THE TIMES (London, UK) 31 May 08 A 6ft snake? In lowland Britain? Imagine a monster like this lurking in our countryside. It's thrilling (Simon Barnes)
Anyone who likes to look at wild things tends to cultivate an aptitude for astonishment. You will often find me gasping with amazement at something that looks utterly dull, quotidian, unexceptional to those who haven't trained the astonishment muscle to such a high degree. I'm sure it sometimes seems like an affectation, this wild and heartfelt rejoicing at an infinitesimal sky-hung silhouette, a burble from a bush or a fleck by the side of the path.
It's nothing of the kind, though you might wonder if I have anywhere left to go when I see something that still more amazing: the kind of thing that makes even the unawakened gasp. I had such a moment the other day, when watching at a stretch of water in a glorious little corner of Suffolk. My response was, indeed, a little over the top.
The day was still, the weather fine, the warblers in good voice and there was no occasion to hurry. If you linger, there is always the possibility of astonishment. And so I saw a bow wave across the water, and whipped the bins on to it, suspecting a water vole. Nothing of the kind.
A cool, scaled head with penetrating eyes that reminded me of Paddington Bear's special Hard Stare, and travelling at a speed that was cause for astonishment in itself. It was a grass snake: I could see nothing but the head, arrowing towards the bank. It was a revelation of the hidden life of this country: the way that even now, the world is wilder than we think, wilder than we dare to think. I mean, it wasn't just a snake: it looked like a seriously big snake. Imagine that, lurking about in civilised lowland Britain.
I saw another, smaller, making a journey at 90 degrees to the course of the other, but there was still more astonishment to come. An hour or so later, the first snake made the return journey. This time I could see it clearly: crossing in a calm, confident esses, a water snake utterly at home in his own place. Well, her own place, actually, because anything beyond three feet is female. She was big, subtly marked, and thick of body, and I felt as if I were anywhere but a few miles from home.
She reached the far side and threw her head energetically from side to side until she got a purchase on the bank. She then flowed up the bank. Perhaps it's the impossible way that snakes move, counter-intuitive, utterly alien, that prompts the deep fears many people have for snakes. Certainly, with the way spiders move that finishes me: how can they walk like that? It's not natural.
But snakes touch me only with their sinister beauty: and I watched this fine thing emerge inch by inch and foot by foot. Five feet if it was an inch: the British record is around six feet, and this one might have been closer to that. Chunky too: thick as your arm, it seemed, though that may have been the drama of the situation getting to me. And then gone.
And I was left with a feeling of curious satisfaction: a strange illusion that, with this huge, almost invisible, and rather threatening creature, the wild was fighting back. The mere fact that the life of such a monster is still viable is thrilling enough: but with this personal revelation of hugeness and wildness, I really did feel for a second that the forces of destruction had been put into reverse. Over the top, as I say. Still, these moments must be savoured. They don't come often.
A 6ft snake? In lowland Britain?