A real introduction to a Bushmaster

On the boat trip up to the lodge I had been told by the manager that the previous group had found a Bushmaster curled up not far from the lodge and that it been there for over a week. It had still been there when she had come down to town to meet us and organise our trip 5 days previously. I shivered with the idea of meeting another of the jungle’s most legendary denizens, even though I did not hold out much hope that it could still be around. That magical magnetism that makes me seek these out I cannot explain, but I could not wait to get to the lodge and see if I would be lucky enough to see the massive snake I have seen on so few occasions before. An ironic smile will cross my face sometimes when I think of the entertaining stories I have heard, the myths of the forest: pursuit by angry hissing animals, reminiscent of scenes from B-grade horror movies like Anaconda, that play on the ignorance of people and the innate fear that is bred into all of us from when we are old enough to hear stories. I once heard a guide say that if you encountered a Bushmaster that you should throw down a items of clothing to distract it from your trail. We don’t have dragons to fear anymore so we need something to replace them.

Heading back to the lodge after the exciting encounter with the peccaries, we came to the area where the manager had told me to be on the lookout – it had been 2m from the trail beneath some leaves. I briefed the 7 students with me on what to look for and we proceeded slowly forward along the path, one after the other. I slowly scanned each mound of leaves, looking for a patch of keeled skin, a jagged line of a pale diamond on a golden background. Suddenly from behind me one of the students in the middle of the group stammered “I – uh – is that a snake?”
I backtracked to where he was pointing to a depression surrounded by small plants, and sure enough, curled up and flattened was the deadly reptile we had been looking for. 4 of us had walked within a meter and a half of the snake without seeing it, despite our looking for it. It had not moved. Instead it lay, head low, relying on its camouflage to protect it from detection.
And so it remained, as we edged slowly closer, eventually surrounding it like a scene from the “Meerkat Manor” where the troop of Kalahari meerkats surround a Cape Cobra.
And still the Bushmaster did not move, so eventually we were brave enough to even clean away some of the dead leaves and vegetation from around it so that we could get better photos.

Curled up tightly, the pile of snake could not have measured more than 50cm across. The large head, maybe 8cm across, gave an indication that its total length was probably a lot longer. But, for a Bushmaster, it did not seem so big. Speculations that it could possibly be on eggs were dispelled when the next day we returned only to find the depression, where it had stayed so resolutely for 2 extended photo sessions by the 17 or so of us, deserted. No trace could be found in the vicinity – and would not have taken its eggs with it.

Almost 10 days later, towards the end of the trip, the students were busy with individual projects, measuring everything from flight patterns to ants nests. It was nearly time for dinner and I had been involved in idle conversation with someone about some of the highlights of the trip. 2 students came into the communal area and asked if we had heard some shouting. I wondered if they were joking as we had been discussing the mythological Chua-chakis a night or two before and swapping scary stories of ghosts that had been heard in the forest. But they were serious. I walked to the area to get my boots, and then heard suddenly and clearly my name being called in unison by a group of students. I slipped on my sandals and started running towards the shouting.
“Stop! There’s a snake!” screamed a voice from the darkness, but it was unnecessary – my torch light played over one of the biggest snakes I had ever seen that lay between me and the group of stranded students on the other side. Stretched diagonally to its fullest across the main trail, which at that point was at least 2 meters wide, was the massively thick body of a Bushmaster approaching 3 meters in length. It looked at me, as I moved slowly forward, approaching the tail end. The long, red tongue slid slowly from the closed mouth and fingered the air between us. More footsteps and beams of light from behind me heralded the approach of the rest of the students and the lodge manager. While I wondered best how to deal with the massive snake, the manager gave instructions to the stranded group on how best to navigate through the forest to the side of the path to safety. I decided that it was better to err on the side of caution, not willing to tempt fate so far from anywhere where assistance for a snakebite could be forthcoming. As expected, without being prodded or poked the giant slid little by little off the path and coiled up defensively under a pile of broken branches, body protected beneath the massive head with the flicking tongue. I decided a snake that size could only be a fully grown female. She would switch sides nervously as she tried to detect where danger lay. After a few photos we returned to the lodge for dinner, and about an hour later we went back to check if she was still there and I was not surprised to see that the defensive position she had occupied had been abandoned as she continued on her journey into the darkness, headed to some unknown destination in the vast expanses of forest that surrounded us.

Again, I felt really lucky to have had these two encounters with one of the big 5 of the jungle. The snakes at no time displayed any aggression, but at all times relied on their camouflage to avoid conflict with us. I also think that each time it was the snakes who were more scared by the experience, but like most things in the jungle, they just wanted to be left alone to get on with their lives, as they have been doing for millions of years, and I pray will continue to do so into the future.