I frown. It’s strange. It’s not moving in a straight line. It’s curving. From side to side. Almost like a…
“Wait,” I shout. “Nikhil, wait.”
But he doesn’t listen. His paddle slaps the water loudly, accidentally striking the thing that had been heading straight toward us. The creature lets out a hiss, recoiling for a moment before reacting to the blow.
Fear chokes me as I witness the most terrifying sight I’ve ever seen. The wide-open, completely white mouth of one of the most venomous snakes in North America.
A cottonmouth.
Every muscle in my body goes still.
“Nikhil,” I say through my teeth. “What do we do?”
But Nikhil doesn’t respond. He doesn’t say anything. His jaw is tense, his eyes locked on the snake to our right.
Like me, the snake hasn’t moved. It’s just frozen in that position. Its head raised. Its mouth open.
It hasn’t tried to strike, which I’m taking as a good sign. I scrounge up every memory of every nature documentary I’ve ever watched. I can’t remember any specific ones about snakes, but I do remember the general takeaway lesson about wildlife that was hammered home in almost every episode: animals are more scared of us than we are of them.
That doesn’t feel real at the moment. I can’t imagine that this wild, fearsome,venomouscreature could be terrified of two people huddled in fear in a canoe. Clearly, it has the upper hand in this situation, but maybe it doesn’t realize that.
“Nikhil,” I try again, but he doesn’t register the sound. His skin is ashen. Slightly gray.
If I saw a snake like this on land I’d back up. Take a few steps away. I wouldn’t freeze in place. I’m pretty sure that advice works only when the predator is aT. rexand you’re in the middle of Jurassic Park.
But since we’re in a canoe, I’m not sure how we can manage it. How we can paddle backwards. And Nikhil doesn’t seem like he’s in a place where he can take command of the situation.
“We’ve got to get some distance, Nikhil,” I say. “Do you hear me? We need to give it some distance.”
After a long beat, Nikhil’s chin dips. Just slightly. And relief creeps through me. It’s not much of an acknowledgment, but that little hint of a nod is better than the nothing I’ve been getting from him so far.
“Okay, so how do we do that, Nikhil?” My question is gentle. And soft. He’s clearly not doing great right now, and as panicky as I feel, I’m not going to let any of it show.
The current is still moving the canoe, but it’s moving us and the snake together, so it’s not exactly helping the situation. And I’d try to propel us backwards, but I’m far from a pro at this. I could shift the canoe unintentionally. I could accidentally make us get closer. Or even worse, make us bump up against the snake, agitating it further.
But I don’t think Nikhil’s going to be able to do this either. His eyes are squeezed shut, a bead of sweat running down his forehead.
“We’re going to be okay, Nikhil. You hear me? It’s going to be okay. Just tell me what to do.”
“The reverse.” His voice is hoarse. Scratchy and dry. “Paddle in reverse. Back to front.”
“Reverse. Okay.”
“On the other side,” he adds. “Left of the boat. In a straight line, but you’re going to need to twist and push a bit when you reach the end of the stroke. Like a small curve away from the boat. That’ll keep us straight.” His eyes shoot open. “We need to keep it straight.”
“Right.” I glance back at the snake. It hasn’t moved. Its mouth is still open. In warning. It must feel like we’re still too close to it. I wish I could tell it that the feeling’s mutual.
“Twist it how?” I ask calmly, even though my hands are shaking.
He walks me through it, describing the motion, how my top hand should pivot, which way my thumb should be facing at the end, and how the blade should move through the water. And even though his voice is a little shaky, the sound of it is reassuring. I repeat his instructions in my mind and try to picture the whole thing.
I lift my paddle slowly, saying a silent prayer as I dip it into the water to my left. Holding the blade the way Nikhil had showed me back in the garage, I push it, back to front. I keep it steady, imagining a crisp, straight line in my head, and then I twist and push it the way Nikhil had described.
The canoe moves back a bit, not in an entirely straight line, but straight enough that we don’t collide against the snake, and it gives me the courage to try again. Another stroke. Back to front. Calm and sure. Ending with that same hooklike movement.
The snake’s stayed in the same spot, but now that we’ve backed up, it’s more toward the narrow tip at the front instead of the side of our boat. Much closer to open water. Once it sees that path, hopefully it will just swim away, and leave us alone.
“Should I do one more?” I ask, but before Nikhil responds, the snake disappears, ducking underneath the surface of the water, underneath our canoe. I suck in a breath, and I’m still holding it when I see the snake emerge on the other side.
