Last Sunday I officiated a memorial service for William H. Martin, better known as “Marty Martin, the snake guy.” A multitude gathered at Morgan’s Grove Park, including herpetologists from across the country who came to pay tribute to one of their own who was one of a kind.
Turns out there are a lot more herpetologists in the world than I ever imagined which means there are a lot more snakes in the world than I ever imagined. I didn’t know that there are more than 3,000 species of snakes. I didn’t know that only 600 are venomous and that, of those, only 200 are deadly. Or that snakes live on every continent but one: Antartica. Herpetology 101.
And by the way, nearly all snakes are shy and fear humans more than we fear them. In other words, they’d like us to leave them alone.
(No problem. I can definitely do that!)
But a few of us can’t.
For example, Marty.
Marty was smitten with snakes when he was just a child. He was the first person ever to discover a den of rattlers in the Bull Run Mountains. He was 13 years old.
Marty was a natural naturalist. He turned his passion into a career, spending most of his adult life looking for snakes in high and low places, counting them, tracking them, protecting them, but otherwise leaving them alone.
Marty looked after snakes. It’s what he did. And he was good at it.
He became a world expert on timber rattlers. He coauthored The Timber Rattlesnake: Life History, Distribution, Status, and Conservation Action Plan, a 450-page study.
Museums, universities, and environmental groups from around the world sought his advice. In 1999, he assisted Steve Irwin for a Crocodile Hunter episode featuring timber rattlers.
Marty turned 80 last December and kept on bushwhacking in the Appalachians. And then the unimaginable happened. He was smitten by a timber rattlesnake and died the next day.
Last Sunday we gathered to pay tribute to Marty’s bodacious life and noble work. But just as we were about to begin something happened.
Lightning flashed. Thunder clapped. A ferocious storm rolled slowly over the pavilion. Rain pounded the roof. Wind bent trees. We waited together in silence. And waited.
The rain stopped.
The wind subsided.
The sun shone.
Mother Nature had announced her presence.
This is my “ambassador of rattlesnakes”!
Now you may begin.
* * *
To learn more about Marty’s work, see Ed Zahniser’s Terrain.com magazine piece, Ambassador of Rattlesnakes
