Mongooses, mambas and me

As soon as I arrived at the group I knew something was wrong.

Mongooses were darting everywhere. Small worried faces peered out from beneath a tumble of granite boulders, and the piercing chirps of distressed mongoose pups pulsed from all directions at once. I saw Black (the group’s alpha male) snatch up a youngster and race off, leaping from boulder to boulder, before disappearing into a thicket more than 50 m (165 ft) away. Meanwhile, close to my feet, Iorek, fluffed into the shape of a football, approached in a slow ninja crouch.

Then I saw the cause.

Coiled on a sheet of rock right in front of me was one metre (3 ft) of slate-grey snake. It coiled and writhed and twisted sinuously in an eye-catching way that made my skin creep. But that was just the beginning (or more accurately the end). From this squirming mass stretched another meter of totally inert snake which led (my eyes drawn inexorably on) to the final metre. This rose up vertically, placing the snake’s smooth grey head at waist height. The creature was not looking at me; its gaze was fixed firmly on the mongooses.

Ah, a black mamba.

Black mambas (Dendroaspis polylepis) are the world’s second longest venomous snake (piped at the post only by India’s king cobra). They reach 2 m (6 ft) by their first birthday and can grow to 4 m (13 ft). Reputedly also the globe’s speediest serpent (but who’s clocked them all?), they zip along at 5 m (15 ft) per second, through the branches or down on terra firma.
Photo by Michael Ransburg.

Absurdly, black mambas (Dendroaspis polylepis) aren’t black.
It’s the insides of their mouths that are ebony (oh, of course).
When antsy, a mamba will raise the first third of its body vertically off the ground, flash its sooty maw and hiss ferociously (note to self: avoid black gums).
Photo posted on Flickr by Viperskin.

Now black mambas have almost mythic status here in Africa. Preposterously long and super quick, they might have slithered straight from the novels of Rider Haggard or an Indiana Jones movie. Their bite (if untreated) is 100% fatal, and they’re said to attack without provocation, chase their victims and track them down using scent.

And all this is true ...if you’re a dwarf mongoose.

However, even if you’re a bipedal primate (and I’m assuming you are), black mambas are not to be messed with. Piss one off (by molesting or cornering it) and you’re in serious trouble. Retaliating mambas bite multiple times at a single strike (although normally too rapidly to see), injecting about 100 mg of toxin at each lightning-quick chomp (no inoffensive ‘dry bites’ here I’m afraid). 10-15 mg of the stuff will kill you (by paralysis and suffocation), so unless you can conjure up antivenin and life-support within an hour or so, you may as well start looking for that brightly-lit tunnel. 

Although all this is pleasantly titillating, it must be said that black mambas are masters at avoiding people. And they rarely nibble on humans. A study in the 1960s found that out of more than 1,000 snake-bite victims admitted to Durban hospitals over a seven year period, only eight had fallen foul of black mambas.
And whenever I meet one (usually only a few times a year), it’s always rocketing away from me.
So why was this snake at Bugbears just... er... standing there?
And what was with the whole tail-writhing thingey?

I edged a little closer but the snake still didn’t respond. Black mambas hunt by day, actively tracking warm-blooded critters by scent, so they pose a serious threat to dwarf mongooses.
But if mambas are quick so too are mongooses, and the snake will only make a killing if it can catch one by surprise. So the instant a mongoose detects a whiff of serpent it screams ‘SNAKE!’ and whole group comes running. Fur-fluffed, spitting and growling, they encircle the reptile, creeping forward on their tummies before hurtling backward whenever it stirs. I bite my fingernails and sweat a lot.

Once they’ve harassed it, the mongooses flee (unlike with other large snakes), hotfooting it at least 100-300 m/yds. Yet they always leave someone (usually the second-in-charge male) behind. This guard follows the mamba’s every move for 10-20 minutes (presumably to check it doesn’t pursue the group) before racing off to rejoin his family. (No, I don’t know how he knows where they’ve gone, but he does). This strategy seems to work well and mambas aren’t big mongoose-eaters.

But when the group has small pups the whole ballgame changes.
Pups are not quick. Pups are dim-witted and gullible.
Suddenly mambas appear out of the woodwork.

