Sunday, November 8, 2020

Roadkill Snakes in the Classroom

Oh, it’s flat alright. Flat and baked in the hot asphalt Sun. As if slid off a scalding stone slab. Like a thin crust pizza from a wood-fired oven. And then run over dozens of times.

I’m peering down at a roadkill snake with my forearms across my bicycle handlebars. It’s not the first snake I’ve seen like this. The snake has taken on the pebbly road textured surface and looks more like a long zigzag bookmark than a reptile. A bumpy bookmark for a tall volume.  (More on bookmarks later.)

Unfortunately, Dakeng’s snakes are prone to vehicular rubber. Dakeng is the group of hills at Taichung City’s east end.  Fatalities occur when snakes cross a road or warm themselves on the radiant road heat. Other than winter, snakes are at risk year-round, and the snake species flattened varies with the seasons. With approximately 60 snake species on the island, although not all in Dakeng, that’s a lot of different snakes.              

Some roadkill snakes look like they have swallowed a stick of dynamite, while others appear napping without a scratch. Their post-collision condition depends on how fast the vehicle was travelling and what snake body area was hit. The array of roadkill species rotates with the seasons. Spring brings out the harmless Greater green snake, almost in unison with the extremely shy but highly venomous Many-Banded krait. The krait, a black and white striped nocturnal hunter, becomes an unseen victim to cars and scooters.

Others follow as summer progresses: Taiwan cobra, Taiwan habu and the Bamboo viper, all venomous, become causalities. Other, harmless snakes that also succumb include the Asian many-toothed snake, Formosa wolf snake, Red-banded snake and a variety of rat snakes species.  

Like all roadkill, it is a needless waste, and living and working close to Dakeng I have seen my share of dead snakes cycling the hills and farmland roads below.                                               

                                                             ***

I am a writer but also an English bilingual teacher. My previous school, where I taught until last year, borders the city and is plunked down in a semi-rural setting, although the city is advancing. It is still surrounded by a farm, fields, acres of open grasslands, and trees.  I saw my first cobra scurrying across the road that passes by my old school just a few hundred metres south. 

Years later, on that same road, but north a few hundred metres, I found a tiny juvenile Many-banded krait pummeled into the pavement, and so bone-dry it looked more like parchment than a snake. I peeled it off the asphalt and later laminated it into a bookmark. It still startles me when I read with it next to me while in bed.

 

the bookmark that surprises
                                         

At that same elementary school, now and again, juvenile cobras stray into the playground from the outlying fields.  Once, after a typhoon, an adult cobra found shelter in a cafeteria storage cupboard in the school’s basement and was discovered by a screeching kitchen auntie. One cobra even took refuge in a first-floor office cabinet. Since Taiwan rarely experiences cold weather, snug door seals are not required. Snakes don’t need much space to squeeze through.  

Now teachers are notorious for scrounging classroom resources. Educators are always looking for ways and materials to help students better understand their environment in new and innovative ways. And after cycling around dead snakes for years, I had an idea.

What if I collected specimens, learned to preserve them, and used those snakes in my classroom to help introduce local wildlife to kids? What if I could help kids see from their desks that the hills outside the classroom windows are home to the creatures they are holding in their hands?

Perhaps the snakes are better left for scavengers. But I think a few pickled specimens introduced to curious kids might help spark interest and help them understand the variety of animal species close by.

The first snake I collected was a foot long Many-banded krait on a narrow, grass-lined, paved path. It was inching out, beginning its five-foot wiggle to safety when it was hit by a scooter. Half in and half out. Its head flat as a knife blade. The body was still undamaged, supple, and fresh in the morning coolness. I finished my bicycle ride and went home, returning on my scooter. Dangling from its tail, I dropped the snake into a plastic bag. Back home, it went straight into the freezer next to the frozen dumplings. 

Parts of Asia have traditionally used snake soaked alcohol, sometimes with medicinal herbs, to create infusions for various ailments.  The practice is ancient, perhaps not as widespread as it once was, but I thought it a great way to preserve teaching resources.

Taiwan's smaller islands next to China are famous for a potent sorghum liquor called kaoliang. It became my 58 per cent storage liquid of choice and nod to Taiwanese and Asian history. Some of the smaller kaoliang glass bottles are flask-shaped and help display snakes nicely too.

