THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Wednesday, February 8, 1995 TAG: 9502080505
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: GUY FRIDDELL
LENGTH: Medium: 63 lines
The timber rattler, resting now in the Virginia Senate's general laws committee, is halfway along to becoming the state snake.
In a vote of 50-43 last week, the House of Delegates adopted it as yet another emblem of the commonwealth.
Its sponsor, Republican Del. Joe T. May of Leesburg, noted that support came from both parties.
Some opposition, May said, arose not at the snake per se but from the feeling that emblems of any sort from the animal and vegetable kingdoms are irrelevant to the General Assembly in the Capitol designed by Thomas Jefferson.
But Jefferson would have been intrigued by the notion and would have submitted a design. His letters abound in notes on nature.
As to the snake's relevance to the proceedings of the General Assembly, commonly referred to as the oldest continuous legislative body in the Western Hemisphere, the Assembly itself seems at times to be a magnificent irrelevance.
But not as frequently as do those of most of the other 49 states.
As head of an electronics engineering firm in Northern Virginia, May does not claim expertise on snakes. He learned about the timber rattler from members of the Loudoun County Herpetological Society who asked him to introduce the snake to the snake pit.
The herpetologists figure that the more people know of the timber rattler, the more likely they are to treat the snake with respect, from as great a distance as possible.
It is not aggressive, but it will defend itself when jeopardized. It is entwined with Virginia history, appearing, coiled, on the flag of the Culpeper Minute Men, advising the Redcoats: ``Don't Tread on Me.''
The rattler inhabits two-thirds of Virginia in the piedmont and mountains. May has seen one a dozen or so times.
Once, with the whole family, I saw one while following U.S. Sen. Harry F. Byrd up Old Rag Mountain. Suddenly, almost at Byrd's feet, an 8-foot timber rattlesnake came gliding on a slight downward slant across the trail.
The handsome rattler was wide as a moving tractor tread with a hide mottled in bright brown and soot black patterns. It was in no hurry. You got the idea it was king of the mountain, and knew it. It just flowed along, full stretch, while we gawked, until it disappeared in a root cavity in the upended trunk of a fallen giant of a chestnut tree.
It coiled into the hole as smoothly as water pouring down a drain and then it was gone. You felt like applauding its majesty.
During the rattler's passage, Byrd leaned on the oak staff with which he supported a bum knee. He bent within a yard of the passing snake while Byrd's black cocker spaniel cowered behind him. With great presence of mind, I grabbed Candy and took off down the trail. ``I'm saving your dog!'' I shouted.
Byrd didn't turn. The snake continued as if he knew they were two of a kind. Both seemed relevant.
It wouldn't do to tread on either one. ILLUSTRATION: Drawing
The timber rattler has been proposed as the state snake.
by CNB