Snakemaster: Wildlife Adventures with the World?s Most Dangerous Reptiles

by Austin Stevens

Overview

Known as the original “Snakemaster” from his various television shows, Austin Stevens is one of the most famous herpetologists in the world. From his show Austin Stevens: Snakemaster on Animal Planet to his many appearances in the media, Stevens is known as an incredibly smart, yet incredibly insane animal lover.

In Snakemaster, Austin Stevens tells incredible stories of his many run-ins with dangerous animals and reptiles. From wrestling with a reticulated python to panicking after being bitten by the infamous Gaboon viper, Stevens brings you into his world of wildlife and tells the story of how a boy from Pretoria, South Africa, became one of the most widely known herpetologists in the world.

With incredible photographs taken by Stevens himself, you’ll be able to place yourself in his world—from the deserts of Africa to the jungles of Borneo. Sharing incredible stories of his love of animals and nature, this one-of-a-kind collection of stories will make you laugh, cry, and shiver with fear!

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781629140537
Publisher:	Skyhorse
Publication date:	06/03/2014
Sold by:	SIMON & SCHUSTER
Format:	eBook
Pages:	320
File size:	13 MB
Note:	This product may take a few minutes to download.

About the Author

Austin Stevens is best known as the “Snakemaster” from his hit show on Animal Planet. Originally from South Africa, Stevens is a herpetologist, author, and wildlife photographer. He is currently the Guinness World Record holder for a “snake sit-in,” when he lived in a 10 x 13 glass cage with 36 venomous snakes (including black mambas) for an incredible 107 days and nights.
Austin Stevens is best known as the “Snakemaster” from his hit shows on Animal Planet, Discovery Channel, and the National Geographic Channel. Originally from South Africa, Stevens is a herpetologist, author, and wildlife photographer. He is currently the Guinness World Record holder for a “snake sit-in,” when he lived in a ten-by-thirteen-foot glass cage with thirty-six venomous snakes (including black mambas) for an incredible 107 days and nights. He currently resides in Queensland, Australia.

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

Early Days in the Snake and Animal Park

Of the roughly three thousand species of snakes recorded on the planet today, approximately 10 percent are venomous and are potentially dangerous to humans. This is a small percentage, making the chances of meeting up with a highly venomous snake much less than those of colliding with a fast-moving car while crossing the road. In most countries, more people are struck by lightning than bitten by snakes.

Venomous snakes can be divided into groups according to their dentition. The back-fanged species, of which only two African species are considered dangerous to humans are the boomslang (tree snake) and the twig snake, while a further two back-fanged species, one located in South America and the other in Asia, might be considered potentially dangerous because of their size. These are the more primitive of the fanged species, with the usual solid teeth in both upper and lower jaws, together with one or more enlarged grooved fangs on the upper jaw, roughly situated below the eye.

Among front-fanged snakes, those with fixed front fangs are considered one step up the evolutionary ladder. Almost all of these snakes — which include the mambas and cobras of Africa, the coral snakes of North and South America, and the sea snakes of the world — are considered potentially dangerous to humans. The fangs of these species, with some exceptions, are usually fairly short and hollow, injecting the venom in a similar fashion to a hypodermic needle.

Front-fanged snakes whose fangs are hinged possess the most advanced injecting system. These are adders and pit vipers, most of which, again, are considered potentially dangerous to humans. Situated in the front of the upper jaw, their fangs are much enlarged, tubular, and can be folded back into a protective sheath when not in use. When attacking prey, the snake swivels the fangs forward at a great speed. Their extra length makes it possible to secure the prey more accurately and enables deep penetration for a sure kill.

A few snakes amongst the cobra species have evolved hollow fangs that direct the flow of venom forward rather than downward. By contracting the muscles surrounding the venom glands, these snakes are able to direct a spray of venom forcibly towards the eyes of an attacker, purely as a means of self-defense. The venom is harmless on the skin but will cause an extremely painful reaction if it enters the eyes and, if not washed out, could cause blindness.

* * *

All these and many more herpetological facts concerning venomous snakes flitted randomly through my thoughts as the hooded snake rose up before me, its dorsal scales gleaming black in the mid-morning sun. Taller and taller, the creature stretched itself upward, a meter or more off the ground, to bring its dark, beady little eyes level with my own, as I crouched motionless in its path. Nervously, the reptile concentrated its unbreakable gaze in my direction, its mouth slightly ajar, the silver-white fangs startlingly contrasted against the surrounding blackness of its scales.

