Yes, there were rattlesnakes.
Spring break started at 5 p.m. Thursday.
Friday morning, I headed to campus to pick up a camera I had checked out for the weekend, an old Canon film camera.
Saturday morning, the adventure began.
Katie and I planned to leave for Sweetwater at 8. At 7:05 I got an e-mail from her, saying she'd be by closer to 8:30. Around that time, I was digging through my car to make sure I had all the camera gear I needed, called Katie to see where she was. Midway through the call, she abruptly departed, to stop her dog from chewing the foam wind screen on her Sennheiser mike.
I should have known at that moment that we were in for a weekend-long absurdist comedy.
We departed my place and headed for Fry's, an electronics store just up 183. To our dismay, they carried neither the microphone nor any accessories, so we were out of luck. Katie was just going to have to collect audio with a mike that looked like it had been gnawed on.
After Fry's, we went to Ritz, which wasn't open, so no luck on finding the right part their, either. Ritz is close to an HEB, so we stopped for gasoline and a map, since we weren't sure how to get to Sweetwater.
Ritz is on the far side of I-35, so to get on the road, we had to go across town, back to 183, where we started. After a couple of false starts (including an uncertain bout with a toll road), we found ourselves driving north on 183 through Cedar Park. And only two hours after our orignal start time...
On the plus side, we did get to eat Chik-Fil-A for breakfast, undeniably the best of all of the fast food breakfasts.
The drive to Sweetwater was uneventful for the most part. It's four hours from Austin to Sweetwater, which is on the far side of Abilene. It's a part of Texas I'd never been to, and it was very pretty.
Which, of course, brings us to the reason for the entire journey: the world's largest Rattlesnake Roundup, held every year in Sweetwater, Texas on the second weekend in March.
Upon our arrival, after getting lost in Sweetwater and witnessing one wreck and one near-beatdown of the participants in said wreck, we met up with an old friend of mine from college and her husband. They live in Abilene, where he is stationed at Dyess AFB.
We spent a large part of the afternoon walking through the gun show and flea market which accompany the roundup at the Nolan County Colliseum. It was an incredibly nice way to spend a few hours, and I loved getting to catch up with Shelley.
We parted ways early in the evening, as they didn't care to see the rattlesnakes (according to Shelley: "If you've seen them once, that's really all you need to see them"), and Katie and I couldn't wait.
We spent about two hours watching people milk, handle and skin rattlesnakes. I'm not sure I can properly explain the allure of such activities, though it was all oddly satisfying to watch. As we were leaving, we called a friend, Pat, who was planning to meet us Sunday. We convinced Pat to drive up that evening instead.
Katie and I left in search of lodging. We first stopped at the Palomino Motel in Sweetwater. The Palomino is notable for the individual garages attached to each unit. Also notable was the distinct inward bowing of the roofs of the garages. The motel was in a frightening state of disrepair. The only thing which appeared to be in good working order was the lighted "Jesus Never Fails" sign across the front of the office.
Our next stop was at El Taurino. It had a hopping restaurant packed to the gills, and the enticing aroma of Mexican food wafting out its front door. We crossed over to the office, where we were greeted with a sign which read "For rooms-- Go 18" which we interpreted to mean that we had to go to unit 18 to see the manager. When no one answered our knock at 18, we opted to get on the interstate and head toward Abilene.
We made a stop at the next place we saw, the Scottish Inn, near Merkel. There we were greeted with yet another sign, which said "Manager in rear of complex." Being the proactive women we are, we headed to the rear of the complex. As we rounded the corner, we came face to face with an older gentleman shuffling about some of his belongings with a can of Miller Lite in his hand as his wife puttered around their room with the door open.
"Y'all catch any rattlesnakes today?"
"Um, no, sir, we didn't."
This gentleman and his friends had been out north of town hunting at a den they knew about. He was not a participant at the roundup, he was a hunter for profit. He had a broker in Ft. Worth, and together they cut out the middleman. Who knew there was such intrigue in the rattlesnake business.
He showed us his catch -- 18 hissing snakes, one of whom struck at the plexiglass top of their blue-painted box. He told us about the one time he had been bitten in more than two decades of snake hunting, and showed us the spot on his finger where the lone fang had been sunk.
I would have gladly left right then, but Katie kept on looking for the manager. When we found him, he informed us he only had rooms with one bed, and since we were going to have three people, we opted to press on.
On the western edge of Abilene we found our new abode. The Royal Inn has the most fabulous gold flecking on the walls, walls which are also the thinnest I've ever known.
We unloaded our belongings and set out in search of dinner. Ever since our stop at El Taurino, I had been craving Mexican. Those who know me well will know that this is a semi-permanent condition, as I love Mexican food. I rang up Shelley and Brian to ask about a good Mexican joint. Brian agreeably gave us directions to Casa Herrera.
