Given people’ typically adverse affiliation with snake dens (traditionally, we’ve dynamited, burned and crammed them, and nonetheless use the phrase “den of snakes” to explain any worst-of-the-worst group of people), lots of people come a great distance right here. Beside us, a young, initially trepidatious boy is now naming each lone snake that crosses the platform. “Bye Skittles!” he calls as his latest pet-for-a-second glides off into the underbrush.
“You better have a lot of names ready,” Mooi advises. “Because you’re going to see a lot of snakes.”
“The best for me is seeing people turn like that,” says interpreter Gary Chikousky, who has been watching with us. “A busload of kids arrives, and probably half of them don’t really want to be here, you know, saying ‘Why do we have to go to this stupid place?’ or begrudging it in some other way. But then they see something they didn’t even imagine and get interested. And by the time they leave, they’re enjoying themselves, naming snakes and learning without knowing it.”
When Chikousky moved to the Narcisse space from Winnipeg to farm cattle, he’d by no means heard of its native snake dens. But as soon as he retired, they supplied a spring job he’s appeared ahead to for 20 years. In his time as an interpreter, he’s seen all the things, taking the nice with the dangerous and weighing in the place and when he can. Grizzled, with a close-cropped gray beard, he appears as unflappable as 450-million-year-old limestone, simply answering any query thrown his means.
“How long do they live?”
“Fourteen to 16 years in the wild, up to 25 in captivity. The problem for snakes is they grow continuously, so the oldest ones are bigger targets for predators.”
“How many snakes are actually here?”
“The estimate fluctuates between 75,000 and 150,000. There’ve been low numbers for five or six years now, but this year they seem to be bouncing back.”
