Field Biology as Art - Tracks and Shadows: Field Biology as Art - page 171

dappled sunlight on a jumbled stack of slabs; she had recently molted, judging from the
lustrous yellow and brown crossbands. Her hindparts and tail were velvety jet black,
and her abdomen was so swollen with pregnancy that stretched bluish skin was vis-
ible among the scales. We kept a respectful distance, and soon everyone stopped talk-
ing—just stood watching those immobile coils. No obstreperous TV personality dangled
her by the tail and crowed about how she was so “dangerous.” No one poked her with
a stick. And that beautiful animal never so much as chick-chick-chick ed her rattles, as
these snakes sometimes do when agitated.
The first Talks and Treks program was consistent with my experience teaching nat-
ural history at Berkeley: with preparation, people readily treasure live rattlesnakes. But
we've got a long way to go. Fifty percent of all pitviper species might be endangered,
yet only a few dozen have protected status. 9 Meanwhile, people slaughter rattlesnakes
by the thousands at “roundups” in Oklahoma and Texas, and Missouri legislators tried
unsuccessfully to exempt snakes from protection as wildlife. Until recently, terciopelos
were deemed hazardous and killed around buildings at La Selva, despite only one ser-
ious snakebite there in more than forty years. And when I asked a Texas park ranger
about snakes, she responded, “They're bad this year!” Think about that: she said they
were bad . . .
Conserving venomous serpents inevitably depends on controlling their negative im-
pact on us and vice versa, as is true for more popular organisms like elephants and
big cats. Nevertheless, Dioum's testimonial about saving what we love and loving what
we understand emphasizes how research and education are linchpins for appreciating
less widely liked creatures. We can indeed all be teachers, in classrooms or over back-
yard fences. So if you agree with me that the Earth is wilder with dangerous animals, in
ways that repay tolerance, tell your friends something good about rattlesnakes. And re-
member, information that helps us understand, love, and conserve nature follows from
someone carefully attending to her particulars—someone like my high school mentor,
the father of snake ecology.
Henry Fitch seemed physically it during our longest interview for this topic, only
months after he'd fallen of an embankment into a chilly creek at the age of eighty-
nine. Daughter Alice was up from Oklahoma visiting her parents at the K.U. Natural His-
tory Reservation, and the four of us talked all afternoon and into the evening. Virginia
served a fine dinner of fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, corn on the cob, and
homemade yeast rolls. Almost eighty, she still had raven-black hair and a lively sparkle
while recounting decades of Fitch family life. Topics ranged from my first visit with them
as a sixteen-year-old to current projects. At a mention of “youthful indiscretions,” I said,
“Huh?” and Virginia explained that she'd married young and divorced the other man
when he went overseas. “Then,” she added, smiling and hugging Henry from behind his
chair, “I met this wonderful guy!”
From time to time I checked my notes, and, in spite of his enthusiasm for this topic,
Henry was reticent. “Do you believe in God?” resulted in a pause, then “I have no reli-
gious beliefs. Although I was raised in that environment, natural history does it for me.”
I wanted to find out why he keeps turning over boards and catching snakes, what be-
ing in nature meant to him. At one point I blurted out something about finding peace as