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| Our once peaceful campsite in Qwee Pan |
We are sitting peacefully in a very remote
section of the Central Kalahari Game Reserve where we spent a week over the
Christmas break when, out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of the
biggest puff adder I’ve ever seen (~4 feet long!). I sprint from my chair
leaving one of my sandals behind as Paul leaps from his picking up his sandals
to catapult at the creature as it makes its way…under our tent!
What ensues
over the next 45 minutes is the stuff dreamed up in childhood nightmares as we
debate who will go in the tent to try to find him under the flooring and try
to push him out and who will stay outside the tent and make sure he goes a far
enough distance away. I opt for the inside and, armed with a dust pan and broom,
begin to feel around the bottom of the tent for the giant deadly creature. Paul
cautions, “Don’t step too hard, you might squish him.” (Really? This is not my
primary concern!). It’s like a freakish Halloween party when you’re blindfolded
and stick your hands in a bowl of peeled grapes and are told they’re eyeballs.
Feeling…feeling…is
that it? Feels like a stick or root until…it wiggles!!! I had no idea snake spines were so...hard. Right underneath my
hands is this meaty spiny bulk that slithers its way to the very
remote corner of the tent where it balls itself up, wedged against the tent
pole. I slam down the dust pan by his side and use it as a barrier so he can’t
go any farther into the tent. Now…we’re at a stalemate. Despite my pushing and
tapping and trying to lift the tent from the inside, he will NOT budge. We
debate our options. This goes on for some time. I’m ready to abandon camp, go
home and buy a new tent. He can have this one.
Ultimately we
decide the only way to get him out is to have Paul try to lift up the corner
pole (which means he has to get pretty close to where the snake is) and I have to push him
out. Armed with only a tent pole and shovel Paul tries to lift the corner
(which is under a good amount of tension as the four poles of the dome tent
rely on tension to keep the dome tent erect). Unable to see from the inside, with the momentary chaos of pushing and lifting we manage to get him out but
unfortunately…he doesn’t go far.
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| Uninvited Puff Adder Guest |
He’s tucked
himself at the base of a tree about three feet away from the tent. Much too
close for comfort. Despite Paul’s efforts to convince him to move, each time he
does, the snake tries to come closer to the
tent, not farther away. Unfortunately this is a TWO person job and there are
only two of us out here (in my mind I cry, “But I have a PhD” which I often cry
to myself in these African circumstances just to remind myself how useless that
is!!). We’ve taped together the tent poles so they don’t fall apart in our new
positions as “bush snake warriors”. Paul hands me the shovel for extra
protection and we begin to try to convince him to “bugger off” (as they would
say in English influenced African parlance).
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| Paul, "Bush Snake Warrior" |
Paul pokes and
I shout in slight hysteria, “He’s coming back this way.” Scooping him up with
the tent pole Paul flings him away from the tent one, two, three times only to
have him attempt to make a speedy retreat back to the safety of the tent. Finally,
we manage to get him a safe distance from the tent where he coils up, breathing
heavily wondering what the heck just happened. It's been a stressful day for all involved.
When the
excitement dies down, I feel like I’m going to be sick (which is what always
happens in circumstances like this for me – as I’ve mentioned before. The good
news is…I don’t panic in a crisis). For hours after I suffer from what Latino
populations call “susto” – a folk illness said to be caused by a sudden fright.
I’m so relieved that I wasn’t lying flat on the ground on a camping mat, which
I had been doing at our previous campsites to relieve my neck pain, but here the biting ants were too
overwhelming to be that close to the ground.
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| My normal pose for neck pain relief |
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| War Wound |
On such an
occasion we review our emergency exit strategy. Do I know how to dial the satellite
phone? Do I know who I can call? Can I find our location (in degrees, minutes, and
seconds) on the new GPS? Can I drive well enough to get us out of here? Puff
adders are cytotoxic meaning “cell destroying” so it damages tissue. Basic
first aid – pressure bandage but no tourniquet. They are one of the deadliest snakes in Africa.
We watch him carefully
for several hours after the incident but when we go off to the pan for
sun downers (that night calls for a gin and tonic!), he is gone when we return. For the next 24 hours until we pack up camp, I keep a vigil for P. Diddy*, which I’ve
come to call him, but we see no sign of him.
The irony of ironies is that for Christmas this year, I have bought Paul a Gentle Giant Snake Remover. Sadly, we left it at home because, "Who needs a snake remover in the bush?"
More to come on
our trip in the next entry.
*While I
thought this was quite hysterical to call him, “P. Diddy”, “Puff Daddy” and “Sean
John” for those of you who don’t understand the reference, here’s a Wikapedia
link for Sean Combs that might help - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sean_Combs.
Don’t feel bad, I had to explain it to Paul too.
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