The mamba in front of me was being guarded by both Iorek and Bear; meanwhile the other adults were dashing back and forth, helter-skelter, snatching up pups from various hiding places and carting them off in different directions (the old eggs-in-one-basket issue). I watched Pooh carefully stow her small burden in a narrow rock crevice before hurrying back to watch the snake. However, the pup, used to being tucked up snugly with its littermates, freaked out at being left all alone. Its anguished chirps, combining with those of its four siblings, rose in a deafening chorus of distress.

The group’s matriarch Iorek (BF010) hastily redistributing a vulnerable pup.

The mamba still stood quite motionless, apart from its absurdly writhing  rear end. Is this how mambas hunt mongooses? Was the snake trying to hold the mongooses’ attention with its nether coils while ambushing them from above? (Is this why mambas are so bloody long??) I can’t find any mention of mambas hunting this way but behavioural studies of wild snakes are as rare as... er... snake’s legs. And doting snake-enthusiasts are unlikely to feed their pets mongooses (at least I hope not!). I became more convinced by this interpretation just a few days later when I came across another mamba doing exactly the same thing with Koppiekats (who also have little pups).




Black mamba venom is a potent concoction that locks down muscle cells in numerous devious ways. However, there’s a bright side: it also contains mambalign, a ‘better-than-morphine’ painkiller. Damaged and inflamed tissue becomes acidic (due to a build up of positive ions) and these ions trigger pain by flooding into nerve cells via special portals (‘acid-sensing ion channels’ or ASICs) on the cell’s surface. Mambalign locks these ASICs tightly closed, thus stopping pain. It’s not clear why mambas provide this unexpected boon to their victims, especially since the venom of many less-considerate snakes actually incites pain by locking ASICs open.You can read a popular account of mambalign research here.
Photo by Ian Turk.



Black mambas are easy to identify thanks to their Witch Weekly-winning smile. The guide books rarely mention this, favouring instead the sensationalist ‘coffin-shaped’ head.
Photo by David Bygott.

As I edged a little nearer to the mamba I dislodged a pebble which bounced down toward the snake. Instantly it shot off into the undergrowth. Iorek and Cricket raced after it, desperate to keep it in sight, but it was moving so fast it had gone in an instant.
Calling constantly to one another, the mongooses fanned out to search. They crept about tentatively on tip-toe and with their backs arched, sniffing and peering under boulders, into crevices and up into the overhead branches. After about 10 minutes, they seemed satisfied that the snake wasn’t loitering nearby and began their exodus. While Black kept guard from the top of a large boulder, the others hurriedly gathered up the five squawking pups and raced off with them toward a distant kopje.

Black (BM003) watching for the enemy while the group evacuates the pups.

Tick (BF038) carrying her little brother/sister out of harm’s way.

The mongooses regrouped about 150m/yrds away beneath a huge granite boulder. After Cricket and Bear had raced back for a last quick check of the area (to ensure no errant pup had been left behind), the group settled down in a huddle to groom one another consolingly. The pups, now happily together again, began to play wrestle.
But everyone was still unnerved.
How could I tell?
Each time I raised my hand unconsciously to shoo a fly, they’d all leap in the air!

Is it safe to come out yet?
 At three weeks old, dwarf mongoose pups are mobile but gormless. This is Arctos (BU061).

  

Beasts for the bedridden

"The universe contains any amount of horrible ways to be woken up...

A dog's wet nose is not strictly speaking the worst of the bunch, but it has its own peculiar dreadfulness which connoisseurs of the ghastly and dog owners everywhere have come to know and dread. It's like having a small piece of defrosting liver pressed lovingly against you."

Terry Pratchett (Moving Pictures)


This quote holds particular significance for me this week because I spent the better part of it in bed, fighting off the horrible ravages of malaria (you're allowed to use phrases like 'horrible ravages' when you've got a bona fide tropical illness).

It's only been 'the better part' because of the regular intervention of the aforesaid noses. Oh, and don't let's forget cats' whiskers; equally unnerving when pressed into the face of a sleeper.

Of course their eyes are reproachful:  you know it's time to let us out...  feed us breakfast...  refill our water bowl...  turn on the air conditioner...  clean out the litter tray...  take us walking...  prepare our dinners...  shut the leopards out...

