I’m getting a late start today, so I’ll just tell a quick story. Most of you know for me to say, “I’ll tell a quick story” is not unlike a bear saying, “I’m going to take a short winter nap.” Except that, of course, bears can’t talk. So throw that analogy out the window. How about this one: It’s like Paris Hilton looking at a camera and saying, “No, I will not flash my boobs.” Or you could say it’s like Robin Williams making a decent movie. It’s like Donald Trump turning down an interview request. In other words, it’s quite impossible. I’ll give it a shot.
Several weeks ago I wrote about my granddad. One of the great things about my childhood was the closeness of my family. My grandparents spent a great deal of time with us throughout my childhood. One of our favorite activities was camping.
When my dad and his brothers were young, my granddad was their Boy Scout leader. His troop took several camping trips each year. They became a very close-knit group. I grew up listening to fantastic stories about their 50-mile hikes and camping trips.
When I was about 10 years old the group decided to have a reunion. Being a Boy Scout troop they decided the best reunion would be a camping trip. As soon as we heard about the trip, my brother and I wanted to go. We begged my dad. We begged my mom. We begged my granddad. Finally, they all agreed. We could go.
On a warm spring afternoon, we loaded our gear and set out for Brush Creek Campground on the Tennessee River. We arrived and unloaded. The other former scouts were all arriving about the same time. We set up our tents and got ready for supper.
One of the greatest parts of a camping trip is the time between supper and bedtime. We spent what now seems like endless hours sitting around the fire with full stomachs. Roasting marshmallows. Stoking the fire. Reliving memories. Listening to amazing stories.
My granddad is a great storyteller. He tells a story in a way that keeps you on the edge of your seat. He claims they are all true, but we always wondered. But we always believed him.
This particular night he went from telling stories from his days as a scout leader to telling stories from his childhood. We all, adults and kids alike, sat around the fire captivated by his exploits. The story that sticks in my head was more of an interesting fact than a story.
He told us about a time he and his brother were playing on the riverbank. As they were playing Papaw (my granddad) saw a Water Moccasin slithering up behind his brother, Clifford. He was frozen to the ground and struck mute from the shock of seeing the snake moving closer and closer to his brother’s foot. Finally, just as the snake reached Clifford, Papaw sprang forward and grabbed the snake by the tail. He lifted the snake into the air and, by sheer instinct, cracked it like a bullwhip. As the snake’s body was snapped his head popped off and flew 30 feet in the air. My granddad dropped the carcass and the boys went about their horseplay.
We were awestruck. Soon he finished telling stories and we all headed off to bed. The night had turned cool. As we left the warmth of the fire for the somewhat rocky semi-comfort of our sleeping bags we peppered Papaw with questions.
“Pap, did that really happen?”
“Yep.”
“Can you really pop the head off of a snake?”
“Sure I can.”
“If we find a snake can you pop its head off?”
“Yep.”
“Can we go find one now?”
“It’s too dark tonight.”
“Can we go tomorrow?
“Sure.”
“Can we pop the head off of a snake?”
“You’d better let me show you how first.”
My brother and I could not sleep. We stayed up for a couple of hours planning our attack. We planned to get up early the next day, eat breakfast, and then set off down the river bank to find a snake. Pap would catch it and quickly pop its head off. Then it would be our turn. We planned spend the entire day finding snakes and popping their heads off! I finally drifted off to sleep with visions of snake whips dancing in my head.
The next morning we stuck to our plan. We awoke early and ate breakfast as quickly as we could. I’m almost certain I didn’t chew once during the entire meal. As soon as we finished we were at Papaw’s heels begging to go snake hunting. Eventually he acquiesced and off we went.
We walked along the edge of the river for what seemed like hours. We stopped several times pointing and running excitedly toward every scaly stick and slithering vine. We were met with disappointment time and time again. No snakes. My granddad tried to convince us that it was too early in the year for snakes. Too cold. They were still hibernating. We refused to give in. We would not turn back until we found and popped the head off of at least one snake.
My granddad suggested that we look under rocks. He told us, “Snakes nest under big rocks.” So we started flipping over every rock we came upon. It didn’t matter to us that the entire riverbank was composed entirely of rocks.
As we moved methodically down the water’s edge we began to get more and more discouraged with each rock we overturned. Eventually I came to a rock I could not pick up by myself. I called my brother over to help. We each gripped the rock and lifted with every bit of strength we could muster. Finally after a moment the rock lifted a little. We adjusted our grips and pushed. Over it went. We stood back to behold the mother lode. A water snake with at least fifty 8 to 10 inch babies.
The mother snake was probably 3 feet long, but it might as well have been 50. My brother and I were euphoric. I’m not so sure my granddad shared our enthusiasm. He upheld his end of the bargain, though. After only a few moments’ hesitation he reached into the snake pit and pulled the large snake out by her tail. We were practically dancing with joy! He was actually going to snap the head off of a snake!
Pap told us to stand back to give him room to whip it. We moved back 7 or 8 feet and watched with anticipation. The snake writhed and twisted and tried its best to release itself from Pap’s grip. He dangled the snake, head down, out to his side. Finally the snake relaxed a little and straightened out. My granddad took his opportunity. In the blink of an eye he raised the snake’s tail above his head and with a quick snap dropped his hand.
Time slowed to a crawl. I watched the snake rise over Papaw’s head in a curving motion only to reverse direction quickly at the top of its arc. It was like watching a beautiful slow motion ritualistic dance. I stood spellbound by the dance waiting for the snake’s head to release from its body.
As the snake continued its descent to decapitation, I noticed its mouth was open wide as if it tried to bite my granddad just as he turned it into a reptilian whip. Suddenly I noticed the mouth was getting bigger. And bigger. And bigger. I quickly realized it wasn’t getting bigger, it was getting closer!
My first thought was, “Wow, he did it! And I’m going to catch the head.” Then I noticed the long body trailing behind the speeding head. I stood frozen in terror as 3 feet of snake (minus a few inches of tail) rocketed, fangs first, toward my face.
I would love to end this story with some heroic action on my part. I would love to tell you I grabbed the snake in mid-air by what was left of his tail. That with reflexes quicker than the quickest cat, I whipped the snake like a 10 year old Indiana Jones and sent his head flying to land at my grandfather’s feet. That would make a great story. But I didn’t.
I did what most any non-action hero 10 year-old boy would do. I ducked. The snake sailed over my head and landed with a slight thud on the rocky shore. Though a little dazed, she almost immediately raced back in the direction of her babies and her rock. My granddad came over to check on me briefly, and then he went to replace the rock as we had found it. The three of us turned and headed back to camp in silence.
We were tired. By the time we started back it was lunch time. We were hungry. And we were more than a little disappointed. As we neared camp I looked up at my granddad. He looked down at me and gave me a smile that seemed to contain just a hint of disappointment. I smiled back.
Just before we came to the picnic table where the troop was gathered for lunch I stopped. My granddad stopped and looked back.
“Pap, can we go find another snake after lunch?”
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