 

pickled snakes in kaoliang
                                            

But slipping a snake into a bottle of alcohol doesn’t necessarily preserve it. The alcohol percentage must be high enough and the snake small enough to let the booze penetrate the creature to keep it from rotting. Also, over time alcohol can change the colour of the snake.

The best method, I’ve found, is to immerse a small snake in formalin for several days. Formalin is an aqueous solution of formaldehyde used as a preservative. A four or five-day soak and then the specimen is rinsed and ready. Formalin helps to ‘fix’ the colours so they don’t change or fade over time. Formalin can be purchased at your local pharmacy in Taiwan once the pharmacist knows what you are up to.

Then the snake is folded into its flask-shaped bottle, head first, where it can stay intact for years. Finally, I tape a simple label to the side. 

Asian many-toothed snake  
(Sibynophis Chinensis Chinensis)
Dakeng - Spring, 2018 - Roadkill

Preserving a larger snake adds an extra step. Submerging a bigger specimen in formalin and then Kaoliang doesn’t always work. The formalin can’t penetrate the snake to its centre. Decay is a possibility.

So I snap on disposable latex gloves, lay the snake out on a sheet of plastic, and use a syringe to inject formalin into the centre of the thicker snake every few inches along its length. The snake swells but is preserved from the inside out. Then the snake is submerged in formalin for a couple of weeks.      

Once the time is up, the bigger snake is rinsed and then coiled like a garden hose into a larger, cylindrical glass bottle of Kaoliang.  Once snakes are preserved they are put to work.  My collection has grown, and several of the smaller bottles line the edge of my staffroom desk.  

                                                                      

a big krait in a big bottle of kaoliang
                                    

Taiwanese kids spend much time on schoolwork. Ten hour days are not uncommon. Some students even attend evening and weekend classes in small neighbourhood schools. Outside time is limited. So here is their chance.

Bottled snakes become the topic of a writing class or conversation class. Students ask tons of questions.  Some students relate their own snake stories. Kids tell stories of snakes they’ve seen on the road, or while hiking, or snakes they’ve seen on their grandparents' farms.

Other times kids choose one bottled snake to write about. They describe the colour, what snakes eat, what happened to them, if they are venomous or not, and how we can protect snakes.

Hopefully, once those students learn to drive, they will remember the kaoliang-bottled snakes and steer a little more carefully.

 

Sunday, October 18, 2020

Where City Meets Jungle (an article from July - a little late)

A Long Black Rat Snake        

 

A giant gleaming rat snake slinks into a ditch just ahead, crossing bleached grey asphalt and moving steadily downhill. It shimmers waxed black as if just car wash polished. If I look up, hidden just over a few tree-lined ridges, Taichung city, with its two million residents, conducts its midday business. Taiwan's second-largest urban centre is mid-island and 20 kilometres from the Strait of Taiwan, but in Dakeng, the city's eastern hills, the scene is different.

  

At the base of Dakeng, a collection of hills rolling north/south and no higher than 850 metres, the city's clamour, fumes, and concrete end abruptly, and the jungle begins. Single lane hairpin roads swivel upwards. The last coughing four-lane road is 180 meters away as the crow flies, and I cycle uphill. Some sections are steep. Vegetation closes like a green garden gate behind. Stands of wild bamboo tilt overhead and the city is swiftly silenced.

 

Taichung city below Dakeng
                                                

                                                              

The change is striking; sporadic houses, temples, family farms, and orchards poke out of the prevailing foliage but are anomalies. The furious pace below drops off dramatically. Farmers on motorized agricultural trikes putter along, helmets and licence plates optional, while others tend orchards, gardens, and cultivated bamboo stands.

 

There is one deviation from the quiet. Dakeng, tranquil in so many ways, is famous for its four ridge-reaching hiking trails and especially on crowded weekends. But for me, Dakeng's draw is its lower quiet roads, hidden back paths and the chance of discovery. Perfect for cycling. The well-trod hiking trails are much farther up.

 

Each time I cross that city/jungle boundary, I'm astonished because Taiwan sits high on the planet's list of densely populated areas, and below, pollution and synthetic surfaces dominate. Two-thirds of the island is mountainous, so most of the near 24 million inhabitants are tightly packed on the western plains. 

 

city to the left and down
                                                    


Green Curtain Coming Alive 

 

Another day, and my apartment guard waves and smiles as I cycle up Junfu 13th Road in the late afternoon and hit the foot of Dakeng at Ningyuan Lane in seven minutes.