Reaching its full height now, with only a third of its body remaining on the ground for support, the snake swayed somewhat unsteadily, as defensively it employed the muscles surrounding the upper vertebrae and ribs — forcing them back — to magnificently display the famous "hood" of the cobra. And with a slow but forceful exhalation of air from the single expanded lung, the snake hissed its defiance at my intrusion. Stubbornly I stood my ground, still motionless, my face not a meter from that of the angered serpent. I knew the slightest movement would provoke a forward lunge, releasing a fine spray of venom towards my face.

To the novice, the raised body and expanded hood of the snake in question perfectly depicted those characteristics so typically advertised by the "infamous" cobra. However, though the behavior now flaunted in such close proximity before my very eyes was typical of the cobra, I knew that technically speaking, this snake was in fact not a true cobra. It was a snake known by its common Afrikaans name, rinkhals, meaning ring-necked, sometimes incorrectly referred to as the ring-necked spitting cobra. And to all intents and purposes, the snake is indeed much like any cobra, but differs slightly by having keeled scales (a ridge running along the center of each scale) and a difference in dentition. A more substantial distinguishing feature, however, is that, whereas all true cobras are egg layers, the rinkhals retains its eggs within its body until incubation is complete, thus delivering live young incased only in a thin membranous sack, from which they immediately break free once deposited.

Though a number of cobra species have evolved the capability to discharge a spray of venom at an enemy's eyes, here the rinkhals differs again, as it is more correctly a venom thrower than spitter, and must hurl its raised body forward to forcefully discharge the spray. A true spitting cobra need only contract the muscles surrounding the venom glands to exert pressure enough, from any position, to spray venom up to a distance of some three meters or more.

And this now was what the public had come to see at reptile parks ... what they had paid their money for. Never mind the rows of cages scattered throughout the Hartebeespoort Dam Snake and Animal Park, filled with colorful and interesting species of reptiles, painstakingly collected and imported from the four corners of the earth for these very visitors to view. Never mind the realistically recreated background displays of the natural environment and the miles of informative and creatively stenciled natural-history information supplied. Never mind even the well-stocked African curio shop and restaurant complex so creatively designed to blend in with the rest of the park's construction in a further effort to entice the tourists that flocked through the gates every day, and especially on weekends. Never mind any of this ... but note the simple wooden makeshift clock fastened outside the entrance gate, the one that advertises the times for the "Live Venomous Snake Handling and Milking Shows." Therein lay the answer to the success of the business! In fact, it is not unlikely that in those early days of the parks during the 1970s, some three quarters of the annual gate revenue was accumulated solely through the advent of this advertisement.

And none were more aware of this than I, as dramatically I crouched down on my haunches before the angered snake, well within its striking range.

Dramatics!

That was what the public wanted. Dramatics and death-defying feats! Everybody's seen a snake in a cage at some time or another. And, "once you've seen one ... you've seen 'em all." Most people are petrified of snakes, considering them evil, dangerous creatures, spawned from the very depths of hell itself. So who wants to go stare at one of those in a cage? Leave that to the interested enthusiasts, few that they are. And indeed these few, patriotic as they might be, certainly number far fewer than is necessary to render the creation of a reptile park a viable business proposition.

However, the slightest indication, however subtle, that human life might be at risk in a public display, be it high-speed vehicles, bull fighting, or venomous serpents, ensures full attendance, irrespective of the attendees' specific like or dislike for the particular subject advertised. The simple fact that danger is involved is all that is needed in an invitation ... and the house is full. And kneeling then as I was, staring death in the face (as most would see it), the grandstands surrounding the arena filled to capacity with an eager, expectant audience, I knew I was giving them what they had paid for ... dramatics!

With a purposeful sudden jerk of my head, I startle the swaying snake, provoking it to lunge at me, at the same moment strategically maneuvering myself backward out of reach of the deadly head, leaving myself vulnerable only to the twin sprays of clear fluid venom. And the crowd releases a gasp of excited anxiety as again and again the defending reptile hurls itself forward to saturate my face with venom.

But I am not unprepared, and those who had been before know that it is all part of the show; but still they came to see it again and again. After all, one never knows what can happen, and one day the handler might misjudge his distance, allowing the snake a taste of revenge. What a spectacle that would be! The thrill of danger (at someone else's risk) is ever pleasing to the crowd.

