Range Road Rattler

Chino & Far Rider

I used to have a policy of live and let live with regard to rattlers so long as they stayed away from the ranch headquarters, pastures where my horses graze or my campsites. However, after having had three of my horses struck resulting in high veterinarian bills, emotional distress and worry over their welfare, and the forced early retirement of my grand old horse Stormy, war has been declared and I shoot every one of the miserable sonsabitches that crosses my path.

Stormy carried me for thousands of miles around the West and helped me start a lot of young horses. After the bite, he was never the same. Consequently, I view rattlesnakes as I do Muslims. They are what they are. They started it and the fight is on, permanently or until one or the other of us is eradicated.

Last week I saddled Chino and headed up the Range Road to check the tank at Crossman Well. It was a gorgeous pre-autumn day above 7000 feet here in the high desert and we were trotting along at a nice easy pace minding our own damn business enjoying the Creator's handiwork. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye I saw the flash of a rattlesnake striking at Chino's legs. The viper did not issue a warning rattle until after the initial strike.

The reflexes of a horse never cease to amaze me. A rattlesnake strike from the first muscle twitch beginning its attack launch to contact with its target is .08 - .1 second - less than half a heartbeat and faster than the human eye can follow. Chino sidestepped neatly and the snake missed. Incredible reaction and the second time it has happened to me while horseback.

My reaction to an attack against either my animals or people that I care about is very unequivocal - murderous rage. I looked back and could not see the snake due to the rose tint in my sunglasses that washes out greens. This is the second time I have experienced this phenomenon and I guess I am a slow learner. Sunglasses that work well on a motorcycle are not good in this wild country where the possibility of encountering a rattler are common.

I stepped off Chino, yanked the sunglasses off and put Caesar on a sit-stay. Drawing my .44 and leading Chino I went back looking for the little crawler.

I located the snake, a prairie rattler common to the high deserts of western New Mexico. I shoot snakes in the head. I have no problem with killing, but I cannot abide suffering in man or beast. All of my weapons have tactical zeros for point of aim with the range of each zero appropriate to the type of firearm and its intended environment. Additionally, I know the "Snake Zero" for each of my weapons.

The standard is a one inch shot placement at nine - twelve feet. This is a modification of the Very Close Quarter Battle Zero (approximately five yards or less) designed to take a head shot in a hostage or barricaded suspect environment. The accuracy parameters for either a snake head shot or a hostage suspect are approximately the same. The accuracy allows the shooter to hit a suspect in the eye when shielded by a hostage, hit a snake in the head, or to dispatch a wounded or down animal humanely. It requres a bit of "Tennessee Elevation" as most of my weapons fire just a bit high at such close proximity. It is something you just have to know about your weapon. If you do not have that degree of intimacy with your weapon put it away and get yourself a stick. You are not a shooter. You are just a noisemaker.

I have recently been introduced to an extrordinary man through my friend and mentor, Robert Koga. This man, like Bob, is Japanese and, like myself, raised in an orphanage. His resume makes me look like a Sunday School teacher. He is a very accomplished martial artist and serves as a body guard for a number of high profile celebrities.

In his capacity as a guardian, he has been on a number of safaris to Africa. In addition to the usual two legged varmints he has to protect his clients from, he also has to deal with four legged predators and big dangerous snakes.

In a recent article he sent to me he detailed some of his experiences with the Black Mamba, nicknamed the Shadow of Death. Scares the hell out of me.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Black_mamba

This snake comes in versions up to fourteen feet in length. It has a neurotoxic venom than can kill a human in fifteen minutes or so, though some of the literature suggests that a vicim will linger in terrible pain and paralysis for up to six hours. The reptile is very aggressive and just happens to also be the fastest snake in Africa. There are folks that want to protect this thing and say it is misunderstood. Never mind the rather alarming number of deaths each year from this very unpleasant fellow. But, there are lots of Africans I guess.