I know that taste is subjective, and I'm a firm believer that everyone should have what they enjoy. Perhaps I am spoiled by the Mexican food here in Austin. Perhaps the answer lies in the other direction, and my palette was ruined by growing up with Mexican food in Oklahoma. Either way, you will not convince me that the spackle-like texture of the queso we consumed is how the food is meant to be served. In all fairness, my flautas were fine, my beans were pretty good. I didn't eat the rice, so I can't comment on that. I can, however, say with firm conviction that Katie's chicken tacos were frightening. Chicken ought not, as a general rule, turn to mush when speared with a fork and placed in the mouth.
Back to the motel we went, to meet Pat. After a couple of hours of general chatter and looking at the work of one of our professors online, we decided to call it a night, near 11:15.
At 1:40, I awoke to the sounds of a VERY intoxicated woman in the next room screaming obscenities I won't share here at an equally intoxicated man. After about 10 minutes of shouting, I pounded on the wall, which had no effect on the shouters, but caused Katie to leap in panic from the bed and verify the door was locked. She had become convinced in her sleepy haze that they were going to break into our room and kill us with guns she was sure they had purchased at the gun show.
I called their room, and listened as Donna stumbled across the space to locate the phone. She was unable to do so before the voice mail picked up. So, I called the front desk and very politely asked them to ask the people in 165 to shout at a lower decibel.
We then listened as Donna picked up the phone and spoke with the front desk.
"No, everything's ok."
"We're fine. Everything's fine."
"Nope, we're jus' talkin'."
Donna turned to Carl (we never actually found out his name, but decided he sounded like a Carl or a Jimmy) and said "I guess we were talkin' a little loud." Ya think?
They were quieter for a bit, but then Donna's daughter Vicky showed up and the shouting began again. Our room had a door into theirs, and we considered for a while opening it and knocking on the door on their side. Katie's insistence that we not get ourselves shot put an end to that consideration.
Finally it got quiet enough to sleep, and we drifted off. At one point, I heard the melodious sounds of Carl snoring in the next room, but it appeared they all finally got to sleep as well.
After breakfast in the Royal Restaurant, we headed back to Sweetwater for more rattlesnake fun, including a rattlesnake eating contest (though none of us competed).
It rained most of the way home, which was stressful, but we all got back safely and are planning to head to Taylor at the end of the month for yet another rattler adventure.
Pictures to come.
Friday morning, I headed to campus to pick up a camera I had checked out for the weekend, an old Canon film camera.
Saturday morning, the adventure began.
Katie and I planned to leave for Sweetwater at 8. At 7:05 I got an e-mail from her, saying she'd be by closer to 8:30. Around that time, I was digging through my car to make sure I had all the camera gear I needed, called Katie to see where she was. Midway through the call, she abruptly departed, to stop her dog from chewing the foam wind screen on her Sennheiser mike.
I should have known at that moment that we were in for a weekend-long absurdist comedy.
We departed my place and headed for Fry's, an electronics store just up 183. To our dismay, they carried neither the microphone nor any accessories, so we were out of luck. Katie was just going to have to collect audio with a mike that looked like it had been gnawed on.
After Fry's, we went to Ritz, which wasn't open, so no luck on finding the right part their, either. Ritz is close to an HEB, so we stopped for gasoline and a map, since we weren't sure how to get to Sweetwater.
Ritz is on the far side of I-35, so to get on the road, we had to go across town, back to 183, where we started. After a couple of false starts (including an uncertain bout with a toll road), we found ourselves driving north on 183 through Cedar Park. And only two hours after our orignal start time...
On the plus side, we did get to eat Chik-Fil-A for breakfast, undeniably the best of all of the fast food breakfasts.
The drive to Sweetwater was uneventful for the most part. It's four hours from Austin to Sweetwater, which is on the far side of Abilene. It's a part of Texas I'd never been to, and it was very pretty.
Which, of course, brings us to the reason for the entire journey: the world's largest Rattlesnake Roundup, held every year in Sweetwater, Texas on the second weekend in March.
Upon our arrival, after getting lost in Sweetwater and witnessing one wreck and one near-beatdown of the participants in said wreck, we met up with an old friend of mine from college and her husband. They live in Abilene, where he is stationed at Dyess AFB.
We spent a large part of the afternoon walking through the gun show and flea market which accompany the roundup at the Nolan County Colliseum. It was an incredibly nice way to spend a few hours, and I loved getting to catch up with Shelley.
We parted ways early in the evening, as they didn't care to see the rattlesnakes (according to Shelley: "If you've seen them once, that's really all you need to see them"), and Katie and I couldn't wait.
We spent about two hours watching people milk, handle and skin rattlesnakes. I'm not sure I can properly explain the allure of such activities, though it was all oddly satisfying to watch. As we were leaving, we called a friend, Pat, who was planning to meet us Sunday. We convinced Pat to drive up that evening instead.
Katie and I left in search of lodging. We first stopped at the Palomino Motel in Sweetwater. The Palomino is notable for the individual garages attached to each unit. Also notable was the distinct inward bowing of the roofs of the garages. The motel was in a frightening state of disrepair. The only thing which appeared to be in good working order was the lighted "Jesus Never Fails" sign across the front of the office.
