WASHINGTON TIMES (DC) 01 December 06 Rattlesnake diplomacy (Maxim Kniazkov)
Fallon, Nev.: Most sounds of danger trigger automatic responses in the human brain. If it thunders, take cover. If it howls, hide.
But if it rattles? Consult Nevadans John Potash and Robert Kettle for that.
And preferably do so before a rattlesnake — those 4-foot critters with the cold stare of a Chicago gangster and the ability to deliver a deadly dose of venom with the speed of lightning — has you cornered and is making that familiar rattling sound.
To flee, or not to flee? That is the question. In the snake's desert home, your slick cellular phone, with medical help at the other end, likely will be way out of range.
Mr. Potash and Mr. Kettle are on the road more than they would like, insisting they are not a 911 service for resolving panicky face-offs between rattlesnakes and humans.
But they try to help anyway because few people know better what to do when you come face to face with a fork-tongued beast than these men, who have successfully parlayed their passions for reptiles into respectable part-time jobs.
The two men, who say they have heard of each other but never met, train people and domestic animals to deal with all varieties of rattlesnakes that can be encountered on the vast expanse of the West — from Canada to Central America and from California to Texas and beyond.
Scientists have counted at least 16 types of rattlesnakes, plus subspecies, but that doesn't even begin to tell the story.
"There are literally millions of them, and they are everywhere," says Mr. Kettle, whose day job is in construction. "The paradox is that most people, even here in Nevada, will spend their entire lifetime without encountering one."
They may be deadly, but they are shy of people.
Lacking a perspiration system, rattlesnakes hide most of the day under rocks and emerge after sunset in search for dinner. Their menu consists of mice, rats, small desert rabbits and, perhaps, an occasional bird.
But with people aggressively exploring the desert for its riches, breaking ground for highways and real estate developments, the two come into contact more than they would want to.
That's where the snake specialists come in. Call them peace negotiators between civilization and Mother Nature.
"They will attack only when they believe their life is in danger," assures Mr. Kettle, sitting on a box with two frantic Western diamondbacks rattling away inside, without making his eyebrow twitch. "You practically have to step on them for them to bite."
Mr. Potash, who lives in Reno, offers statistics reinforcing this point.
Only 97 persons died in the United States from poisonous snake and lizard bites in the 18-year period that ended in 1997, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.
"You have to keep in mind that about half of these bites happen to people who have been messing up with snakes," Mr. Potash says.
In addition to a pair of eyes that can see in the dark, rattlers are equipped with a heat-sensing radar — a pair of pits located behind the nostrils — that can sense heat given off by a predator or prey from yards away. The heat image that registers in the brain helps them identify the object long before contact and take appropriate action.
But a showdown cannot always be avoided.
Christina Baley, an animal-control officer from Boulder City, knows that firsthand. A few years ago, a construction crew there dynamited a mountain slope to make room for an upscale residential community with a stunning view of Lake Mead.
"They seem to have destroyed of couple of nests of Mojave greenbacks in the process," she says, cruising in her patrol van along the streets.
It has been a war between snakes and residents ever since. The rattlers have been invading back yards and basements, living rooms and bedrooms — in addition to making grand appearances at pool parties, barbecues and Sunday picnics.
To make matters scarier, Mojave greenbacks are 15 to 20 times more toxic than the more common Western diamondbackor Great Basin rattlesnakes — and more aggressive when aggrieved.
"I agree that most of them would try to avoid human contact," says Miss Baley. "But not the Mojave greenbacks I've seen. I remember one literally trying to chase me around a swimming pool."
When on the attack, rattlesnakes don't necessarily go for the kill, apparently opting for persuasion rather than annihilation.
"About 30 percent of their bites are what we call 'dry,' without poison being injected," Mr. Potash says.
Even when they opt to use venom, they can regulate dosage, thus avoiding a fatal outcome.
Mr. Kettle says he experienced that himself six years ago. After three decades of handling rattlesnakes, he was bitten on the thumb. There was pain, nausea; the thumb swelled to the size of a cucumber. But no vital organs were affected, and no need for an amputation, as is sometimes the case after rattlesnake bites.
He was out of the hospital after less than a week — chastened, but still determined to work with rattlers.
"I think he wanted to teach me a lesson, not to take my life because he probably gave me somewhere between 12 and 15 milligrams — one-twentieth of what he could have injected," Mr. Kettle says. "He probably sensed that I was not out to kill him, and responded in a measured way. I don't know how they do it, but many people believe snakes can read into our intentions."
As for the question "to flee, or not to flee," they recommend staying put.
"Rattlesnakes tend to live in colonies," Mr. Kettle explains. "And for each one you see, there is probably quite a few nearby that you don't. If you run, you risk stepping on one of them."
Rattlesnake diplomacy

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