping,” said the man just before his car door slammed shut. His car moved past us, the red tail lights fading into the darkness. I opened my door and started in; my back hadn’t been kidding. I settled in behind the steering wheel and waited for the pain to subside before putting the car into gear.

          “That was a beautiful snake. I’m glad we stopped. Are you up to another hour of driving? It’s a gorgeous night. The amphibians are in full chorus, even the Pig Frog. No more photographs, let’s just enjoy,” she offered with a warm touch on my arm.

          It was a night to remember. A beautiful Cottonmouth, an understanding and encouraging wife of almost fifty years, chorusing amphibians, and another man who appreciated the same gifts of nature as we did.

          Cottonmouth. You are one lucky snake tonight. Good hunting.