Vivian's Jones Pond

While growing up in Louisiana, I came face-to-face with water moccasins on several occasions. My closest encounter remains vivid in my memory.

My friend Barry lived near a pond that resided deep in the woods behind his house. Jones Pond had the best visibility in north Louisiana - about six feet. This is significant because the water in nearby Caddo Lake is so opaque that you can barely see your hand in front of your facemask.

Barry and I, both snorkeling enthusiasts, would often trek through the thickly forested area to go swimming. The pond was small, covering no more than an acre or so. It was also shallow - less than twelve deep.

Thick vegetation grew all the way to the pond's edge and fallen branches and brush littered its bottom. We often saw snakes, squirrels, armadillos, etc., that lived near the pond. It didn't stop us from swimming there because the water was clear - oh so very clear.

One warm summer day, I was swimming in the pond. After taking a deep breath, I dove to the bottom of the pool and began swimming through felled branches - north Louisiana's version of a coral reef, at least in my imagination. Many fish lived in the pond and I was nose to nose with a small bream.

Suddenly, out of the submerged brush, a large viperous head, complete with slanted eyes and large fangs set against a white background, appeared. The head was attached to the heavy body of a reptile. I knew in a moment that it was a cottonmouth.

Thankfully, the snake wasn't interested in me and I saw him grab the bream in his mouth. I didn't wait around to watch him swallow it, flipping around and stroking as fast as I could for shore.

I didn't wait for Barry to come up for air. "What's the matter with you?" he asked when he came out of the woods and found me in his back yard.

"You wouldn't believe it if I told you," I said, barely mustering a grin.

Gondwana