By Michael L. Alumbaugh, ©
2016
It was late August in Montana in the summer of 1976. The blistering
afternoon sun was creating a glare across my windshield as we headed northwest
toward a field just outside of Billings. Our harvest crew caravan was made up
of a service vehicle pulling a small silver camper trailer for sleeping, followed
by two harvest trucks towing trailers loaded with our machines.
As I trailed the pack, the caravan stirred the dust above
the road in front of me. Easing back on the gas pedal did little to reduce the
dust cloud ahead as it hung there waiting for me to burst through. I had both
windows down on the cab for relief. The air movement allowed the cloud of
debris in with the cross-breeze but it provided some comfort from the
sweltering heat radiating from the landscape around me.
By now, I’d gotten used to dust in my face and dirt in my
teeth. For the last two months I’d eaten a fair amount of both from roads
and fields, travelling the silver Gleaners from field to field and town to
town, making our way along the “Wheat Belt”. If it wasn’t road dust choking the
air from me, it was chaff finding its way into places I had never imagined, but
that was just another part of the job as a custom-cutter. I’d either wipe it
away, itch it off, or spit it out and move on.
The hum of the engine and the singing of the tires were
mesmerizing. It had been a long drive from Cheyenne,
WY to Billings. At times the scenery was spectacular from the highway
but it could not compare to the view from inside a combine cab where few ever see
scenery from that perspective. Looking at the mountains as the sun cascaded its
first rays of morning light on the golden heads of grain made each new day feel
fresh and exciting. The glory of God’s creation was awe-inspiring.
We were almost to the butte containing the harvest we would
be working. My thoughts drifted to past glories, giving little attention to the
backroad we were following off Highway 3. It had been an interesting summer break
from school. My classmate Al, a pastoral student, provided a job offer working
for his Dad’s custom-crew till September.
With my previous experience working various farms through high school, the
incentive to get “back to nature” was strong.
As we left Cheyenne, WY around daybreak, I reflected back
on the incidents and places we’d been since leaving Cimarron, KS in early June.
First, we headed to Wichita Falls, Tx. Just south of the Oklahoma line, I
recalled seeing a tire bouncing past me on the right side of the road and
disappear into some brush. As I wondered about that, a car on my left side began
honking while its passenger waved frantically for my attention toward my
trailer. Yep, the tire was mine! The wheel loss was due to an overzealous Skoal
chewing hired man who had overtightened the wheel bearings just a bit. (Thanks
for that, John.) Providentially, it was a tandem trailer so no further damage
was realized. We found the wheel and tire, checked the spindle for damage, repacked
the bearings, replaced the wheel assembly and we were off again.
Once we made it to the field skirting the Red River, I
recall Al’s twelve year old brother David shouting, “Watch out for snakes!”
With the exception of an occasional jackrabbit or armadillo, about the only
threat I’d come upon were mosquitos large enough to impale a man and carry him
off to his final resting place. Avoiding that destiny along the river that
evening was fulltime between the service truck and the combines as we prepped
the machines for the morning’s first light cutting. From that day to this, the
only intimidating critters I had seen were just more rabbits and armadillos. We
finished there and headed north gathering harvest all the way to Vona, Colo. The
scenery wasn’t much to speak of, nor the varmints.
Even around Pines Bluff, WY, I saw little to interest me,
save a distant view of the Rockies. That changed as we headed for Cheyenne,
stopping off at the Vedauwoo State Park one Sunday afternoon to scale the rock
faces in that unusual mountain range. The climb had been sobering as well as
exhilarating. But, again, no snakes were found and David’s warnings were
becoming a bit tedious.
My focus returned to the drive as we continued along the
winding road. I could see ahead in the distance a range of buttes taking shape.
Suddenly my attentions were drawn to the barbed wire fence and tall grass to my
left. From out of nowhere an antelope appeared running at break-neck speed parallel
to my truck inside the enclosure. Up ahead I saw the fence corner and the wire
making a 90 degree turn in front of him. Travelling at around 50mph I pondered,
“Would he ram through the wire and get tangled or jump it?” My heart began to
race! But I was wrong on all counts. As quickly as he had appeared, and without
missing a step, he gracefully turned “on a dime” and followed the fence line
out of my sight. What a breath-taking view of agile strength and dexterity. I
was speechless!
