Did I ever mention how much I hate snakes? How I have an Indiana Jones-like fear and loathing for them? This morning, my son Lucas and I were out in Starhill fishing in the pond with my dad and some friends. At mid-morning, I walked away from the pier and up towards the camp, and came upon a large canebreak rattler, slithering across the porch, looking for food.
One of the men fishing ran to his truck to get his pistol. We had a small drama, involving much rattling, and ending with the rattlesnake’s body being separated from its head (see above; the execution had just taken place, hence the snake’s reflexes still keeping his rattles erect). Sucker had 10 rattlers, and a button. I had just a couple of minutes earlier been walking right where I found him. It’s unnerving to think about what might have happened had one of the little boys fishing with us stumbled upon him instead of me.
That’s the only thing I hate about living in south Louisiana: the big snakes.
Carson 
For the record, one of my family’s legends is how my Dad and his army buddy killed a water moccasin while out fishing when my Dad was stationed at Fort Polk, Louisiana (where I was actually born, in fact). I guess it actually crawled into their boat and tried to eat one of the fish they caught. Everything I’ve ever heard about them is that they are nasty, aggressive animals. I’ve never heard of a canebrake rattler, so if they’re as aggressive as water moccasins, then I guess you probably did the right thing.