Sssssnake museumsssss
Some stink. Some seem dangerous. How could I resist?
My hero Bill Haast died in 2011 at age 100, having been bitten more than 150 times by venomous snakes. Haast’s Miami Serpentarium remains a standout destination from my youth. There Haast — at the time a spry 70 or so years old — extracted cobras and other serpents from bins before an audience that included me and my brother. Haast waved one gnarled hand to distract the snakes and snared them with his other gnarled hand. He maneuvered their heads and plunged their fans through a sheet of latex covering on a jar to collect the snake’s valuable venom. The procedure was awesome and terrifying.
Years before his death, Haast did a funny and goosebump-inducing interview with Outside magazine full of details about various close calls he’d experienced during his painful but financially rewarding career. He also declared, “Snakes do not make good pets. You could have a snake for 30 years and the second you leave his cage door cracked, he’s gone. And they’ll never come to you unless you’re holding a mouse in your teeth.”
The words of a dead expert only carry so much weight, as loose cobras have become something resembling a trend in Texas. The “Austin cobra” killed one young man this month before it was run over on I-35. A week later another cobra took a casual slither through the Rice Lofts downtown. This seems like a good time to state the obvious: Cobras are not native to Texas.
Having nearly stepped on a fer-delance in Costa Rica, a coral snake in Wimberley, and a copperhead in Kentucky, I’ve developed a curiosity and affinity for snakes that exist on the other side of a pane of glass. So I’ve never passed a sign for a snake museum without stopping: Even when the sign is painted crudely on a piece of plywood, suggesting the destination is one beneath the usual definitions of “museum-quality.”
Among snake museums I’ve visited over the years, the American International Rattlesnake Museum in Albu
querque, N.M., is the one least likely to make the news. Bob Myers — who referred to Haast as a friend and mentor — runs an informative and professionally designed destination with an emphasis on rattlers. His museum is designed to be more educational — with geographical information and text debunking various venomous snake myths — than a dilettante’s trophy case. That said, he does have in his possession numerous specimens of rattlesnakes from throughout the Americas. That the museum is located in the city’s Old Town means it’s not even necessarily a detour for one visiting Albuquerque.
Should travel take you to west Texas, Rattlers and Reptiles is worth a quick visit in Fort Davis. Outside is a hand-painted mural with the claim “THE LARGEST LIVE RATTLESNAKE EXHIBIT ON THE PLANET,” which would be hard to refute, since it contains 19 different species. Presumably the other 13 are being sought. The site’s Eastern Diamondback rattler is strikingly stout. Rattlers and Reptiles has decidedly less polish than the Albuquerque museum. It has piles of detritus and a funky reptilian aroma. Alarming for reasons other than spelling was a joint-compound bucket in the middle of the floor that read “Venemous SNAKES DO NOT OPEN.” Message received.
Most anyone who has done any driving in Texas has passed the
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