MOUNTAIN LIFE - Blue Mountains | Spring 2020

68 Wandering, wading, and wallowing, my nostrils flared with the pungent miasma of what 19 th -century writers termed the “Chthonic Domain.” Aristotle and other ancients had ascribed worms, salamanders and snakes to this earthy, subterranean realm with its spirits and gods of the terra firma . It was where I belonged—a farmer working his fetid fields, reconnected and rekindled. Sightings of rare birds and plants accumulated rapidly, but my work turned largely on confirming the presence of more cryptic suspects—animals that were usually hard to find. But one that presented as a gift significantly ratcheted up the area’s biodiversity quotient. Returning to the cars one day, I stumbled from a sandy wood to find the group in a knot on the road, staring at the twisted, upturned body of a stout, arm-length snake. It lay in a mottled, cream-coloured ‘S,’ mouth agape, tongue lolling comically. “That’s pretty freakin’ big,” said a nervous botanist. “What kind is it?” wondered another. “Did we run it over?” “It’s not dead,” I smiled, “watch.” Leaning down, I slipped a hand under the animal and gently flopped it over, revealing a brown-and-gray-banded dorsum that could have belonged to a half-dozen North American serpents—but also a pointed, upturned nose that could only belong to one. The snake rolled right back over and resumed its possum pose. I flipped it again. It rolled over again. All you could do was laugh. It was like a Monty Python skit. Me: “You’re not dead.” Snake: “Yes I am.” Me: “No you’re not.” Snake: “I bloody well am !” Diurnal toad-hunters that prefer sandy areas where they can turn out prey with their shovel-like snouts, the Eastern hognose snake, Heterodon platyrhinos , might be nature’s best attempt at a solo Shakespearean drama. When threatened, the curtain rises on a loudly hissing snake spreading the forepart of its body like a cobra. But unlike the real thing, this snake is non-venomous—perhaps the reason for the rest of the show. If the threat doesn’t retreat, Act II involves a savage display of striking—with mouth comically closed. The finale, of course, is feigning death. This often misinterpreted behaviour, along with its ultra-specialized habitat, makes the hognose one of Canada’s rarest and most threatened snakes. It was a great find. That summer’s fieldwork also involved plenty of forensics. Long before CSI made it popular, I learned to confirm the presence of unseen animals by their tracks, sign, shed skins, bones, or scat. A flipside was that I personally served as a forensic lab for the rest of the crew, who merrily determined the presence of poison ivy, poison oak, burdock, wild rose, stinging nettle and numerous insects simply by examining the welts, cuts, bites and stings blooming across my legs and arms. The job made me fall in love with fieldwork, and was no small reason why I went on to do a Masters and eventually a Doctorate, stretching out both degrees so I could get extra field seasons in. This isn’t unusual. Most professional biologists live for fieldwork and the connections it brings. Ultimately, when I switched to writing full time, it was the fieldwork aspects of my previous vocation that resonated most clearly in my work, the crazy tales of woe, misery and mirth in the wilds became staples of all my books and the reason I often choose magazine assignments that come with a chance to go into the field with scientists. Regardless of circumstances, every time I’m out in the field one thing is clear: that summer job turned a nature-addled kid into a nature-addled adult. It was like a Monty Python skit. Me: “You’re not dead.” Snake: “Yes I am.” Out and about, getting in touch with Ontario’s bounteous nature. LESLIE ANTHONY