Happy Diversion

Today, our usual Sunday morning geocaching outing consisted solely of the Old Farts — Old Diefenbaker (a.k.a. Scott), Old Rob (a.k.a. Old Rob), and Old Rodan (a.k.a. me). Our initial plan was to see if we could snag a few in Mebane, about 25 miles down the road, and then a few in Hillsborough, another 15 miles or so farther on. However, just as our aging gang was hobbling out of the house, notifications popped up for a series of six new hides in Burlington, which is several miles closer than Mebane. So, we altered our course and diverted to Burlington Springwood Park, which is a fairly large — and this morning, a very busy — facility. By the time we arrived, around 10:00 a.m., there were already several softball games in progress on the ballfields, and a disc golf tournament was just getting going. Muggles coming, going, in, out, up, down, and all around....

Undaunted, we parked the Rodan Mobile and set out on foot after the caches — five traditionals and one mystery cache. Each traditional contained information necessary to unlock the final mystery cache. The heat was hot, we hiked about three miles, and we had trouble finding a couple of the caches, so by the time we found the entire bunch, the evil day star was on the verge of getting the better of us. In the plus column, we met a family of cachers, whose team name — Phersjm — we knew from their many geocaches in the area, but this was the first time our paths had ever crossed in the field. Actually, our paths crossed twice, which was nice.

Happily, the No-Dead-Weight Irregular Old Farts scored six of the almost-maybe-kinda-sorta coveted first-to-find honors. And we met a very friendly black rat snake, who slithered by to check us out for a bit. He let me get quite close to him to take a few pictures, which I appreciated.

After all this, we headed on over to Mebane, where we found four more caches and an excellent lunch at Catrina’s Mexican Restaurant, which has become one of our favorite lunch destinations when we're caching over that way. Great food, and an extensive selection of it. The Rodan Mobile arrived back at Casa di Rodan about 3 o'clock and disgorged a bunch of weary, sweaty, filthy-dirty old men. Well, I'm not saying dirty old men, except, well, maybe, there's Scott....

Bye for now.

Dude just keeps on slithering out of the greenery.

He's easily a six-footer, if not more.

"Hello, Mr. Man, I am ready for my close-up."

Big Pete

Or...To DNF or Die, That Is the Question*

This is not Big Pete, but possibly one of his little baby relatives. Pete was like 50 feet long.

He was the biggest, rudest, most belligerent specimen of Agkistrodon contortrix I had ever encountered on the geocaching trail. And he stood — or, more accurately, coiled — between me and a long-sought-after geocache. (I call him “he” because he had particularly masculine shoulders.) Big, big snake, this copperhead, and he clearly had no intention of allowing me to pass. Indeed, the cache lay deep within his territory, and I'm sure, from his perspective, I was the rude one, especially since he had not bitten me when he had the chance. Still, rude or not, I intended to reach at least the first stage of this reputedly compact multi-stage cache. There was nothing for it but to trespass deeper into Mr. Snake’s domain.

I had set out after the cache on a warm spring afternoon. Despite its three-and-a-half-star (out of five) terrain rating, I figured the hunt couldn't be too long or difficult, as the location was a relatively small wooded area behind a shopping center on the edge of town. Ground zero for the first stage appeared to be a couple of hundred feet behind the parking lot, somewhere beyond a barrier of dense foliage. Once parked in a handy, nearby location, I grabbed my gear and set out toward the waypoint indicated on my battered but trusty old Garmin.

I had barely gone a hundred feet when the terrain descended sharply toward a small stream, and I could see, some distance away, the gaping mouth of a dark culvert — the very spot to which my GPS pointed. As is my custom whenever I know I’ll be leaving pavement, I had come prepared for such a venture: waterproof boots, long pants, gloves, flashlight, hiking stick. The steep hillside leading down to the stream was strewn with rocks of all shapes and sizes, creating a series of stairsteps that appeared easy enough to negotiate. As yet, I could not determine the depth of the water at the culvert’s mouth, but I hoped it wouldn’t be so deep that I’d end up getting my feet soaked.

I had just set foot on the first rock at the top of the hill when something shot out from beneath it like a bolt of dark lightning. Only for a brief flash did my eyes lock on that bolt, but that was enough for me to identify it as a very large copperhead — four to five feet long, and as big around as my forearm. At least he had been neighborly enough to vacate the premises rather than chomp on one of my extremities.

“Sorry, snake!” I called, hoping this might placate him if he were still lurking about. “Good snake,” I muttered to myself. “Nice snake.” At that moment, I decided to name him Big Pete.

