The Day of the Fight Snake.

I drove southwest from where I’d been filming moose in Glacier National Park, descending from fifty degree temps and rain-soaked forests into a dry plain known for good elk viewing. The day was hot as I followed a crunchy gravel road through one of the last intact Palouse prairies in the lower 48.

Bison dotted the rolling plains as nine-thousand foot mountain peaks framed the background, cutting out a big chunk of the sky as if teeth.

I was feeling good. I’d just spent a solid week camping in the wilds of Glacier. I admit I was daydreaming a bit about certain writing projects, mostly novels.

Then something caught my eye, just on the left shoulder of the road. I pulled over and exited my vehicle, then walked over to the movement, not exactly sure of what I was seeing until I was upon the thing.

It was an animal. A rattlesnake to be precise, colored beautifully, maybe three to four feet long. A younger snake, but not tiny either. I’ve seen many snakes while on my photography trips. But something wasn’t quite right about this one. Most snakes will straighten out and head for brush, where they can quickly disappear under leaves, intertwined grass, or burrows.

But not this snake.

Instead, it coiled up repeatedly and went in circles. From coil, to circling, to coil. It wasn’t really going anywhere. And then I realized something was terribly wrong.

The snakes’ formerly robust and strong looking, triangle-shaped head was flattened. A portion of its pink jaw hung out the side of its mouth. It couldn’t open its mouth at all. It couldn’t hiss. It couldn’t bite.

It would never open its mouth again.

It’s head had been completely smashed by a car.

Its pink insides also hung out three inches from its tail, no doubt from pressure upon being run over.

I observed the injured rattlesnake. Carefully. I walked closer, examining it as best I could on that hot late September day in the lowlands.

The snake continued to coil, circle within the coil, and cock its head in a tucked-in strike position. One of its eyes had been smashed in, but the other could see me just fine.

But the snake could not bite. It could not defend itself. It could not uncoil and head into the safety of the prairie grass. It just suffered there on the side of the road.

I backed up and paced. I placed my camera in my car.

There would be no photos.

Not of this.

I stared at the mountains, looming seven thousand feet above the prairie. I regarded the dozen bison on the hillside, grazing in the hot sun. A bird flew up into the canopy in the riparian corridor to the north. A slight wind rustled the grass. I could see the breeze coming, see the grass kneeling from four hundred yards away.

I turned back to the rattlesnake. It saw me, coiled tighter. Cocked its head in a strike position, ready to fight.

It was dying.

But it still fought.

It couldn’t move properly.

 But it still fought.

I reached for my tripod, a heavy one made of steel. Then I put it back.

The snake uncoiled, coiled, cocked its head to strike, but there was nothing near it. I was thirty feet away. For a minute I watched the rattlesnake do this. To fight for its life. To fight at the thing that had done this to it. To go on. To try to go on.

I sighed. Took a deep breath and got in my car.

I started the car.

And I rolled over the fight snake.

    ***

I spent the rest of the day in a sour mood. I didn’t want to film. I didn’t want to go back to Missoula. I didn’t want to do anything.

On the drive home, no music played from the radio. I passed houses, casinos, car washes, u-store-its, a passenger-less broken down car on the side of the road.

I thought about all the things that could go wrong to a person. To a human being. Injuries, disease, war. Money. Accidents. All the challenges each of us faces. Divorces. Break-ups. The loss of loved ones. And current relationships either dissolving or forming into new.

I thought about all the stupid, minor shit I complain about. Someone not driving the way I think they should drive. Or the phone bill getting higher every year.  Or a movie or song I didn’t like. Or some things not being exactly how I’d like them to be. Or the foot blisters I got on my trip to film moose that bothered me so much at the time.

And I drove in silence down to Missoula, just the hum of tires on road.

And I thought of the snake.

And I realized nothing is that bad. Nothing is as bad as what happened to the fight snake.

And yet it fought. Coiling, uncoiling, cocking its head to strike at the universe, going in circles. Afraid. Yet despite the fear, still taking action. Still moving forward.

And I think of the huge, fat snake it would’ve been.  Resting in the hot sun in the year 2030. And I think of all the things that could’ve been with me. Of relationships lost. Of career paths not taken. Of people I’ve put in the rearview mirror for good. Of struggles that now seem so minor.

That night, I woke from sleep several times. And each time I woke, I saw the beautiful snake coiling and uncoiling. I finally woke for good in a foul mood. And as I prepared to go about my day, grumbling, I asked what the fight snake would do.

It wouldn’t complain.

It wouldn’t be sour.

It would just move forward.

If it could.

And even if it couldn’t, it would try.