Rigging a climb near the top of Plonka, a climb at Corby's Crag, I caught myself just before stepping on a coiled up snake: an adder. We were both still for a moment looking at each other. The light brown body with dark brown diamonds probably means it was a female. She was very beautiful and I had that thrill of thinking ‘it's a venomous snake!’ Then, I stepped back a few steps (away from the cliff edge, don't worry) and got my phone out to try and get a photo. I just caught her tail in shot as she slithered into the bracken.
I finished rigging the climb and went down to my students. I told them that I had a story for them, but I'd tell them back at the car. They were already cautious of where they put their feet, with the cliff edge being near, and I thought worrying about snakes too might be too much.
Rock climbing requires a bit of fear. Falling from height can severely injure and kill, and so people, just like many species, have evolved a fear of heights. Being scared of heights is both primal and perfectly rational. For new climbers fear is helpfully limiting - being cautious initially isn't such a bad thing. But over time, with trust in their companions, equipment and their own climbing abilities, fear recedes.
Fear of snakes must be similarly instinctive. Snakes can deliver a lethal poisonous bite in a fraction of a second. This is a fear that needs to be etched into generational memory. More generally, outside of modernity, and for 99% of human history, the natural world posed many threats. People were aware that they were, for all their achievements, also just food. Knowledge of the natural world, and a healthy respect for it, were vital for survival. Daily life must have involved listening to and trusting fear.
In modern life, we worry and get nervous, but we almost always feel safe. Even when we are statistically in huge peril (i.e. hurtling along a motorway at 70mph). Our instincts have not had time to evolve to the new dangers of our times. Modern dangers of drugs, climate change, bombs, crop failures and polluted seas seldom generate nightmares as frequently as those from our evolutionary past: darkness, snakes, falling.
Wildlife in the UK, unlike Australia or South Africa, is rarely dangerous. Even our venomous snake is not all that much of a threat. Adders are shy and attacks usually only happen when they are trodden on (which was pretty close for me) and when they are picked up. You would need to seek medical assistance immediately, but adder bites rarely cause more than pain and inflammation. Their venom is designed for hunting ground nesting birds, lizards and small mammals. They are shy because, unlike modern people, they retain awareness that they are food. An adder would make a nice snack for a buzzard, or even a crow. But, although she was quick to avoid being trodden on, fear of humans, from the snake’s perspective, should go much, much further. They are vulnerable to effects of climate change and we have fragmented their habitats. Their numbers are in sharp decline. The cliched mum response has it that “they're more afraid of you than you are of them”. Well they certainly should be. And rather than fear them, we should be doing all we can to protect them.
When I returned to take down the ropes she was back - coiled up in the same spot. I gave her a wide berth and took a long way around to the top of the climb. I watched her for several minutes with enough distance that I wasn’t disturbing her, but I wasn’t quite close enough to be able to see the details of her scales as I'd have liked.