Now, snakes don’t bother me a bit. In fact, I’m quite fond of them — at least the non-venomous variety. On my thousands of geocaching outings over a decade or so, I’ve encountered countless black racers, rat snakes, garter snakes, corn snakes, king snakes, and others, including a handful of copperheads and once a rattler, but these more dangerous specimens have always preferred to either go the other way or simply lounge about so I might easily avoid them. Something told me that Pete, the biggest such beast I had ever encountered, might decide to get ornery. After all, I had stepped on him, or at least on his shelter of choice.

Okay. Big Pete is somewhere down yonder. The cache, also, is somewhere down yonder.

The water was flowing out of the culvert, so I thought, well, maybe Big Pete ventured downstream, since that would be the more relaxing course. After all, if I were a snake who had just been trodden upon, I would by all means prefer the more relaxing course. So, down the rocks to the stream I went. Happily, the water appeared only a few inches deep. I figured I could venture into the dark tube, which was large enough to enter at a crouch rather than a crawl, without getting my socks and/or drawers wet. I moved cautiously, still uncertain as to the direction Big Pete had taken. As I reached the opening to the pipe, I saw no sign of him and began to breathe a little easier.

I bent down and took my first step into the cool darkness. And just ahead in the dim light that filtered into the pipe, I glimpsed something long and large wriggling through the water toward me.

I stumbled and splashed back into daylight. Big Pete came rocketing out of the culvert, jaws spread wide, maneuvering close enough for a single good lunge to have me dead to rights.

Tempting fate, I spun around, taking my eyes off my pursuer, and spied a rock the size of a football a short distance away. I lurched toward it, grabbed it, spun around, and chucked it at Big Pete. SPLASH!, went the rock, right in front of our charging viper, hurling him backward into the pipe. Once again I had spoiled Big Pete's relaxing afternoon.

Now mad, pissed, livid, and bent on chomping my leg, Pete gathered himself and came at me again. But my counterattack had served to put a few more feet of distance between us. I picked up another good-sized rock and heaved it at him. This time, the impact sent him flying, twisting and writhing, high into the air, and when he plummeted back into the water, he coiled up to regroup and rethink. I could see his little gears grinding as he considered his best angle of attack. But by now, I was moving as fast as I could in the direction I had come. I finally regained the rocks and scrambled toward high ground. Blessedly, Big Pete remained coiled in the stream, his bright, beady viper eyes shooting daggers at me.

There is a time for persistence and a time to cut one’s losses. At this point, soaked and enervated, I opted to post a DNF ("Did Not Find") log and ignore this cache's existence until hibernation season. “Adios, Pete!” I called. I’m pretty sure that if he had arms, he would have waved a not-so-fond farewell.

To my dismay, before I could return to that cache, it was archived due to — of all things — the second stage going missing and the cache owner deciding not to replace it. So, my adventure with Big Pete ended up being for naught, other than providing me one of the most intense adrenaline rushes of my life.

All this was a few years ago, so I don’t know whether Big Pete is still around. If he is, I hope he finally managed to get some much-needed relaxation without being trodden upon. I reckon he deserves it.

#

*This recounting was initially written for a geocaching-themed publication, which has apparently fallen into eternal limbo. Thus I am posting it here. I hope you find it gripping, mortifying, and fun. At the time, I was not having so much of the fun, no sir.

Why I am in Dutch with the Boys

It was not even a particularly harrying morning — which is, I expect, the whole problem, since if it had been, I would not have lost my focus and walked off without feeding the cats.

I got up, anticipating a nice geocaching outing, with plenty of time before I had to walk out the door. As always, the cats herded me straight toward the kitchen, since — according to them — it had been a month since their last feeding. However, I bade them wait, for it was more critical that Dad get his coffee cooking first. Coffee now in the works, I notice the sink is full of dishes, so I start to put them in the dishwasher, only to find the dishwasher full of clean dishes, so I unload the dishwasher, after which there is coffee, so I pour the coffee and commence to loading the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, at which time I get a message from one of my geocaching partners stating they can't make it, which reminds me I haven't downloaded the day's cache info into my GPS, so I go upstairs to download the caches, then write a reply to our errant friend, only to receive an important writing-related email, which I immediately reply to, only to notice that time is scurrying ever onward, so I rush to get dressed, remembering that, since it's a six-mile hike, I will need plenty of liquid refreshment for the trail, so I pack up some liquid refreshment and then figure that I'm also going to need my bug spray, so I go out to make sure I have bug spray, and then realize I'm actually running a little late, so I confirm I have all my geocaching supplies together, lock up the house, get in the car, and go caching, and that is why I am in dutch with the boys.

A nice little fellow — or perhaps I should say a nice big fellow, since he was over six feet long — that Diefenbaker
and I encountered along the trail. Happily, I don't think I'm in dutch with him.

