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to pick out first the contour of the 
snake, whether coiled or stretched out 
full length; second, to see his pattern, 
often harmonizing well with dried 
leaves, grass and brown stones nearby, 
and occasionally merely a snake’s head 
is seen to be distinguished only by its 
white throat and glistening eyes. The 
latter details alone can be depended 
upon when looking for them in dark 
crevices. 
Motion makes an otherwise unseen 
snake come to one’s perception as if 
by magic. I recall my first experience 
in hunting copperheads to take them 
alive. Knowing that they were hard 
to see in their native haunts, I got on 
my hands and knees on a rock that 
was several feet above those surround- 
ing and peered about for several min- 
utes. I must have looked at the snake 
which was coiled up on some dried 
grass several times, but only when I 
was about to change my position did 
the life-sized form of a beautiful cop- 
perhead come to my attention. This 
snake was found but a few feet from 
the crevice where we had killed two 
copperheads eight years before. Due 
to the irregularity of their habits of 
feeding, and because they stay in their 
dens most of the time, uncertainty is 
forever the lot of the one who hunts 
copperheads expecting to find them in 
the open. 
HEREAS their uncertainty of 
appearance in the aforemen- 
tioned statement is true, it is equally 
remarkable that when they once be- 
ax 
Cot 
ey Le 

ct be” 
Where four copperheads were taken in 
one afternoon. 

Typical copperhead habitat where the author first got acquainted with 
the species. 
gin “summering” in a group of rocks 
they, or at least their young, will re- 
turn each season to the same group. I 
have found this to be true for a period 
of sixteen years. Whether or not the 
same holds true for winter quarters 
I am unable to say. 
No matter where the snake may be, 
the hunter’s attempt is to grasp his 
victim’ just back of the angle of the 
jaws, between the thumb, index and 
middle fingers of one hand, leaving the 
other hand free. It seems as though a 
crotched stick has always been recog- 
nized as the best means in interrupting 
a snake’s departure. On soft ground 
it is probably the best, but since one 
ean’t pick his terrain, and with the 
possibility of meeting a prize specimen 
ever unfavorable soil, I have found 
that a sapling four feet in length and 
one inch in its greatest diameter, with 
a branch at its smallest end three 
inches in length shooting out from the 
main stalk at an angle of 70 degrees 
is the most useful snake stick. This 
answers every purpose in the open, 
but is generally as useful as a dead 
match if the snake is in a crevice. For 
this purpose one must have a sapling 
four feet in length, and as big around 
as a finger. One inch from the small- 
est end bore a hole through, one-eighth 
of an inch in diameter. Through this 
hole a piece of stout paraffined cord a 
little longer than the stick is passed, 
leaving a noose at the free end control- 
led by the left hand, as the stick is 
held in the right hand. By boiling 
the cord in the paraffin it becomes thor- 
ougly impregnated and when cool holds 
the noose open and facilitates action 
at the critical moment. 
ae regards the use of the noose, if 
one’s movements are slow and 
measured, the snake tolerates them 
well and will allow the noose to pass 
over his head so long as it does not 
touch his head at that moment. Then 
by one quick pull the copperhead is no 
longer the wary, protected, yet vicious 
animal he was. If the noose is not 
close enough to his head to hold it 
entirely under control when the snake 
is drawn out of the crevice, another 
stick can reach down and get the one 
and only grip described above. 
lees cord can be cut away carefully, 
leaving you full control of the 
snake’s destinies from then on. If all 
the manipulations mentioned are car- 
ried out carefully there is no need of 
doing injury to a single scale on the 
snake, or, what is of greater moment, 
of being bitten by the snake. At this 
particular instant the need of an as- 
sistant is self-evident. With both hands 
he holds the mouth of a deep canvas 
bag open while you insert the body of 
the snake quickly, throwing the head 
in. When the mouth of the bag is 
closed and tied, you can be assured 
that the snake will not bite through it, 
nor will he make an attempt. © They 
seem loath to strike or bite when they 
cannot see their victim. Their venom 
seems too precious to be thus easily 
wasted. 
There is a striking difference in a 
copperhead’s disposition in the , wild 
state as compared with no more than 
a week’s captivity. When first found 
and disturbed, they bite viciously at 
sticks used to effect their capture, so 
that the two snake-sticks I have used 
for several years are besmeared with 
venom for a distance of six inches. 
Their first line of defense appears al- 
ways to be “strikes,” which are quicky 
effected stab wounds in the victim. 
When this does not appear sufficient, 
they next take a bulldog grip and by 
a constant milking action of the mas- 
seter muscles in their jaws, inject a 
tremendous dose of poison to a greater 
depth than is possible by a “strike.” 
After several such bites, copperheads 
(Continued on page 430) 
395 
