My first recollection of Steven Christman PhD was of my boss, Sam Snedaker PhD, coming into my office to say that he wanted me to meet someone who impressed him, someone that he wanted me to take on field collection trips. At that time, Sam and his colleague Ariel Lugo PhD had a multi-year funded research project to assess the fate of radionuclides in the environment around the Crystal Nuclear Power Plant. A graduate student and I had been collecting plant and animal samples for radionuclide and stable isotope analyses. Sam said that, although only a junior at the University of Florida, Steve had already published four papers in science journals about herps (reptiles & amphibians). Steve had been to Vietnam during the war there, and was studying to become a herpetologist under the GI Bill. He was a moderately large fellow, in good physical shape, a capable field technician, friendly, energetic, and enthusiastic about field sampling. It was a pleasure to have him join me in field work.

Steve and I shortly afterward went to the project area to sample for herps, but he was particularly eager to capture an Eastern diamondback (EDB) rattlesnake. We wandered around the project area snagging various species, but focused on microhabitats he thought most likely to host EDBs. Eventually, we went to the power plant’s construction dump and found one, a three-plus-footer that was about as thick as his forearm. It was not particularly large for an EDB, but a diamondback of any size is a formidably venomous beast, and this one was as eager to bite Steve as Steve was to catch it! He had caught many kinds of snakes by that time in his life, but never before an EDB. He had a snake stick – possibly a modified golf club, I forget exactly – but the snake wasn’t cooperating.

You need to understand that an EDB is not an ordinary snake. It is the largest by weight of all the North American rattlesnakes, has very large venom glands, and hypodermic fangs at least five-eighths of an inch long. Its thick body is the most muscular of all the North American snakes, so pinning its head down with a snake stick and then grabbing it behind the head means pinning the head properly, having a strong catch hand, being quick enough to grab the back end of the snake with the other hand before it can thrash itself out of the catch hand, and having the confidence to know that you are capable of doing all of that.

You also need to understand that being bitten by an EDB means you are going to be pretty far away from your vehicle and out in trackless woods, so it will take a while before you can get to a hospital. Although the venom is not as deadly as that of an elapid like a cobra or coral snake, it is quite potent, is injected deeply into your tissues, and a large quantity is injected at a time. The net result is that you will probably live, but you may permanently lose the use of the bitten thumb and may have health issues for the rest of your life.

I have seen experienced herpetologists handle EDBs with confidence, but this was Steve’s first, so you can understand why he was super wary of being bitten. He was bug-eyed and hyperventilating as though he was facing a huge and angry bull. He realized he needed an advantage. While he kept the snake from escaping into the dump, I searched around and found a 20-gallon steel drum without a lid, and brought it over to them. Steve handed me his pillowcase snake bag, whereupon we discovered with dismay that was too small for its opening to wrap completely around the drum’s rim. So, we positioned it as best we could, pillowcase mouth opened in a lopsided and contemptuous sneer, and he picked up the snake with his tool. The snake immediately slithered off it. After a couple more false starts, he finally succeeded in dropping the animal into the pillowcase. He quickly grabbed the drawstring and yanked it tight, enclosing and securing the EDB. We laughed like madmen, and that evening drank more than our fair share of beer.

Sam convinced Archie Fairly Carr PhD, professor of herpetology at UF, to allow Steve and me to tag along on a trip to Seahorse Key. Ordinarily, such trips hosted by Dr. Carr are only for graduate students, but Sam talked him into letting us go too. This island is owned by the University of Florida, and has a wading bird rookery in a willow swamp within its interior. The rookery was famous not for the rookery itself, but because it was the home of dozens, if not hundreds, of cottonmouth water moccasin snakes (Ancistrodon piscivorous) that kept predators out of the rookery. No raccoon, otter, rat, or opossum dared try feeding on the baby birds due to the snakes’ presence. The cottonmouths certainly fed on nestlings that fell out of the nests, and perhaps snagged a few more on nests left unattended by their parents, but the egrets had to pay a pound of flesh for their protection.

We listened to Dr. Carr respectfully, but Steve had something else in mind. He was after Florida worm lizards, Rhineura floridana. Being in the family Amphisbaenidae, they can be thought of as odd, two-legged reptiles classified somewhere between snakes and lizards. Steve was the first scientist to discover that running the tines of a potato rake through the sand at the bases of cabbage palms (Sabal palmetto) could turn up worm lizards. He had read that only two had ever been found on Seahorse Key, so was keen to see if they could be found there in association with cabbage palms.

The boat docked at the island and we all disembarked, walked over to a shaded pavilion, and Dr. Carr gave us an impromptu lecture on the island’s history, its rookery, and the egrets’ association with cottonmouths. Then he told us to spread out, explore, and focus on whatever we were interested in, after which he just turned around and disappeared solo into the bush. Hmmm, my kind of professor, my kind of “field work.” Steve and I headed for cabbage after cabbage after cabbage. He combed at the base of each one with his potato rake, and did catch some Rhineuras. At one point in the day, Dr. Carr saw us foraging and came over to us to say that there was one of the largest water moccasins he had ever seen over on the island’s beach. Steve and I immediately did a fast walk in that direction, led by Dr. Carr, and wow! Just wow! That cottonmouth was more than five feet long! That species regularly attains lengths of three-plus feet, and rarely four feet, but not five-plus. Dr. Carr said it was a female that had probably recently given live birth to a Medusa’s-nest of babies, and now she was looking for something to put back into her belly.

Dr. Carr then left us to go find more students to show the reptile to, and Steve and I continued exploring the island. Needless to say, he continued combing for worm lizards. By the end of the day, he had caught four. As everyone reassembled at the pavilion, Steve showed off his catches, and Dr. Carr was as bug-eyed over Steve’s findings as we were by his champion cottonmouth. The famous professor just couldn’t get over the fact that Steve had caught twice as many in one day as the previous collections of dozens of other herpetologists over a several-decades period. Steve had made a new friend. Dr. Carr had made a new friend. It was a good day.

Steve went on from there to earn a PhD in herpetology at UF. I never again went into the field with him, as he had school to deal with and I moved on to another job. He and I did get together in our elder years at Sleazeweazel’s parties. We’d sit in rockers on the upper porch deck and watch the younger mobs eating, dancing, and chatting around the campfire. We didn’t talk much. By then he was more subdued than when we were twenty-something. The old Steve did not seem to me to be the same man as the young Steve, but I wasn’t either. He is gone now. R.I.P. old friend.