Spring 2026
Nikki Evans
On Monday, February 23rd, the Southern Pacific Rattlesnake who came to be known to us as The Green Giant was first spotted at Sedgwick. Located by a sharp-eyed herpetology student, he was under a clump of California Buckwheat near Sedgwick’s main administrative building. Close to three feet with an olive-green undertone, his presence marked the start of snake season at Sedgwick. Reserve Director, Heather Constable, had a pack of gummy snakes ready to award the student for being the first person to spot a snake this season, and the date was marked on the Reserve calendar. While snake season typically begins in April, early rains and heat have brought snakes out early across Southern California.
Snake Watching
From the first time I laid eyes on a rattlesnake I have been quite enamored by them. Visually, I love the drama of our local variety: a large superocular scale positioned above the eye gives the appearance of an eyebrow furrowed in anger, a black, forked tongue flicks, picking up smells and pheromones, and intense vertical pupils stare out of unblinking eyes. Their sensory world is so different from ours: Lacking external ears, they pick up sound largely from vibrations in their jawbones that travel to their inner ears (it is one reason why stomping as you walk will help to scare snakes away). Pit organs, which can be observed as holes between the eyes and nostrils, detect heat, a sensory experience we can only imagine. They are well-adapted predators. It is precisely their danger that makes a person come instantly into the present moment when encountering them. I don’t get too close. I respect their space, but I love to watch them. And so, The Green Giant was someone I got into the habit of regularly looking around for. For a few weeks, I could sit on the concrete wall of the main office building at Sedgwick and look down to see him resting by the buckwheat or the coffeeberry. At times, he was a dependable education animal for visiting groups. Seeing a real rattlesnake offers a chance to enforce the importance of snake safety, while minimizing fear of the unknown.
Table for Two
One day, I sat at the table outside the main office at Sedgwick, my feet resting on a chair when I noticed something moving near my feet. It took a moment for me to register that it was The Green Giant. He was under the table. Everyone will tell you to slowly back away, myself included, but in my surprise, I jumped up and back quite fast. The Green Giant went into a defensive posture. He coiled up and rattled his tail, swaying his head side to side. For a minute, I stood back at a safe distance watching him, feeling my heart pounding in my chest.
At Sedgwick, we relocate snakes who end up in a situation that would be dangerous for the person or the snake. Sedgwick staff are trained in safe relocation by the amazing Dr. Emily Taylor. I considered relocating him, but we were both recovering from surprise. It was not the time for another encounter. I watched him moving in quick lateral undulation as he made his way behind a planter box on the patio to hide. Eventually, he left out of a drainage hole in the patio wall.
The Green Giant did show up again a few weeks later, next to the steps of the office building. He was relocated a short distance by staff Grant Canova-Parker. If learning to relocate rattlesnakes is not your cup of tea, representatives from Emily Taylor’s organization, Central Coast Snake Services, will come out to your home to relocate a snake for free! You can also read her advice on staying safe in rattlesnake country.
Shared Workspace
The Green Giant reminded me that this place, even the office patio, was not purely my own. For several weeks after this encounter, I found myself scanning the area around my feet anytime I sat outside. My feelings of safety had markedly declined.
Being and feeling safe in rattlesnake country
You may understand on a logical level that rattlesnakes are far less dangerous than many things we encounter in our lives. Out of 7,500 venomous snake bites in the United States each year, five unfortunate people die. Statistically, this means you have a .002% chance of being bit by a venomous snake, and if you are bit you have a .07% chance of dying. We may be relatively safe in rattlesnake country, but many of us do not feel relatively safe. Polls consistently rank fear of snakes at the top of the list, above heights, spiders, and public speaking. A third to over half of the population report this fear.
It is important to note that rattlesnakes do not actively seek people to attack. The media gives them a bad rap. Encounters with humans are never beneficial for rattlesnakes. Their energy-intensive venom is perfectly crafted to kill and help digest the prey that it swallows whole, and lucky us, we are too big to swallow whole. Bites happen because rattlesnakes are defending themselves, especially when they feel trapped or cornered. They are generally reclusive, preferring to hide or flee. Does our fear match the threat?
Ancient Knowing
The fact is, though we encounter many more dangerous things than snakes in our modern days, like cars or even climbing a ladder, we are more biologically prepared to fear snakes. We evolved in environments with venomous snakes and those who were best able to respond effectively and avoid bites were more likely to survive. When you encounter a snake and feel fear coursing through you, know that it is partly the result of humankind’s long relationship with snakes. That fear tells us we have a deep history together. Our ancestors knew their ancestors. Kind of sweet, right? In fact, we have such a long history together that venomous snakes are theorized to be responsible for the acuity of human vision. Known as Snake Detection Theory, individuals who were best able to see snakes survived. Snakes were responsible for the enhancement of primate visual systems to the point that vision became our most developed sense. Thank you snakes for helping us to see!
Weaving Strands into Ropes of Connection
Over half of venomous snake bites in the United States occur because people are handling or intentionally aggravating the snakes. When entering the wild, we don’t want to feel so safe that we make poor decisions. On the other side, hypervigilance is an experience-limiting state. Without feelings of relative safety, humans’ ability to connect, learn, and experience the sensorial symphony of nature are diminished. I remember a family I took on the trail early in my time at Sedgwick to whom I gave the standard safety spiel; ‘There are many rattlesnakes here,’ I shared. ‘We must stay on the trail,’ and then I gave the vague enough to be unhelpful instruction, ‘Be careful.’ The threat detectors of the children went into overdrive. Every rustle in the grass, every click of a grasshopper, became a possible rattlesnake. They felt unsafe. They weren’t connecting.
To find this balance, we can practice the kind of calm awareness nature asks of us: A minute of silence on the trail, a short see-hear-feel meditation, an invitation to take in a valley oak as we move our hands down its deep ridged bark, these kinds of experiences can help us connect with our noticing self. Another path is in familiarizing ourselves with the sights and sounds of the wild through repeat exposure. It is through repeat experiences in nature that we build up a baseline understanding that allows us to avoid over-extending our threat detectors. Through practice, we learn that grasshoppers click, we begin to hear the difference between a lizard crashing through the vegetation compared to the slithering of a snake in the grass, we hear the sound of birds and we can tell whether they are alarmed or at ease. We see a rattlesnake in the wild, hear the buzzing sound of his rattle, and are now able to accurately categorize this sound. Every time we connect a sensory experience to something we can recognize in nature, we send out a thread between us and them, building a relationship. Ideally, we send out enough threads to build thick ropes that connect us to this place, of which rattlesnakes are an important part.
