Viper in the Hatchback

When I was eighteen years old, two friends and I drove to Columbia, South Carolina, to a reptile show. Keeping reptiles and amphibians hadn’t yet reached the level of cultural acceptance and popularity of the modern era. So, a trip like this was special.

The only options we had to see vendors selling our favorite pets were the Raleigh, North Carolina, show and the fabled Columbia, South Carolina show. The key difference between the two was that South Carolina didn’t have the same restrictive laws regarding the sale of venomous reptiles that my home state had. The Columbia show was the wild west of reptile shows at the time; anything could happen.

We rolled into the Jalil Temple in Columbia, where the vendors were set up with their scaly wares as the doors opened that Saturday morning. The air felt charged with a slithering energy. We paid our entrance fee and entered the event center to see table after table stacked with deli cups holding all manner of herpetofauna.

I made a beeline to the few frog vendors I knew would be in attendance and ogled over the various species of poison dart frogs that were available. Poison dart frogs were still a rare find in the early 2000s. There weren’t many folks keeping them, so to see others with my shared passion was worth the price of admission.

I spent most of my time nerding out with the people selling various frogs. Eventually, I settled on a couple of Dendrobates tinctorius azurues dart frogs. That’s a mouthful to say that I purchased two small blue frogs. I was elated. These were still relatively uncommon in the hobby at that time, so I was proud to acquire those beauties.

With my tiny tropical jewels in tow, my friends and I made our way to the one area of the show we’d yet to visit—the venomous section. Now, before you think this was some well-regulated thing, it wasn’t. Let me paint a picture: the only thing separating the populace from deadly vipers was a sheet hanging over the opening to that section of the event center. As soon as we entered this section, it felt like bedlam. I’m not trying to throw shade, but in the reptile community, there are normal weirdos like me, and then you get venomous keepers. They typically up the ante of questionable behaviors and lifestyle choices. Their preferred pets are usually the least sketchy thing they’re involved with. Think Tiger King, only with deadly vipers.

The first thing I saw as I entered the section was a six-foot cobra in full hooded glory swaying back and forth on a vendor’s table. That felt a little concerning. The space was two rows of folding tables and a narrow path between them. People were elbow to elbow, making their way through the maze of serpents. The only thing separating us from black mambas, boomslangs, and myriad species of vipers and cobras was thin glass aquariums and large deli cups with taped lids, if we were lucky. One accidental bump into a rickety folding table could have taken out the lot of us. I assumed we were just there to look; my friend had other ideas.

Nervously, I made my way back to the parking lot and opened the hatch on my tiny Mazda MX3. My buddy slid an acrylic aquarium with a loudly hissing eighteen-inch African Gaboon viper into the small space. There was nothing to separate us from this deadly viper aside from the supposed integrity of this enclosure. Oh boy, it was going to be a long drive.

Gaboon vipers have the longest fangs of any venomous snake, maxing out at around two inches. They also produce more venom than any other viper due to their venom gland holding such a large capacity. Their venom is extremely toxic, containing both hemotoxins that destroy blood and tissues, as well as neurotoxins that affect the nervous system. In the wild, bites on humans are rare, mostly due to their reliance on incredible camouflage. They will often hiss loudly and defiantly to deter would-be predators. In captivity, however, bites are a bit more common, likely due to the incredible speed of their strikes. I’ve never known a Gaboon viper keeper who kept them for any length of time with all their fingers.

You’d think there would be permits required for such a purchase, and you’d be wrong. If you had the cash, you could have walked out with anything in that reptile show, no questions asked. That’s exactly what my buddy did. He bought the Gaboon viper on impulse. It looked cool, and he had to have it. Now it was in the trunk of my car.

Once we got home, the first thing my friend did was offer his new pet a small live mouse. It was shocking to see how quickly that snake could strike prey. The crazier thing to witness was the potency of the venom. As soon as the rodent was injected with that toxic cocktail, it leaped in the air, and by the time it hit the ground, it was not only dead, but it also appeared rigid in rigor mortis. It was instant death.

I only mention this to reaffirm just how toxic this viper was. It was crazy to see this, and it gave me even more cause to worry about my friend’s new purchase. After the novelty wore off, my friend realized what he had living in his bedroom and decided to mitigate the risk of serious bodily injury or death and found some other idiot to take the snake a few months later.

In the nearly twenty-five years since this happened, not much has changed. If anything, things may be worse. With the popularity of reptile pets, those types of shows happen nearly every weekend somewhere. Venomous reptile shows are still a little harder to find, but many places allow them. If you can’t make it to a reptile show, you can buy your preferred pet online. For a small fee, usually less than $50, you can get your heart’s desire shipped next-day air right to your doorstep. Whoopie—vipers in the mail! I’ll stick to colorful frogs and frowning toads personally.

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