Fun With Copperheads

'Twas a lovely day for Three Old Farts — Diefenbaker, Robgso, et moi — to venture forth to Hillsborough for a bit of geocaching, chowing on BBQ, and snake hunting. Well, we didn't exactly set out for the latter, but we did chance upon a happy little copperhead lounging on the trail near the Old Oconeechee Speedway. He attracted some crowd of onlookers, but Diefenbaker helped him get across the trail without ill effect to either snake or to hikers.

I've encountered numerous copperheads at close range over the years, and thankfully, much like black widows — our other most common venomous creature around these parts — they generally do their best not to chomp on you. My favorite encounter with a copperhead was about four years ago while caching in a wooded area not too far from home. I was making my way down a rocky hillside toward a creek that flowed into a long culvert, which I had to enter in order to reach the cache. I stepped on a large, loose rock, and what should emerge — or perhaps I should say erupt — but the biggest copperhead I had ever seen, with a body over four feet long and a good two inches in diameter. It shot like lightning into the creek below and vanished from my view.

Realizing the snake could have easily chomped on me had he so desired, I was a little reassured that he was more keen on putting some space between us. The pipe I had to enter lay about twenty feet upstream, and I hoped at this point that my lengthy friend might have proceeded downstream. Undaunted, I made my way into the dark pipe.

Old fellow on guard for No-Shoulders Joe

Nope. Sir Copperhead has gone inside the pipe to mope, and now finds himself incensed that the tall dopey creature, rather than fleeing screaming, is entering his domain. Snake, curled up some ten feet away, takes it upon himself to lunge at me, forcing me to back up a few steps. Fortunately, the creek is full of large rocks, so I heft one of them and chuck it into the water in front of the snake, hoping to deter him. Oh, no, he'll have none of that. In fact, by now, he's kinda mad at me, so he lunges again, this time stopping only a couple of feet short. I grab another rock, shove it at him, and this time, he's splashed up into the air and comes back down in the water six or seven feet away. He coils up to gather his wits, and I take this opportunity to vacate the creek, hoping he hasn't called in his friends as reinforcements. Thankfully, no, so we bid each other cheery farewells, all is forgiven on both ends — well, at least on my end — and I promise not to return until hibernation season.

Just last week, Ms. B. was taking her trash out and nearly trod upon a baby copperhead reclining on her carport. They really do seem to enjoy our company, but I don't recommend petting these nice little guys, however great the temptation.

The rest of today's geocaching expedition was fun enough. We got in several decent little hikes in the woods, found a night cache in broad daylight, and enjoyed some first-rate beef brisket at the Hillsborough BBQ Company. Bumped my total number of finds up to 9,027.

Ta ta.

Another happy little copperhead Ms. B. and I came across on a greenway in Chapel Hill a while back

And then there was this gourmet critter, chowing on a cricket on my front porch last night

Just passing by here today, on our way to a night cache in Hillsborough

A couple of old farts I was caching with today. And you thought snakes were dangerous!

Face Your Phobia

I like snakes. They're neat creatures, and it really distresses me when people say things like "The only good snake is a dead snake," and other such nonsense. Without snakes, you personally would probably have to deal with all kinds of unpleasant pestilence you never even think about, and I'm betting that since you probably don't really have to deal with snakes all that often, you're better off leaving the snakes be than suffering the pestilence. I bring this up mainly because of a couple of Facebook posts from the past few days that included photos of snakes, and the sheer venom of some of the comments really showcased the irrationality of people's fears.

The photos above are from two or three years ago when I ran across this very friendly, six-foot-long black racer at Cedarock Park in Alamance County, NC. When I'm out geocaching, I'm often in their environment, and over the years, I've encountered just about every variety of slithering serpent that North Carolina has to offer. Make no mistake: even the venomous ones — around here, primarily Copperheads — would rather do their own things than mess with you, and most often, they'll make every effort to avoid dealing with you and your phobia. A while back, I was crossing a creek and inadvertently stepped on a Copperhead, and the fellow had the decency to vacate the premises with all due haste when he could have, had he been so inclined, just as easily given me a chomp on the leg. (Note that I call the snake "he" only because he had very masculine shoulders; nothing against the female of the species.)

I'll tell you something. Up until I started geocaching and found myself, not only in snakes' environments, but in spiders', I had a damn near debilitating case of arachnophobia. I was always fascinated but truly, deeply terrified by spiders of all types and sizes (of course, the bigger the more horrifying). Any spider I encountered was a dead spider, no ifs, ands, or buts. Awful, awful creatures; predators; alien-looking. Then I did a cache called Greensboro Underground, and the name says it all. To claim this cache, I had to go considerable distances through underground pipes, and at one stage, I was forced to confront my gravest imaginary dread.

Northern Black Widow (Lactrodectus variolus).
Don't mess with it, and it won't mess with you.