Matt carries a shotgun specifically to be used against this nasty species. He is also a real shooter and my reaction is that if he needs a shotgun to deal with this menace, I need two. I had never considered a shotgun for serpent protection, but after reading about the Mamba and hearing about it from Matt, it makes perfect sense to me.

He will be arriving here at the ranch in a couple of days along with Bob and some other very competent fellows - all former SWAT and Spec Ops guys, and I look forward to hearing more scary stories around the campfire. Damn snakes anyway.

Carrying weapons for dangerous predators, two-legged and four-legged seems like common sense. I never feel sorry for the hikers and bicyclists that get eaten by mountain lions out in California. The same folks that think cougars are nice big kitties. Good thing there are lots of Californians. I have had two of my horses hit by lions here on the ranch. They both survived but came home leaking pretty good.

My saddle rifle is a Marlin lever action in 45-70 caliber when I ride in Idaho, Wyoming and Montana. The country up there has lots of grizzly bears. I have had a couple of near misses with bears and they scare me. Big Baby.

Back to the range road rattler:

I approached the area where the snake had attacked and spotted it perfectly camouflaged in the blue gramma grass and rabbit brush. It was about two feet long and coiled into a classic "S" striking position definitely on the fight and rattling its warning. The roar of the .44 special sent the creature to wherever it is they go. Probably the same place the supposed multiple virgins hang out.

I cut off what remained of its head and buried it to prevent critters from becoming envenomed by eating it. I left the rest for the coyotes with the exception of the rattle that I saved for guests that visit here at the ranch and think something like that is nice to have. I don't have any use for trophy hunters that kill things just to hang on the wall and I don't keep mementos of killing. It may have to be done, but it is not cause for celebration.

My horses are all accustomed to gunfire and Chino just raised his head at the crack of the shot. I have a picket line up at the Close Quarter Battle Range where I tie my horses while I practice. It doesn't take them long to get used to the noise and I never discharge a weapon close enough to damage their hearing. I do not shoot from horseback as I think it is stupid and unnecessary to shoot from a non-stable gun platform with the inherent risk of pain and harm to my horse. I am not about to stuff tampons and have white string tripwires hanging out of my horse's ears. The Mounted Cowboy Shooting competitors do that, but it seems undignified. Some things are just not done.

Buck and the Diamondback:

Not all horses, mind you, are that tolerant of gunfire and a gunshot can have startling consequences. Some years ago, I had a big buckskin horse come to me for training while I was doing my doctoral work in Phoenix. The horse belonged to a bomb tech law enforcement guy and had the unpleasant habit of bucking people off as soon as they stepped into the stirrup.

The horse, named Buck, what else? and I went to work. He proved to be an exceptional horse - big, strong, willing and smart. After riding him for a month or so, I offered to buy him but a veterinarian examination showed him to have navicular disease in a front foot so I had to pass.

After we got through the understanding that bucking was not acceptable behavior, we spent a lot of hours riding out in the the deserts that surround Phoenix and, when he was ready, I trailered him out to the Bradshaw mountains for some serious trail work.

Summer temperatures in the Inferno Valley and the mountains north of Black Canyon City made it impossible to ride until near sundown. Shadows were starting to lengthen and the air cool as Buck and I headed off through the Agua Fria River canyon east of the Bradshaw foot hills. It is wild, rough country and only a person that loves the northern Sonoran Desert can appreciate its harsh beauty. But, it is a hazardous place and requires alertness and an understanding that nature does not care about us. Fail to show her the proper respect and she will kill you graveyard dead.

Buck was moving along at an extended trot down an old mining road two track when I saw the white of the snakes open mouth as it struck at Buck's front legs. Buck merely sidestepped and never missed a beat.

Strike at my horse. Pay with your life. I stepped off and went back after the snake. It was a large Diamondback known for their aggressive and unpleasant social habits. Zulu, my big Rhodesian - Hound Cross was peeking around my chaps at the irritated snake and wanting no part of it. I had the hackamore mecate (lead line) in my right hand as I was still shooting left handed due to the extensive grenade damage to my right hand sustained in 1983. I drew a five inch barreled, Colt Single Action Army, second generation model in .45 Colt and maneuvered around to get a head shot at the snake.

