The back roads of Little River are reasonably straight and flat, stretching into the distance and cleaving through scrubby paddocks.
Around this time of year, the charcoal asphalt captures and oozes heat from the sun as it beats down, usually between showers of warm rain.
I was recently driving these roads when there he was, lying on the road, almost hidden in a shimmering mirage, a dot in the distance. Tail on the left-hand white line, head halfway into the lane, slow and dopey, shaking off the fog of hibernation.
As I got closer I slowed to get a good look at him, knowing I was still going fast enough to avoid any type of confrontation.
As the heat shimmer and dust disappeared, the glimmer of his scales revealed him as a big brown snake, easily two metres long.
He was unconcerned by my fast-moving vehicle or the proximity of nearby homes and grazing livestock.
I had a split second moment of indecision, wondering if I would break his back if I ran over him doing 80km/h, leaving him at the mercy of birds of prey.
Instead, I took a wide curve into the empty oncoming lane, swayed by not only the thought of killing an unsuspecting animal but also vague urban myths about snakes wrapping themselves around the axles of moving vehicles.
Out here on the very edge of Melbourne, snakes are as much an unwanted part of country life as bushfires and drought. As the sun gets hotter, there’ll be a flurry of slithery activity as the brown and tiger snakes start to wake up and birth.
A wet winter, lush undergrowth and abundance of food have created good conditions for them. So keep an eye out and take a wide berth. \
Emma Sutcliffe is a Little River-based freelance writer. You can find her on Facebook at “Little River Emma”.