It went like this:

I was with a couple of gentlemen (who, I might add, are not wimps, in the technical sense of the word) that I will call Tom and Ethan. (To answer your question: yes.) To reach stage 1, we had to enter a very tight culvert, and Ethan had the good grace to go first. It wasn't moments before he was screaming in a panicked, high-pitched voice that led Tom and me to believe he must have been gravely injured. We're hollering, "What is it? What's wrong?" And he cries back, "This is the biggest spider I've ever seen! Wait — there's another one. And another one. Oh, Christ, the place is full of them!"

Tom and I debated a moment. There were spiders, and there was the geocache. All right, then; we do have our priorities, you know. The two of us wormed our way into the pipe, and — oh, my Christ — the confined space was absolutely crawling with big honking spiders, the smallest of which probably had a four-inch leg span. Our destination lay through a specific pipe, above which a huge wolf spider was resting on its laurels. Ethan put his foot down and declared that he was not going into the pipe with that spider hanging right there. Well, feigning the air of the undaunted, I took my hiking stick and knocked the spider off the wall — at which point it angrily began to scurry straight toward Ethan.

At this point, Ethan screamed a piercing scream and began a dance routine that would have shamed Gene Kelly. Tom and I took to chuckling, and since said spider had vacated its perch, I decided to take advantage of the moment and go into the next pipe.

Oh, shit, did I really do that?

At this point, I did question my wisdom, for this pipe was also full of spiders. They were all just hanging around on the walls and ceiling, and not really bothering me. However, as I ducked to go in, something fell onto my shoulder with a distinctive plop.

"Tom, my dear friend," I said. "Please tell me that was a not a big spider."

"Nope, just a hunk of grass and mud from the drain up there."

"You wouldn't lie to me, would you?"

"Not about that."

All right then. On I went, past veritable walls of spiders that sat contentedly watching me. They didn't really do diddly but scare the living crap out of me. Yet, after Ethan's little dance there, it was hard for me not to go through that pipe overtaken by paroxysms of laughter.

From that moment on, I never again suffered a fear of spiders. They didn't want to bother me. As a matter of fact, I'm pretty sure they were all laughing at Ethan too.

For what it's worth, if you come upon a snake — or a spider, or some other basically innocuous creature — that for reasons anything other than rational make you want to kill it, try instead picturing it in its underwear or maybe a big old dude like Ethan break dancing inside a culvert filled with spiders. Really, it's funny as hell.

You don't need to kill or otherwise antagonize the critters. Just give it some thought. Face your phobia. Fuck your phobia.

It worked for me.

A fun little black rat snake that was meandering about in the heat of winter, a couple of Decembers ago.
I'm sure he would rather have had cool weather and been taking a nap.

Eighty Degrees in December...

...and the snakes are out and about. I came upon a happy little black snake while after a cache at the Beech Bluff Trail today. Not sure whether he was a rat snake or a black racer, but he proved to be quite neighborly.

Today was our annual office holiday lunch gathering, which we was held at the Proximity Hotel, one of Greensboro's more upscale establishments. The food was okay — I wouldn't pay top dollar for it — and the event was pretty enjoyable. Per tradition, we got to leave early, and so I went geocaching. I'd had it in my head that I might head over to Durham to catch the original 1954 Japanese version of Godzilla at the Carolina Theater, but in the end, I opted to do the hiking. Sometimes, I am weirder than I realized. Forbidden Planet was also on the bill. Doubly weird.

Anyhoo, on a day like today, I'm quite glad I hit the woods. At least I got to visit with a reptile.

I Don't Like Spiders and Snakes

Actually, I do like snakes, quite a lot...as long as they're not venomous and looking to lay their teeth against me. Today, I spent a pleasant afternoon and early evening at Cedarock Park, near Burlington, hunting up a cache or two, and as I was making my egress through the woods, I saw this long, black tail sticking out from behind a nearby tree. "A-ha," I say. "I have found me a snake." Sure enough, it's a big black racer, not an inch shy of six feet, laid out as comfy as you please, giving me the eyeball. Turns out, snake is the friendliest fellow I've ever seen out in the wild, for he scoots right on up to me — absolutely fearless but not even a little aggressive — lays right up against my shoe, and lets me rub him on his back just a bit before continuing on his way. Important snake business, and all. I did enjoy making his acquaintance, for he's completely harmless and quite beneficial for the environment. Black racers are very common around here, but most of the time, they're anxious to get out of your way. Chances are, this one had just finished his elevenses and was feeling mellow.

Less  welcome was the umpteenth black widow I've run into ever since the weather turned warm. I've seen more this season than I think I've ever seen; they're everywhere, even hanging around the front yard (I think they're waiting for the mailman to bring Netflix). All well and good as long as you don't inadvertently pick one up — kind of like I did a while back on a caching expedition. Fortunately, as a rule, black widows would rather play possum than put the bite on you. Don't use them as yo-yos.