Fortunately, I took a very firm hold of the mecate as Buck was not happy being anywhere near the buzzing snake. The snake decided to retreat and slithered off down the road. It was growing dim in the gathering dusk and the low light was compounded by the shadows thrown by the peaks of the Bradshaws off to the west.

I didn't really know the snake zero and the weapon had fixed sights so I just trusted to sight picture and fundamentals. The snake was maybe ten feet or so away and hauling ass for some cover. I took aim at the back of the viper's head and pulled the trigger.

The next thing I knew I was horizontal in the air, then slamming face down in the rocks and sagebrush as Buck headed north for Cordes Junction. Luckily for me, the training we had done on respecting the lead line overrode his flight reaction, otherwise he would probably still be running.

I picked myself up, checked my Colt for damage and assessed the rest of my body for injuries. I was bruised and had some hide peeled off here and there, but was otherwise in good shape. My chaps certainly had new scars to tell the tale which is why I never step into the saddle without them. Chaps, gloves and a sharp knife are the minimum basic equipment when climbing aboard a horse. At least if you ride outside of an arena.

After Buck calmed down, I led him back to where I had shot at the Diamondback. I really did not have much hope in having made a successful shot, but there the snake was. The big, blunt 255 grain lead round nose bullet had struck just behind the head at the junction of the body and severed the two. Hell of a shot. Goes to show, fundamentals and a good bit of luck works every time. It is also one of the reasons why I do not shoot from horseback.

If I were charging into a horde of heathens during a more exciting time of history, I would have no problem shooting from horseback, though I think I should prefer a saber or a lance, but, alas, such is not the case nowadays. I did have to whack a few bad guys with my riot baton or boken while a mounted law enforcement officer but I was precluded from running them through. I do envy my modern Green Beret comrades that rode down the Taliban on Afghan horses. Killing Taliban from horseback. How cool is that?

Far Rider

See to your weapons and stand to your horses

Rattlesnakes and Fern Feelers

Prairie Rattlesnake

"Environmentalist." A term that makes thinking folks, and even a few Democrats become ill. There are significant differences between holier-than-thou environmentalists and responsible conservationists.

By way of brief explanation; an environmentalist believes the natural world should remain free of any human use or interaction except for those that have government permission. Their approach is restrictive of human activity and basic liberty. A conservationist believes the natural world is there for the responsible use and enjoyment of human beings. The conservationist approach is to facilitate the access of human beings while still providing reasonable protections where they are needed. The issue typically turns on what is viewed as responsible and reasonable. A Sierra Club member is typically at one end of the spectrum and the ATV user groups are at the other.

The Environmental Movement began in the 1960s as a project of the hippie, back to nature craze. The goal of those unwashed, drug addled, draft dodging spoiled brats was to remove all commercial and most recreational activities from public land. During the past forty years, they have grown older but none wiser. While they may have learned the purpose of soap and water, they now do their damage wearing three-piece suits.

The land management agencies have been infiltrated by members of the environmental movement and policies have been implemented that have wreaked havoc with the economies of the rural west. Their efforts have destroyed families and enterprises that were generations old. Most native born westerners that still attempt to raise livestock, harvest timber, mine the resources necessary for industry or recreate by hunting, fishing, camping or riding horses on public land despise the urban elites that claim to know how to manage the West from their desks in the East.

Unfortunately, the environmentalist groups have the excesses of the past to support their attempts to deprive Americans commercial and recreational access to public lands. Over grazing, strip mining and clear cut timber operations laid waste to large portions of public and private land during the late Nineteenth and much of the Twentieth Centuries. Like so many movements, there were well-intentioned motives for protecting our natural heritage in the beginning that ended up being co-opted by the extremists.

