BITTEN!

RECALLING AN ENCOUNTER MASSASAUGA WITH A SNAKE THAT RESULTED IN A THREE-DAY ORDEAL

- LEN MCDOUGALL

In 1972, I was 15 years old and had been an after-school fur trapper since age 12. Many adults regarded my fascination with nature as unnatural. They said, "Boy, you can't be in those woods all the time."

I persisted against their advice. Because typical teenagers prefer other activities, most of my outings were solo. That was okay because being alone meant being quiet, and seeing more cool things. But being alone also got me into a few scrapes, like the one I experienced that June.

A NIGHT TO REMEMBER

I'd been out for four days, camped atop a ridge that was bordered by swamp. The nearest paved road was three miles distant. Unwisely, I hadn't told anyone where I was going; teenagers are notoriously lacking in foresight.

Shelter was a lean-to; I'd had enough trouble from the tents of that era to spurn them. My bedroll was a Korean War mummy bag filled with chicken feathers. It wasn't better or warmer than my wool blanket, but it was lighter and it was my first real sleeping bag.

I returned to camp that evening and prepared supper in a saucepan. A breeze kept the mosquitoes tolerable as I sat next to the fire pit, sipping coffee from a canteen cup. I began to nod off, and I knew I'd best hit the sack before the night chill awakened me with hypothermia.

I dumped the last swallow and hung the cup from the shelter's frame. The sleeping pallet of branches padded with bracken ferns felt luxurious as I slid into the bag.

Then I felt a stabbing pain on my left ankle, near the Achilles tendon. Dismissing it as a stick, I shifted my foot. The pain persisted, and a burning sensation spread through my calf. I wasn't concerned until I felt undulating movement against my thigh. I lay still as it slithered across my torso, and an 18-inch snake exited across my left shoulder.