A Western Ribbonsnake in North Texas.

The Return of a Native

By. William W. Lamar

The Western Ribbonsnake (Thamnophis proximus) was gazing at me for the second time while basking in precisely the spot where, a week before, I had caught and released her. I cannot begin to estimate how many snakes I’ve found in my life; but the number that failed to see me first is remarkably low. Lithe, supple, robust, and nearly three feet long, she looked like a Common Gartersnake (Thamnophis sirtalis). The latter, a bulkier species, is sparsely distributed in Texas and I have never seen one here. This snake lay motionless, just as she did the first time, hoping to escape detection. But she knew the instant my eyes had locked onto her, so, red-and-black tongue flicking, she readied to make a run for it...just like the first time. I smiled as she gracefully zipped across the garden and vanished beneath the hedge. I might say that she slithered, but that would be pejorative. Let others talk about snakes slithering. Her speed and effortless grace seemed to defy both friction and gravity. My agile days, if there ever were any, have long since passed, but I know how to head off a retreating snake.

Still, she was surprisingly difficult to corral. The stripes made it harder, and that reminded me of an interesting article that hit the press when I was in kindergarten.

One of herpetology’s more inspired thinkers, Bayard H. Brattstrom, discussed the nature of patterns and how they are so beneficial: “Stripes are usually found in fast moving slender snakes. It usually contributes to the optical illusion (to man, at least, and probably to the snake's predators as well) of having the stripes coming closer together as the snake proceeds through the grass, brush, or rocks. The eyes become focused on the stripes and do not follow the snake forward as it moves but instead the focus of the eye moves posteriorly as the snake passes. The effect is that the stripes become closer together, meet at a point, and then are gone. While the eye stays fixed at the ground for a moment, the snake has moved on ahead and is lost to the predator.”

Prior works by other notable herpetologists (Lawrence M. Klauber, Karl P. Schmidt, and D. Dwight Davis) – and credited by Brattstrom – also touched on this notion.

Back in the late 1980s the Red Imported Fire Ant (Solenopsis invicta) invasion of the southeastern U.S.A. was in full force. The stinging arthropods destroyed countless ground-dwelling creatures including frogs and toads, the principal food of Ribbonsnakes. So, time passed with nary a Thamnophis sighting in my neck of the woods. I obsessively baited each Fire Ant nest every year and eventually their numbers dropped; things made a comeback. Once toadlets (Anaxyrus americanus charlesmithi) reappeared and Gray Treefrogs (Dryophytes chrysoscelis) began calling in the garden, I knew I could count on seeing several of these lovely snakes each season. The big one I’d seen for the second time was gravid, so with any luck we will soon have lots of little ones wriggling about. She was muddy when I picked her up, a sign she had been hunting where frogs hide.

Anaxyrus americanus charlesmithi1aaa.jpg

Above left, a Gray Treefrog (Dryophytes chrysoscelis), and right, an American Toad (Anaxyrus americanus charlesmithi). Images: ©W. W. Lamar 2024

I’ve spent my life looking at snakes or thinking about them. I’ve figured out how to find them, feed them, breed them, and rear them. I’ve counted their scales, measured them, dissected them, read about, and photographed them. And I’ve been bitten and chewed on, musked, and crapped on by too many serpents to enumerate. In short, they’re family. But when I hoisted that Western Ribbonsnake onto a table for some photos, I didn’t realize how informative it would be; how much I still had to learn. My little point-and-shoot camera produces pictures that frequently lack pixels in all the right places, so I must carefully go over each image on the computer and make repairs. Why, one might logically ask, don’t you simply use a real camera that takes good photographs? I would have to invoke the three C’s: Cheap, Compact, and Convenient. At today’s prices my entire miniature photo studio –cameras, tripod, flashes, backdrop, and assorted gizmos – costs less than a decent lens. And with increasingly draconian airline regulations, not to mention aging, and ebbing endurance on my part, hauling or hefting bulky, complicated cameras around is unappealing.

Besides, the little one does a remarkably good job.

So, a lot of time is spent editing each image, using ever more sophisticated AI programs on the computer to clean up my messes. And this means I do something I’ve never attempted with live snakes: Go slowly over every single scale. The lens misses little, so I am treated to intimate, detailed views. Her colors, while not flamboyant, were subtle; lovely pastel hues graced her cheeks, and the finely etched stripes lent an air of refined elegance. The more closely I looked at her pattern, the more impressed I became with its flawlessness. As I found the photo’s imperfections, I was continually struck by her perfection.

I saw Ms. Stripes again this morning, for the third time in the same spot.

What is the attraction? Some sort of magnetic force with which we are unacquainted? It’s just a seemingly random place in the yard and for the life of me, I see nothing special about it. But she does. Each time the Ribbonsnake graces the garden with her sinuous beauty I'm grateful for the chance to get further acquainted. I hope she'll spend all her summers here; she'll be received with the respect and admiration due to a queen.

After all, she's no mere snake in the grass, and she definitely does not slither.