The Fossil Rattlesnake

It was clear that Sunday morning on the side of the hill outside Fossil, Oregon, clear and cold.  Marty and I were packing up, getting ready to head out and beat the heat on the long way home.

We had ridden down the previous Friday for the annual Fossil Run put on by ABATE of Oregon.  This is one of the last of the family style runs, a bunch of hippie bikers and their kids and dogs camping out on a hillside outside of town.  No wet t-shirt contest, but lots of field games and a piñata for the kids.  A good time was had by all, but we were up early as usual and ready to roll.

At 7:00 AM on a Sunday morning, Fossil, Oregon is asleep.  There was not a restaurant open that early, so we headed south out of town on the John Day highway.  It was one of those clear, ice cold mornings in late summer with no wind, but a chill that takes your breath away and makes you grit your teeth every time you ride into a shady patch.  Thirty-seven miles later, we finally found an open restaurant on the side of the road.  Somehow a ride like that makes food taste extra good, as though you’re convincing your body you weren’t really trying to kill it after all.

By the time we got out of there, it was starting to warm up.  Within a few hours, it was getting hot, so we pulled off at a little parking lot off Highway 19 near the intersection with US 26 that turned out to be the John Day Fossil Beds national monument to gear down.

There was an interpretive loop trail that started there in the parking lot and went up along the edge of a cliff at the base of an ancient basalt ridge with lots of exposed stones and bones.  We decided to take a stroll.

Up ahead was a giant hill that formed the northern end of the ridge we were walking below.  You could see a line in the stone, a crack from top to bottom at about a 45 degree angle to the left where the entire hill, probably a million tons or so, was going to eventually slide down and wipe out anything below that was on the road at the wrong time.  I jumped up and down a couple of times, but nothing happened.

The trail wound up the side of the hill under an increasingly hot sun, and I got a bit ahead of Marty.  When I came to a boulder alongside the trail big enough to create some shade, I decided to stop and wait there for him to catch up.  It took a few minutes, and several times I started up the hill, but no, I’d think, I’ll just sit right here in the shade till he shows up.

When he did, we compared notes and drank water for a while, then headed up the trail.  Suddenly, Marty stopped dead, and pointed.  There, in the center of the trail in the shade of a sage brush, a large rattlesnake was coiled up in the classic pose, tongue flicking and tail rattling away.  And I couldn't hear a thing.  Deaf as I am, those rattles were just too quiet, and the snake itself blended in so well that I didn't see it until Marty heard the rattle and stopped about 6 feet shy of the snake.

We did a little stand off for a minute, after which the snake decided to get away.  I hadn't realized they could move that fast.

At that point, it made sense to just go back the way we came, since the loop trail went right on up that hill into prime snake country, and we agreed that one was enough.  On the way back, I’m thinking.  What made me stop there and wait for Marty?  It was probably the shade, but for some reason I could not advance past that rock until he showed up, and I will always wonder what coulda been.  There’s no way I would have heard that snake.

They say we’re all connected, one way or another, more so with those we spend time with.  Our guardian angels live somewhere within that connection.  When they send a warning, best heed it.  Every time I've gotten in trouble in the past trying some stupid idea that sounded reasonable at the time, I always had a strong feeling early on that this was a bad idea, but ignored it.  One day, I’m gonna learn that for good.

Marty and I got back on the road after that, and wound up connecting to Highway 97 back home through Yakima.  That whole section of eastern Oregon is full of great roads and scenery.  It’s only when you stop that you have to watch out for the snakes.  :-{)}