But that day, as with many before, I am right on form. I move closer to the arena wall and casually remove my sunglasses from my face and hold them up to clearly display the splattering of sticky venom attached to their outer surface. This pair of sunglasses is my only defense to protect me from the deadly attack of a spitting cobra; one of the most celebrated and feared of all African snakes. The crowd leans forward as I stroll past their seats, uttering oohs and aahs as they crane their necks for a closer look. And they are astounded — not just by the venom on the glasses but as much by the fact that I am still alive and well and talking to them. Unable to control their amazement any longer, those less informed on the subject bubble over with questions.

"Why has the venom on your face not killed you?"

"Are you immunized against snake venom?"

"Why is the snake not chasing after you?"

"What guarantee is there that the snake won't climb over the wall and spit at us?

I would follow these questions with a speech filled with explanations that I was well familiar with, as every show produced the same reaction from the public, with generally similar questions. Having thus incited their curiosity by the incorporation of dramatic display, the people in the audience, who before had little or no interest in the subject, are now keen to be lectured and informed; and at the end of the day, this is what reptile parks (amongst other things) should be all about: educating the public. And education is so much more easily accepted when a desire to ask questions has been created. Thus, a would-be-boring lecture of facts and figures that are soon to be forgotten have now, by dramatic display, been transformed into a situation of genuine interest. And I play my small part to promote the plight of the dreaded serpent in the hope that eventually the knowledge shared would somehow contribute to the understanding of the much bigger picture — conservation of the planet and all its diverse species of living creatures.

With bated breath the audience now expectantly awaits my return on their assortment of questions. I knew it mattered not how intelligent or ludicrous some of these questions might be, but only that I had generated enough interest for questions to be asked. And this was only the first of an assortment of snakes that I would be displaying within the next half hour of the show. Returning to my original position in the center of the arena where the wary rinkhals still lingered, swaying its hooded neck from side to side, its eyes rigidly fixed on my every movement, I correlate my answers to flow somewhat across the spectrum:

Firstly, ladies and gentlemen, one must understand that the snake is a creature of nature, designed to play its part in the balance thereof. The fact that some snakes are venomous, and therefore of potential danger to humans, has led to the condemnation of all the species, no matter the purpose they serve or the good they might do. Folklore would have it that all snakes are dangerous to man, but this simply is not true. In fact, no more than 10 percent of the species of snakes recorded on the planet today possess venom that might be considered potentially dangerous to humans. Furthermore, with only one or two exceptions, snakes are too small in size to consider humans as prey and therefore have no reason to attack a human, other than in self-defense. Irrespective of the reptile in question being venomous or not, its only means of defense is its mouth, therefore it will bite in retaliation to attack, just as any wild creature will. So it is not surprising that most snakebite cases reported turn out to be harmless.

There is a hush now across the audience, their interest is palpable. I continue:

However, should one step on a snake or in some way anger it, it will certainly strike out, and in the case of a venomous species, possibly inject a dangerous dose of venom. In such a case, naturally, it is important to get the victim as calmly and speedily as possible to medical attention. The good news here is that there exists today an antivenom for most species, and in most countries more people die each year from lightning strikes than from snakebite.

There is a murmur of surprised exchanges. I take a breath before continuing.

Venomous snakes are so solely for the purpose of feeding. The more potent venoms are designed to kill the prey as quickly as possible, while milder venoms contribute to slowing the victim down as well as aiding in the digestion of the prey. Here too, proportions of size must be considered, because, for example, a venom that kills a mouse in minutes may take several hours to kill a much-larger adult human. Thus, with the usual one or two exceptions, most snakebite accidents leave the human victim with considerable time to reach medical help. Certain first-aid treatment applied correctly, like the application of an elastic bandage along the length of the bitten limb, can extend this time still further. Thus the odds generally are well in the favor of the human, while the luckless serpent, which was just defending itself from the monster-sized human creature, often ends up with its head bashed in.

At this point I have the audience's full attention, leaning forward to catch my every word. The hush interrupted only by the occasional whispered repeat of a fact, or a giggle at my sometimes subtle, if sarcastic, humor. And for a second or two I allow them time to digest these basic facts before once more proceeding.

All the while, not two meters from where I stand, the rinkhals remains upright and on the defensive but does not attack. Thus, at the same time as I am delivering the facts verbally, I am testing and proving some of them on the spot. And it's true ... the snake does not attack me, as long as I keep still and keep a fair distance. Astounding! Who would have thought it possible, after all the propaganda to the contrary? And with a bit of luck, the next time one of those in the audience that day encounters a snake in the wild, they may just remember my demonstration and allow the snake space to escape rather than make an all-out effort to crush its head in.

