EXTINCTION OF THE SCREWTAIL RATTLESNAKE

         It is time to squash the innuendo, misstatement and outright lies told of the final acts of these courageous vipers. As I was the only person to observe the entire chain of events leading to the demise of the last six screwtail rattlesnakes I shall endeavor to set the historical record straight.

         In 1963, upon marrying my first wife, we set out on a tour of National Parks (Yosemite, Grand Canyon, Bryce, Zion, Yellowstone and Teton). In each of these parks I enrolled in, and graduated, first in my class, from their offered Junior Ranger programs. Planning for the future, it was my intention, following the coming school year (Yuba Community College), to use these six degrees to secure summer employment.

         Needless to say, with my credentials, in 1964 with my first application to the Department of Conservation and Wildlife Communication, I was snapped up and handed a daunting assignment. I was charged with the responsibility of trying to liaise with a fire camp of greenhorn city miscreants, and the flora and fauna of the environment. Determined to create the correct aura of expertise, and authority, I presented myself in full class A Junior Ranger uniform with full array of patches, and folder of degrees.

         It is hard to understand, but even in view of my obvious qualifications this contingent of back alley brats was clearly lost to their fear of predatory bears, stalking cougars and poisonous snakes. Anarchy was eminent, reason impossible, in no way did this reflect upon the supervisors, however, this was due to a lack of woods lore on the part of the crews. As it turned out these terrified teens had formed death squads, searching out and killing any and all wildlife they discovered.

         It must be said the next two weeks were a blur of frustration. Trying to teach those pernicious pavement predators the benefit of communing with nature, and to understand the animals just wanted to be left alone. Well, I was having about as much luck as storing dynamite in a fireplace in December; it just kept blowing up in my face. The clincher came in the early A. M. of June 22, 1964. Several hours before chow those skyscraper scoundrels mounted a vicious and uncalled for, pre-dawn, raid on a nest of peaceful rattlesnakes, they killed and scalped, (so to speak), 13 of 15 rattlesnakes.

         The die was cast, the gauntlet dropped, natures ire unloosed, and the unsuspecting campers the target. Try as I might I could see no hope of mediation. That night, as I tried to sleep, a sense of doom, as palpable as a blackout curtain hung over the camp.

         June 23, 1964, in the pre-dawn light those cocky curbside killers staggered outside on their way to chow. I was usually first up and out and about, however, I had much on my mind that morning. I had no appetite in face of the senseless slaughter, and was seeking a solution for the rift between man and nature. Suddenly the preternatural silence was shattered by a cacophony of screams, mother natures retribution was implemented.

         I ran to the window and was confronted by a war zone. The camp was besieged by three to six thousand rattlesnakes. Special Forces snake squads had struck in an advance assault. These squads were composed of the deadly species of Springtail rattlesnakes. I know you are familiar with their unique ability to coil, and spring twenty to thirty yards through the air with the deadly accuracy of a crossbow bolt. It was obvious their purpose was to eliminate the leaders of the camp. The effectiveness of this assault was apparent as I saw, Lieutenant Wahna B. Warden, Sergeant Preston O. Yukon, Correctional Officer Di. Oxide and Correctional Officer H. Tu Oh, all down and comatose. In addition twenty of the citified ferocious felons were down as well. The rest had managed to fort up in the chow hall.

         Believing I was the last person available to deal with this chaos, I approached the door. Then I heard my name called, I heard it clearly through the cries, screams, and moans. It was the voice of the California Department of Forestry Ranger assigned to the camp. He was the lone ranger working to train these metropolitan muggers in the art of fire fighting technique. I called back to the lone ranger, and informed him of my plan. Twenty-four people lying with their lives running out like sand through an hour glass, these were the days of their lives. I explained how I had just completed Psych 101, and Comparative Religion 101, and believed there was a chance of applying Zen teaching, and the new field of Beta wave transmission.

         If I was successful I could produce a blanket calming effect, hopefully this would allow me to tread among the vipers and remove the stricken. The lone ranger, while skeptical, wished me luck. I eased the door open, however, before I could center my WA‘, one of the gutter gangsters burst from the chow hall, and flung a five pound rock. Before I could think I reacted, and caught the rock 5/16 of an inch from crushing an infant rattler. There I lay, face down with thirty five adult rattlers staring me in the eye. Doing my best to seem unconcerned, I patted the tyke on the tail, and sent it home to its parents.

