Collecting feeder lizards in northern Arizona among boulders at creekside, I came upon a magnificent Striped Racer sticking its head up from beneath a large boulder. About 18 inches of the most spectacular Striped Racer I ever saw. I came in slow-slow, like the hands of a clock, got within six inches, then struck. My hand closed on air. He snapped back under his boulder so fast, I didn't see him go.
Alas, I didn't have my camera on me, or I'd have a shot of him periscoping for sure. Part of me regrets missing a photo op with such a glorious beast, but part of me is proud of him. I'm stinkin' fast, modesty aside--I collect lizards by hand--no noose is good noose, you know (I said FAST, not funny!). But, seriously, I collect even the big Clark's Spiny Lizards by hand--I've caught birds by hand. That Striped Racer was a veteran survivor, and he smoked me. Still a beautiful experience, though. I spent nearly three minutes getting into strike range, and I filled my eyes. He was huge for a Striped Racer--maybe four feet, and in his prime. Velvety crisp, as if he had just shed, he had the mature color--greenish tipping on satiny black scales, big bird-bright eyes. I could not have picked a more legendary specimen to forever be The One That Got Away