Our next stop was at El Taurino. It had a hopping restaurant packed to the gills, and the enticing aroma of Mexican food wafting out its front door. We crossed over to the office, where we were greeted with a sign which read "For rooms-- Go 18" which we interpreted to mean that we had to go to unit 18 to see the manager. When no one answered our knock at 18, we opted to get on the interstate and head toward Abilene.
We made a stop at the next place we saw, the Scottish Inn, near Merkel. There we were greeted with yet another sign, which said "Manager in rear of complex." Being the proactive women we are, we headed to the rear of the complex. As we rounded the corner, we came face to face with an older gentleman shuffling about some of his belongings with a can of Miller Lite in his hand as his wife puttered around their room with the door open.
"Y'all catch any rattlesnakes today?"
"Um, no, sir, we didn't."
This gentleman and his friends had been out north of town hunting at a den they knew about. He was not a participant at the roundup, he was a hunter for profit. He had a broker in Ft. Worth, and together they cut out the middleman. Who knew there was such intrigue in the rattlesnake business.
He showed us his catch -- 18 hissing snakes, one of whom struck at the plexiglass top of their blue-painted box. He told us about the one time he had been bitten in more than two decades of snake hunting, and showed us the spot on his finger where the lone fang had been sunk.
I would have gladly left right then, but Katie kept on looking for the manager. When we found him, he informed us he only had rooms with one bed, and since we were going to have three people, we opted to press on.
On the western edge of Abilene we found our new abode. The Royal Inn has the most fabulous gold flecking on the walls, walls which are also the thinnest I've ever known.
We unloaded our belongings and set out in search of dinner. Ever since our stop at El Taurino, I had been craving Mexican. Those who know me well will know that this is a semi-permanent condition, as I love Mexican food. I rang up Shelley and Brian to ask about a good Mexican joint. Brian agreeably gave us directions to Casa Herrera.
I know that taste is subjective, and I'm a firm believer that everyone should have what they enjoy. Perhaps I am spoiled by the Mexican food here in Austin. Perhaps the answer lies in the other direction, and my palette was ruined by growing up with Mexican food in Oklahoma. Either way, you will not convince me that the spackle-like texture of the queso we consumed is how the food is meant to be served. In all fairness, my flautas were fine, my beans were pretty good. I didn't eat the rice, so I can't comment on that. I can, however, say with firm conviction that Katie's chicken tacos were frightening. Chicken ought not, as a general rule, turn to mush when speared with a fork and placed in the mouth.
Back to the motel we went, to meet Pat. After a couple of hours of general chatter and looking at the work of one of our professors online, we decided to call it a night, near 11:15.
At 1:40, I awoke to the sounds of a VERY intoxicated woman in the next room screaming obscenities I won't share here at an equally intoxicated man. After about 10 minutes of shouting, I pounded on the wall, which had no effect on the shouters, but caused Katie to leap in panic from the bed and verify the door was locked. She had become convinced in her sleepy haze that they were going to break into our room and kill us with guns she was sure they had purchased at the gun show.
I called their room, and listened as Donna stumbled across the space to locate the phone. She was unable to do so before the voice mail picked up. So, I called the front desk and very politely asked them to ask the people in 165 to shout at a lower decibel.
We then listened as Donna picked up the phone and spoke with the front desk.
"No, everything's ok."
"We're fine. Everything's fine."
"Nope, we're jus' talkin'."
Donna turned to Carl (we never actually found out his name, but decided he sounded like a Carl or a Jimmy) and said "I guess we were talkin' a little loud." Ya think?
They were quieter for a bit, but then Donna's daughter Vicky showed up and the shouting began again. Our room had a door into theirs, and we considered for a while opening it and knocking on the door on their side. Katie's insistence that we not get ourselves shot put an end to that consideration.
Finally it got quiet enough to sleep, and we drifted off. At one point, I heard the melodious sounds of Carl snoring in the next room, but it appeared they all finally got to sleep as well.
After breakfast in the Royal Restaurant, we headed back to Sweetwater for more rattlesnake fun, including a rattlesnake eating contest (though none of us competed).
It rained most of the way home, which was stressful, but we all got back safely and are planning to head to Taylor at the end of the month for yet another rattler adventure.
Pictures to come.
posted by Audrey at 8:50 PM
1 Comments:
A completely bizarre addition to your story....
About two and a half years ago, while waiting outside the beauty shop in the Johnson City Wal-Mart (a place where they NEVER gave me a freakish haircut, no matter how little they charged- unlike my experience at the high priced Nashville salon just one year ago today)I met a man who told me all about attending this very rattlesnake round-up and listened patiently for 45 minutes (that's what I get for going to Wal-Mart on a Saturday)while he described hte event and the taste (like Chicken- what else?) of rattlesnake.
I hope you had a great time.
Chara
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