The self-righteous rhetoric of tree hugging zealots who have a vision of the planet that would reduce the world's advanced industrialized nations to stone age culture is nothing but a mask utilizing moralistic propaganda for the purpose of controlling people and restricting freedom. It is designed to pilfer the pockets of the tax paying citizen and exert government controls over the use of public lands by the citizens that own it.

Thanks to the spandex clad, pot smoking fern feelers, their three piece lawyers and Birkenstock wearing academic allies, they have nearly succeeded in bringing America to the verge of economic failure. They are greatly responsible for the personal financial suffering of all but the wealthiest Americans in the form of obscene prices for food and fuel while America sits on huge proven energy reserves. Out here in the Big Open, they are hated.

"My name is Al Gore and I am here to help you."

Among the ideas that they have managed to convince their useful government idiot allies to support is the protection of rattlesnakes. The only people besides the wide-eyed environmental types that love the species are herpetologists and religious snake handlers - not folks that most of us find particularly compelling as associates.

Rattlesnakes are protected by federal laws passed by those that never see one in the wild or encounter them coiled up on the porch of a rural cabin or ranch house posing a serious threat to humans, pets and livestock.

The effects of a rattlesnake strike to the flesh of man or beast is profound. The tree huggers that have proudly placed this dangerous creature on the protected list have never seen the affects of a snakebite and their literature advises that few folks die as a result of a strike. Surviving does not tell half of the tale.

What most of the public does not realize is that a strike will result in prolonged and excruciating pain, multiple surgeries, possible limb amputation, permanent nerve damage, and limitation of the use of the limb for life. From my simple and barbaric standpoint, such risk is unacceptable.

The following links provide a well written documentary and photographic record by a thirteen year old victim:

http://www.rattlesnakebite.org/index.htm

http://www.rattlesnakebite.org/rattlesnakepics.htm

Here is an example of urban horse person Greenie idiocy. Recently, I subscribed to a magazine dedicated to trail riding. I thought it might be a good source of information for the type or riding I do. The magazine is just too wimpy for my tastes. It is designed for those that like organized trail riding under very controlled conditions. Not my thing. When "organizers" start telling me I cannot carry a weapon or have my dog along, I find some place else to ride.

In a recent edition, an environmentally enlightened female horse owner wrote a sappy article that included experiences with rattlesnakes around her barn. Apparently, she found an adult rattler inside, managed to trap it and then released it someplace away from her facility presumably in one of her turnouts or pastures. Compounding her dedication to Greenie stupidity, she also found two baby rattlers in her barn and "gently released them outside." For crying out loud. This had to be in California. If her horses had any idea, they would quit the outfit for sure.

This sort of nonsensical thinking pervades virtually every area of our social and political life. These are the same folks that wring their hands about removing all risk in society by taking away the right to bear arms, mandate the removal of swings, dodge ball, merry-go-rounds, and monkey bars on playgrounds and in our parks, while simultaneously advocating the presence of mosques in the local neighborhood and gushing over how open it is to have homosexual sensitivity sessions and the distribution of condoms in our secondary schools. What the hell is the matter with these people?

These folks are the same ones promoting the reintroduction of wolves in the West - the subject of another post in the future. Polyannas without a clue. Most of this crowd also stand in giddy rapture over the prospect of electing a Marxist candidate with a total experience resume of 143 days in the US Senate. You couldn't become a district manager for McDonalds with that amount of experience though you could become a government agent, policeman or a correctional officer. Go figure. Might keep that in mind when it comes time to vote.

Conservation and preservation is important to those of us that love to wander through wild country. We accept the risk of being in those places, and we accept the responsibility of dealing with those risks even if it includes gunfire. For those folks that do not believe we have a right to protect ourselves and our pets and livestock from dangerous things, I would like them to identify which of their family members, friends, pets or livestock they are willing to sacrifice. I wonder how those potential sacrificial lambs might view those so willing to see them potentially suffer or die.