         Well it was touch and go there for a minute, then feeling a sense of communication coalesce, I took a chance. I began an undulating crawl, much like a snake, and worked my way to a two foot high stump in the center of the camp. Those snakes slowly cleared a path and allowed me to ascend the stump, and assume the traditional Zen position. Sitting there I began centering my Wa’, and maximizing Beta wave production. Just as I had calculated, a calming envelope of love and peace began to encompass the compound. It was now or never, and I called to the lone ranger, who, as luck would have it, had found his friend, a Yahi Indian camp cook named T. O. Nto, jokingly called Tonto. I informed the lone ranger and Tonto that I believed we could collect the injured men if done with caution. All twenty-four of the injured were moved into the chow hall, and at my instructions laid on the floor. There was a glimmer of hope to save the men, the program, and extend the principles of peace and conservation.

         Reaching out with my Wa’, to the assembled venom vendors, I sought out that, which I knew must be present. The fabled Screwtail rattlesnake. From my studies of history I knew that 19th century Doctors had raised these reptiles for their ability to inject, and extract venom, (before the advent of anti-venom, please see following historical notes). Well, in that assembled horde the last six Screwtail rattlers presented themselves before my stump. I implored them to help me heal the interspecies hard feelings, and hostile inclinations. I further reminded them of their history of service to mankind during the 19th and early 20th centuries. To my relief they agreed to help.

         I had the lone ranger and Tonto show them into the chow hall, where the cowering culture cowards could watch their efforts and learn. Immediately the six vipers selected four patients each, and began their ministrations. Backing up to the patients the snakes would straighten out as stiff as an arrow. Then, somehow, they would contrive a high speed clockwise rotation literally screwing their tails into the wounds, and then produce unique chemical property that allowed them to extract the venom from their patients. This process took about sixty seconds per patient so the whole process took less than ten minutes.

         I am sorry to say, I did not find out until too late, the ability of each snake to absorb this venom was limited to a maximum of three strikes per snake. Those courageous creatures had sacrificed themselves to save the four supervisors, and twenty felons.

         There is the true and first hand account of the extinction to the Screwtail rattlesnake. You know when I went to thank the CDF ranger and cook they were gone. I never did get that man’s name.


Please see the following record corrections, and historical notes:



RECORD CORRECTION: Historical accounts of these events continually state my credentials as a Herpetologist. I have repeatedly stated I have no medical training what-so-ever. As support, I ask what would a doctor studying herpes be doing in a fire camp?


SUPPORTING HISTORICAL NOTES: As previously mentioned 19th, and early 20th century doctors used to raise, and keep the Screwtail Rattlesnake for their unique ability to extract venom from stricken patients; this practice was made archaic by the advent of anti-venom.

         Scholars of linguistics, or as they are professionally known “Linguinis,” have determined our modern language has been altered due to this practice. The medical terminology “We need to screw you,” while referring to the use of these snakes to extract venom, has, since anti-venom, slowly taken on a derogatory connotation. This, the Linguinis say, occurred when patients who were afraid of needles were threatened by doctors with the painful Screwtail process. In other words the doctors would tell their needle fearful patients “We will screw you,” if they did not straighten up. These patients carried this phrase to the general public until the phrase “Screw you,” has become part of our current negative lexicon. (Source: National Association of Linguistics and Professional Linguinis)

Historical note 2: Archives show that doctors of the 19th, and 20th centuries, as typical humans, assumed they could improve on nature. It is shown that they developed a surgical tool known as the Screwtail Simulator. Ignorant of the chemical process involved, this instrument was destined to fail. This instrument was a “T” handled, sharp pointed wire coil.

         As I am sure you are aware, in early times it was common for people to pay for medical services with produce, and other goods. Records further show a successful Napa Valley physician, Doctor Corky Puller was going bankrupt building facilities for his payment of vintage wines. These wines were bottled with a plug, virtually, impossible to remove without breaking off the bottle neck. One day, in a fit of anger after losing another bitten patient to the application of the Screwtail Simulator, Dr. Puller threw the device across the room. Fate is strange, for that throw resulted in the Simulator sticking, precisely, in the neck of a bottle of wine. Later, when he went to retrieve the Simulator, he had a brilliant idea. Screwing in the Simulator, Doctor Puller successfully extracted the plug.

         Well the rest is history, once the device caught on the wine industry was made. In gratitude, The National Association of Wine Producers, and Drinkers voted to honor Dr. Puller, and ever after, that pesky plug has been called a cork. They further dubbed the surgical implement the corkscrew to honor Dr. Corky Puller, and the species after which it was designed. I am sorry to report Dr. Puller was absent from these awards, as by that time he was a hopeless drunk. (Source: National Association of Wine Producers and Drinkers; and Alcoholics Unknown).
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