Sarah was still battling a weeklong sickness, so we cut our run short and turned back. I was leading the way on the downhill, happily hopping rocks, sliding on pebbles and joyously running.
Until I hear a terrible dissonant screech. It sounded like the hiss of an extremely upset cat mixed with nails on chalkboard. Instinct took over as I braked, stopped dead in my tracks and started backing up. Only to see an already coiled rattler drop onto the trail from the mountainside on my right. Everything happened so fast, I barely remember catching a glimpse of him, and next thing I remember I was already backed up a safe distance away.
Shit, that was scary.
I've seen rattlers before, but never one so angry. In fact, I've never heard them rattle. I expected it to sound more discrete, with each beat clearly discernible. I guess now I know.
He continued to lay there on the trail, all coiled up. I walked a little closer to take a look, and he got all uppity and started rattling. So I backed up and left him alone.
After waiting for a few minutes and determining that he wasn't going to move, we trekked around him, higher up on the hillside.
What I like about seeing rattlesnakes is that they're a sign that the ecosystem is healthy, being on top of the food chain.
Sarah assured me that rattlesnakes rarely kill. Apparently there has only been one rattlesnake death in the whole State of Utah's history. But they can sure do a lot of damage:
Well, after all my miles on the trails, I was bound to run into a rattlesnake sooner or later. And then I saw another one on my run today, but that one was peacefully chilling on the edge of a wide fire road. So I respectfully passed by it on the other side of the fire road.
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