The River Beckons

A diary of my visits to my club's section of river, somewhere in deepest, darkest Sussex. Walking along the path beside the river, the unmistakable shape of a snake caught my eye. I froze instantly, just in time. I had almost stepped on it. I don't expect to see them in Britain. Hailing from South Africa, I skrik  at the sight of any snake, and here it was no different. Every nerve-ending in my body screamed 'danger' as I processed the serpent's sage grey mid-section lying across the path.  As thick as the cardboard tube inside a kitchen roll, the snake's scales flexed as it turned and effortlessly glided past my boots into a stick pile. It had a black head banded by white. A grass snake. The largest I have seen. One obsidian eye viewed me warily as it slid silently by, and then it was gone. Initial shock aside, it was a lovely sighting. The snake would have been enjoying the morning's warm sunlight. The warmth is drawing life back to the river bank. Stands ...