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Once when I was six my dad took me to an entry level mud-hole of a lake to go fishing on the shore. I don't remember us catching anything, because it wasn't the highlight of the trip.
Left on a boulder while my Dad left back to the truck to get more poles and tackle, I sat and looked around, pretty unimpressed with the view. Dried shrubs, a muddy shore, thorns and thistles stuck to my socks. Though suddenly I heard a rustle of grass underneath the boulder I was sitting on. My eyes widened to slightly horrifying but magnificent sight of a snake that clearly beat me in length. Black and White stripes slowly glided along the the pebbled ground as drove my eyes up along it's length to it's head. Just a mean look, with a curved brow, and yellow reptilian eyes. Being only six, snakes were only refereed to me as being green or brown; but black and white?
I screamed and panicked, telling my Dad to hurry down to me and he too jumped at the sight of the creature, mentioning it's length was close to six feet. The snake however, payed no attention to my Dad, and probably didn't even noticed me, nor did it need too. He was the Kingsnake of this lake, the one spectacle that made me appreciate the mud-hole lake a little more.
California Kingsnakes are badasses.
