The first contact was a surprise for both of us.
I was visiting Barmah National Park on a beautiful spring day searching for wildlife and I wasn’t finding much.
Admittedly, I am not a patient wildlife photographer, so the thought of sitting in a ‘hide’ waiting all day for one animal or bird to pass by does not excite me.
I would prefer to call myself an ‘opportunist’ photographer; like finding a little tree-creeper pecking away at a red gum tree, which had apparently not seen this big white car and the human as a threat.
So I had climbed out of the car to move closer to a patch of forest surrounding a depression filled with water and try my luck at getting closer to the tiny bird flitting from one tree to the other.
Having hauled the heavy digital camera out of the back seat, I was walking towards the pool, head down, fiddling with the camera controls, trying to switch the ISO settings, when I looked up and instantly froze.
I say ‘froze’ because that was exactly what happened, and I now understand, completely, what people mean when they are frozen in surprise.
The sight should have sent me into a galloping retreat, but I just couldn’t move.
In front of me, no less than a metre away was a black snake, not coiled, but stretched out, facing me.
For a moment the thought crossed my mind that he might be dead. (I say, ‘he’ in ignorance, as I wasn’t about to turn him over to settle that point.)
But no, his head was raised about 15cm above the forest floor and he appeared to be looking straight at me.
I’m thinking: “Why hasn’t he moved away after hearing me coming?” That’s what they are supposed to do.
He is probably thinking: “Why isn’t he running away?” That’s what they are supposed to do.
We both continued staring at each other.
I actually said, out loud: “A snake”, directed at no-one in particular.
I thought: why isn’t he moving? I couldn’t see the forked tongue, either. I was now sizing him up. He looked in pretty good condition. Shiny, sleek and looking like he had eaten in the last week.
More staring.
How venomous are they? I’d read that the ‘worst’ are the brown snakes, probably followed by tiger snakes. Where does a black snake fit in?
I moved slowly backwards, and placed myself a few metres away when I had the presence of mind to snap a quick photo.
After finally shifting my gaze back to the forest for about 30 seconds, while I took a different photo, I checked on whether he had moved.
Not only moved, he was completely gone, lost in the leaf litter, or snug under a log.
A Melbourne University website says our friend, the red-bellied black snake (Pseudechis porphyriacus) is venemous but not particularly aggressive.
Thank heavens for that.