Then I saw it, the butte. It must have risen above the
prairie floor a good 700 feet. At the mile wide base was a small sea of derelict
machinery and vintage cars in varying conditions. The farmers used them for erosion control. At
the top was a caterpillar tractor with disk/plow implements spanning 70 feet or
more. I was told later that the farmers would begin their day making only one
pass and ending the day at the other end of the plateau. The next day they made
their return trip in a new path, repeating the process until the field was
totally worked.
My vision fell back on the cars. Apparently they had
intrigued us all and the caravan stopped. Stepping out of our vehicles, the hue
and cry was the song of David, “Watch out for snakes!” Again I muttered my
disgust and headed toward the rest of our troop. Bringing up the rear of the
convoy, I was cut off from them by a ravine filled with a variety of junk and
brush. Surveying the lay of the land, my eyes set upon an apparent jewel of a
car. It was a late 20’s or early 30’s Chrysler in above average condition lying
on its side. It demanded a closer inspection! But how would I get to it?
I spied an old abandon tool shed standing between me and
the prize. I made my way to the structure considering my approach. “Could I
pass around it or would I have to go through it?” Rocks, crags, rusty
implements and lumber offered no choice but to pass through.
Under a cloudless sky, I inspected the building closely.
There was a door on each end, the closest being open. Carefully I entered,
looking above and around for a possible nest of hornets, rats or who knows what.
Sunbeams burned through knotholes and boards occasionally blinding me as my
eyes adjusted to the inner darkness. I could see the outline of the second door
just a few feet away. Whoever owned the shed must have used it for storage. There
was an obvious path between them lined with clutter on each side. Cautiously, I
made my way to the second door. I reached for the door knob, again watching for
any lurking danger. Seeing none, I opened the door. The glare from the sun
again temporarily blinded me as I stepped out of the darkened structure. I
paused momentarily to allow my eyes to readjust.
But something made me stop. Looking down between my feet, I
saw a long dark narrow object. Something inside me told me it wasn’t a stick. As
my pupils finalized their dilation, I made out the distinct pattern and shiny scales
of my worst nightmare. I was straddling a large diamondback rattler.
Stunned, I froze in place, not knowing he was as surprised
as I was. I was just out stretching my legs and nosing around an old car. The
snake, on the other hand, had probably intended to go to his favorite sunning spot,
rub on a bit of tanning oil, and leisurely basking in the sun while enjoying a
nice mid-afternoon snooze.
Adrenaline overtook me! Unconsciously I had jumped, landing
a good twelve feet away, panting breathlessly and pointing to the spot where he
laid. My gaunt panicked face told the story vividly. Al saw me and shouted,
“Snake?” Though scared spit-less, I managed a cracking declaration. With every
bit of my being I gushed forth, “SNAKE! BIG SNAKE!”
Al’s Dad called out, “Catch him!” while young David
shouted, “Let’s see him!” Catching that python was not on my bucket list and
being caught was not on the rattlers’. We both moved in opposite directions, me
away from the building and him toward it. Quickly, a revolver and long knife
were retrieved from the service truck. (Al’s father collected the rattles.) Al
found a board and before the unsuspecting reptile could elude them the butt of
the board landed on his head and a shot rang out. There I stood, heart racing, while
the color returned to my face. No one really seemed too interested in the
antiques around us. All eyes were fixed on the victim.
Carrying the prize back to the service truck, Al commented
“Dad, he only has 13 rattles. The rest are broken off.” His Dad retorted,
“Well, he was an old one. Probably pushing 20 years old or more by the looks of
that last rattle. What does he measure?” Al took a tape measure from a side
panel on the truck. “Here Mike, hold him while I measure him.” “No thanks” I
replied. “Let someone else.” Al held him by the tail while his Dad pulled the
tape and commented. “He’s a big one, sixty-two inches. You should have him made into a belt.”
Needless to say, I passed
on the belt idea and took a picture of Al holding the poor critter. Impressive
as he was, I was just glad for the memories and being alive. I figured God had
given me the granddaddy of snakes with enough venom for a whole platoon but with
no fangs, just dentures, so I was safe. I thanked Him for deliverance and for David,
then moved on.