And I press on:

As for the matter of spitting venom, this is purely a self-defense mechanism designed to create time for the snake to escape. Only a few of the cobra species are capable of this feat, and the venom, though deadly in the blood stream, is harmless on the skin. However the design is to spray venom into the eyes of the enemy, where it will cause pain and smarting, allowing enough time for escape. Where humans are concerned, the solution to the problem is no more complex than washing the eyes with water, and it is only in extreme cases where this treatment has been neglected or the eyes rubbed and inflamed that blindness may result.

Moving on now, I gently entice the rinkhals towards a nearby bush, where it quickly forgets about me and darts away to hide safely from view, no doubt greatly relieved to be dismissed.

It was time now for the next display, which takes the form of a meter-long, heavy-bodied puff adder; the African species best known for the fact that it is responsible for the most venomous snakebite cases on the continent.

Here the demonstration takes on a whole new turn, as I have to firmly pin down the snake in question behind the head with a specially designed rod while, with my free hand, I close in to take the now-furious and puffing reptile safely into grip. And there is always that one nerve-wracking moment during transfer from rod to hand when an angry puff adder might jerk violently in an attempt to free itself, and the huge hinging fangs appear suddenly, miraculously, just millimeters from my thumb.

The audience watches in expectant silence. Some are fearful for my safety, while others are hoping for blood. However one becomes accustomed to the technique — as one does to any repetitive move — and I dare say that I probably could eventually have performed the technique blindfolded, though there is no way in hell I would ever attempt to prove this. The painful memories of my first-ever snakebite while in the military remain forever impressed upon my mind, while the fact that, in spite of it all, I still chose to do this work is proof enough of the confidence I have in my ability.

(Continues…)

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Excerpted from "Snakemaster"
by .
Copyright © 2014 Austin Stevens.
Excerpted by permission of Skyhorse Publishing.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Table of Contents

Author's Note,
Introduction,
Chapter 1 Early Days in the Snake and Animal Park,
Chapter 2 A Bit of Background and the Hartebeespoort Dam Snake and Animal Park,
Chapter 3 The Gaboon Viper,
Chapter 4 A World-Record Snake Sit-In,
Chapter 5 A Cobra in the Bathroom and a Black Mamba in the Car,
Chapter 6 On Location with Julie and Slimy,
Chapter 7 The Drainpipe Python Rescue and Shotgun Man,
Chapter 8 The Helmstadt Snake Removal,
Chapter 9 Sultan the Croc and Other Stories,
Chapter 10 The Asian Cobra Incident,
Chapter 11 Filming in Africa,
Chapter 12 The Making of Snakemaster,
Chapter 13 The Giant Reticulated Python of Borneo,
Chapter 14 The Komodo Dragon Accident,
Chapter 15 Snake Venoms and the Fer-de-Lance,
Chapter 16 DCI Promotions,
Chapter 17 Snakes on the Late Show,
Chapter 18 Foreign Toads and Pythons,
Chapter 19 Grizzly Bears in British Columbia,
Conclusion,
Acknowledgments,
Photo Credits,

Editorial Reviews

05/26/2014
TV personality and veteran herpetologist Stevens’s (The Last Snake Man) latest is a collection of career anecdotes that will likely send shivers up the spine of even the most snake-friendly reader. Opening with a harrowing tale of surviving a puff adder bite that almost cost him his finger, Stevens takes readers on an informative and adrenaline-charged look at a number of lethal snakes and other reptilian predators. Surprisingly, Stevens’s most exciting stories don’t come from deep within the wild but from his stints as a documentarian and a herpetological curator at an animal park where he often performed for the public, such as his near death run-in with a Gaboon viper and 107-day, glass-enclosed sit-in spent with 36 highly venomous snakes, including cobras and black mambas. These accounts, particularly a scene in which a clumsy cameraman almost brings the stunt to a deadly end (a recurring theme, as a cameraman makes a similar mistake in Germany, releasing four angry black mambas during filming), make for white-knuckle reading. Though he pauses for digressions on various snake venoms, snake bite remedies, and how he landed a show on the Discovery Channel, it’s those close encounters that’ll keep readers on the edge of their seat—and often looking under it. Photos. (July)

Publishers Weekly

Austin Stevens’s account of his adventures perfectly captures the thrill of hunting and handling snakes in the wild and will appeal to anyone who loves the outdoors and is fascinated by reptiles. It should inspire young naturalists to ‘get out more’ and follows in the tradition of books by herpetologists such as Raymond Ditmars and Carl Kauffeld.”
—Chris Mattison, world-renowned photographer and author of Snake and Chameleons

From the Publisher