 

The liquid greens and leaf patterns strike me first, then sounds and smells. It's July, and spring rains have replaced the dry winter. Along the road, fresh foliage, newly unwrapped, chases winter's dead-edged brown borders away. Water pushes life from every nook and cranny. During Dakeng's rainless winter, the jungle smells loamy, with a whiff of dry grass clippings. The air feels light. In comparison, the summer air is rain-robust, heavy, and thick. The jungle leans on your shoulders, weighted with strong leafy smells.

  
quiet back road
                                                             
                                                            

I have regular routes and make my rounds frequenting familiar spots and noting changes. Moss creeps onto shady road shoulders and vertically up the rough rock and concrete retaining walls between miniature fern fronds poking out of cracks. This round trip is about 20 kilometres and only takes me one-third of the way up, saving me oatmeal legs at the top. 

 

moss covering a retaining wall
                                                
                                        

House and farm dogs snooze on the pavement, occasionally close to the centre line. Cars and scooters simply slow and detour around them. The dogs don't budge. These dogs are semi guard dogs and pets. They lift their heads slowly for an obligatory glance as I pass but flake back out once they recognize me. From one house, old Taiwanese love songs drift into the relaxing Sunday afternoon.

 

I pedal and glance to my right. Incense sticks in a colossal brass urn send ribbons of scented smoke skyward in front of a tidy little temple. An ancient tree towers above, cradling carefully placed orchids suspended in tree branches. Farther along my route, a bamboo farm with its clusters of tall stalks cascade up and over me. The farmers collect new bamboo shoots from the base mounds. Beyond, a greenhouse is filled with orchid plants beginning to bloom. A few have small felt-velvet textured violet and deep purple flowers. Orchids are popular, and roadside vendors sell the long-lasting plants for under four dollars each.  

 

temple-tree orchids
                                                        

 

Alive With Creatures Day and Night

 

A right turn leads to a narrow back path. The road edges are wet and strewn with decaying vegetation. A little grey lizard scurries back into the brush. Several storm drain covers are missing – pinched for scrap metal. A warm wind moves through thick bamboo stands, and the wide trunks creak exactly like wooden tall ship spars and masts. I can hear my bicycle tires hum, but it is not quiet.

 

Above, the trees and sky are busy with birds: gregarious Black Bulbuls with bright, orange traffic pylon bills and feet mob the canopy, a Crested serpent eagle calls, easily corkscrewing higher on thermals thanks to wingspans five and a half feet wide, and shy Oriental turtle doves with beautifully scalloped, paisley wings, burst into flight in loud puffs. 

 

Oriental turtle doves
                                                      


Clasping trees, hordes of cicadas vibrate their roaring electric buzz. Nephila pilipes, Giant wood spiders, seven inches wide, wait in enormous webs.
Still, the sounds are not intrusive. Nature's sound-rowdiness is still soothing compared to the air horn blasting eighteen wheelers below.

  

I flick on my bike lights as twilight moves to evening, and the jungle noises change. Frogs and toads take over. Dakeng is packed with hopping amphibians. Baseball chubby toads plop along. Tiny chirping and gulping frogs serenade. Some frogs yodel like they have swallowed pianos, while others sound like squeaky door hinges, and the uncoordinated compilation bursts from jungle branches, streams, and ponds. Big and small all call for mates and stake territorial claims, but Dakeng's snakes listen too. Frogs are on the menu.  

 

tiny frog snack!
                                                      


Slender emerald bamboo vipers wait in roadside ditches for frogs. One of several venomous snakes in Dakeng, bamboo vipers are shy and retiring. They hover coiled on a fallen branch or twig just off the ditch bottom, waiting for an unsuspecting frog to hop underneath. If successful, they may not eat for a month and retreat to hide in a tree. 

 

a bamboo viper waiting for a frog or toad
                                              

Unfortunately, with so many frogs, toads, and snakes on the move, roadkill is enviable. Flattened amphibians and reptiles are squashed on hill roads. Frogs and toads splayed spread eagle and snakes resembling long swerving smudges are not unusual. Happily, most amphibians and snakes hop and shimmy safely across the road. 

 

The mosquitoes are out now, huge black and white striped tigers that chase me down the hill. I spin to the hill bottom, all the while watching for hopping blobs and ditch destined snakes.  

 

I'm soon back in the city. Dakeng's hills are awake tonight, but the eighteen wheelers have gone to sleep on Junfu 13th Road.