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Published: February 9th 2011
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The death adder
disguised as a cow pat 'You really should come and see the black snake!'
'Black snake?'
'Yeah, just down the track to the lake. A red-bellied black snake, just sunning itself. It seemed pretty docile, they're not aggressive.'
Reluctantly I took Graeme's hand and walked down the track. Yup, there it was, glaring at us, looking decidedly more aggressive than I had been led to believe. I stopped in my tracks whilst the intrepid wildlife photographer advanced a few paces.
'Don't go any nearer!' my hoarse whisper didn't deter the slow advance in his bushman thongs. Glaring apart, the snake did not move and we retreated the way we came.
Leanne, Graeme's sister, camping with us for a few days, in all her fifty-odd years, born and bred in Oz said that she had never seen a snake in the bush.
She was duly rewarded. In Snakeworld, Hobart Beach must be the place to be. Our mountain bike ride or rather push to the Bournda trig summit led us right up to another black snake lurking behind a broken casuarina branch. Skirting his hiding place with a wide margin, I took the added precaution of walking on the other side of my
bike just in case he decided to turn uncharacteristically speedy.
We pushed and rode further. For the last 250m we abandoned our bikes and stopped for a photo shoot. We were hoping that it was only another 250m as there were no distance indicators. A measured glance at the topmost ridge, a consensus of opinion and off we toddled. The scrubby bush shielded any magnificent views I had been hoping to have but my exchange was another snake encounter.
Treading cautiously through the undergrowth Leanne's husband Colin stopped suddenly and held his finger to his lips. There on a small rock lay a pile of horse poo – but it wasn't – it was a death adder flatly curled with his little white telltale tail rattle on view.
Presuming that the overcast day would not have given this little darling much energy, once again the intrepid wildlife photographer came into his own. I watched from a very safe distance but then again what is a safe distance? How fast can they move and what would we do if he had struck?
I was reliably informed that although their toxin is incredibly lethal the snake actually has
very small fangs and would probably struggle to sink them into you around your shoes.
Mm, I didn't wish to test out this theory and skedaddled back down to the bikes and an easy ride back to the campsite with only one screaming halt by a turpentine tree to cautiously circumnavigate the black snake which had now moved off to the left of the track.
Whew, now all I have to cope with is goannas and possums! Wrong! Leanne later reported that a small snake slithered past her at her tent whilst she was hanging out towels. Even domestic tasks are a wildlife battle here.
The possums here are amazingly active, cheeky and downright determined. One stuffed his head right into a discarded tomato can whilst we were around the fire cooking. One was convinced he could open the Weet-a-bix tin and spent a long time with his prehensile toes prising it open until I decided that he would be a dead possum if the bushman caught him eating his Weet-a-bix (also known as Weetbix in these downunder parts!)
One huge goanna plomped down between tents looked as though there should have been a notice in
the campground for a missing small child, as his stomach was so fat he could not move. Someone had obviously carelessly left out their entire week's meat allowance for him to find!
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