We were perched on the edge of a 50 foot cliff. Red rock covered with black and chartreuse algae. Winter was turning into spring in the lush desert outside Sedona. I spent most evenings meditating on the cliff’s edge as the sun set.

We had been in this spot for a while, so I could dodge the cacti intuitively with my bare feet. I skipped out to the edge 25 foot from the Scamp. As I approached the ledge, I caught a familiarly jarring shape in my peripheral. The tight circular coil of the rattlesnake. Near invisible in its home. I love snakes, but my heart still flutters when I see one in the wild. Something about their shape awakens the animal in the oldest areas of my brain.

I took a deep breath to slow my heart rate and relax. The snake was motionless in its coiled position. I walked out on the ledge next to her on the edge of the cliff. The rock jutted out next to her forming a wide plank. I stepped out on the plank and sat a couple feet from the snake, with an L shaped gap between us. The snake would have to jump the gap to get to join me on the plank.

When I got too close her black tongue fluttered, I nodded and kept my distance. Sitting with the snake I studied her beautiful patterns and shape. We sat like this for over an hour as the sun set.

Meditating on the cliff’s edge, just feet from a wild rattlesnake was a powerful experience. My eyes were closed a good bit of the time, occasionally squinting open, mindful of the powerful animal’s position and demeanor.

Not once did she rattle, even as I approached with a camera. We had a mutual level of respect established. The language of the tongue flick and head position communicated all that was necessary.

I headed into the Scamp as the sun set. I would have let the snake be sooner, but I wanted to see where she went. Our Scamp was set up just 20 feet from her perch, and our curious little cat-doge named Kamp would likely agitate her if he had the chance.

I woke with the sun the next morning and found the rattlesnake in the exact same position on the edge of the cliff. I likely cooled her down too much as the sun went down the night before. Since the snake was cold and therefor slow, I decided to move her up away from the campground. I would have felt better just letting the snake be, but if any other human in the area saw her, she’d quickly be headless.

I fashioned myself a snake hook, grabbed a Rubbermaid tub and made my way back to the cliff. I approached slowly, reading the rattlesnake’s energy, hoping she wouldn’t dart off the cliff. I was couple feet from the snake at this point, Rubbermaid at my side, with my hook just above the snake’s coiled body. The closer I got the more rapidly her tongue flickered, but she remained motionless.

I gently poked the snake with my stick, her coil rose into a poised position as she prepared for confrontation. The snake gently moved backward, head high, neck an S shape. I slid my stick under the snake’s belly as she lengthened away from me. Once the stick was at her mid point I lifted the snake toward the tub. She woke her piercing rattle for the first time as I put the lid on the tub. The sound of a snake’s rattle in the silent desert is like no other noise I’ve experienced. Awakening  every fiber of my consciousness.

I securely fastened the lid and giggled to myself as I let out a “Kroike” in Steve Irwin’s honor. I hopped in the car with the tub in the back and drove a couple miles from where humans frequently camped. I walked with the tub full of danger noodle into the forest. Once I got to a place I thought a snake would enjoy, I opened the tub and let the beautiful critter be. She didn’t strike or show hostility a single time in our entire encounter. Only rattling as I levitated her on my stick into the darkness of the tub. I took a few photos, smiled and let the rattlesnake be.

A year later I sat with a plant medicine and met the familiar serpent spirit. I had encountered a prismatic serpent in a psychedelic state before, and it was jarring to say the least. This time though I was at peace. I interacted with calm humility.

The first realization I had in this interaction is, “snakes are scary because they’re scared”. Even venomous snakes are fragile creatures. If an animal steps on a snake, the snake will likely die. Reptiles are in perfect harmony with nature, harvesting the majority of their energy from the sun. Warming their cold blood on desert rocks. Eating only once a month, preying on the most feeble and fearful of creatures.

I have never encountered an aggressive snake. They would always prefer to escape, but if threatened the snake is powerful enough to kill a full grown human.

This simple realization can be translated into the context of humans. The scariest and most venomous people are often the most fearful and fragile.