They've watched with deep concern as I trembled and shook, coughed and spluttered and fed-the-fishes (a phrase that's not as euphemistic as I'd like, given the state of the house's plumbing). Being cynical (a consequence of the illness, I'm sure), I couldn't decide whether they were genuinely worried about me or simply monitoring symptoms indicative of their continued neglect. But on Friday I decided it WAS true love. When I ate my first meal for four days, I had an utterly transfixed and joyous audience; and no one tried to beg a thing!

Being bedridden restricts one's wildlife encounters, so I thought I'd write a nice gentle post about the vervet monkeys who hang out in the trees beside my bedroom window. I love these little guys, silvery-furred and lithe, they're like wood sprites or dryads as they dance through the foliage. But my contemplative mammal post was not to be. The local wildlife came inside.

On Thursday night I was just drifting off to sleep - in a semi-drugged daze - when I felt something brush against my thigh. Magic's tail, I wondered? Tentatively I reached down and felt about a bit: no tail. Magic was lying too far away. Since our recent serpent-visitations, we've all been a little paranoid (Wobbly Cat still hasn't placed a paw outside and Magic won't sleep there), so I decided miserably I'd better wake up and check it out. I groped sleepily for my torch and shone the wavering beam toward my feet.

Within seconds I was out of bed.

There was a large black scorpion crouched among the sheets.
It was about 12 cm (5") long with a huge armoured tail upraised threateningly over its back.

Oh, S#%*T!

It wasn't just any scorpion, it was a Parabuthus transvaalicus, one of the most lethal scorpions in southern Africa.

ISN'T MALARIA ENOUGH? I thought in anguish.

Parabuthus transvaalicus grows to 15 cm (6") long. But size isn't what counts. As a rule of thumb (although it's best to keep them out of the way), your scorpion-related panic can be accurately tuned by examining the beasty's body bits. Scorpions with whopping pincers live hand to mouth, so to speak, crushing their prey to death, and so they have wimpy tails and weak venom. But scorpions (like this one) with petite little pincers kill with their sting (both prey and those that piss them off) so they have hefty tails that produce lots of lethal venom.

Trying to ignore my throbbing headache, I began bundling the pets out of the room.
Fleetingly I considered taking a photo, but thought 'To hell with the blog'. (Forgive me, dear reader, but I'm sure it was the wicked malady speaking, and I also remembered I'd taken a few shots of a dead specimen in the garden last August.)

Wielding a plastic drinking cup, I rumpled the sheets behind the scorpion and it obligingly trundled into the cup. Then, while stuffing a blanket over the beaker, I fumbled it and the scorpion scuttled out again. Not good. I should probably point out, at this stage, that this species doesn't just sting like normal scorpions, it can also spray it's venom for distances of about one metre/yard. Thankfully, it didn't. My second attempt was more successful, and despite a few nervous moments, trying to keep the lid on the cup with my chin while unlocking the back door, the release went smoothly.

While I'm not keen on scorpions, I have to admit their interesting little guys; especially when it comes to romance.
After following the trail of his true love's pheromones, the smitten male performs a little tap dance, juddering his body, tapping his pincers or wagging his tail (depending on his species). His lady detects these 'love vibes' through highly sensitive hairs on her feet and body, and sensibly curbs her predatory inclinations. Next the couple embrace, lovingly locking pincers or - more intimately - mouth parts. The male then whisks his sweetheart into a waltz (lasting 5 to 30 minutes), fanning out his pectines (fluffy sensory combs on his stomach that feel the ground) in search of the ideal place to consummate their love. The dance only halts when he finds a smooth hard surface. Here he deposits his spermataphore: a little package of sperm that's sticky on the bottom and hooked at the top. Once it's stuck firm, he helps his paramour move above it; they have to get the position just so, because the hook on the spermataphore must catch and pull open the covering of her genital opening. Ain't Nature grand!

While this is the end of the story for the male, the female's destined to a 2 to 18 month pregnancy (depending on her species). She then gives birth to live young, a feat virtually unheard of among arachnids. Withdrawing to the safety of a burrow or shelter, she arches her tail over her back and places her front two pairs of legs beneath her genital opening to create a birth basket for the emerging babies. She then helps the newborns (tiny, but pale and soft, versions of the adult) clamber up on to her back. Here they remain, safe and snug, (while she forgoes foraging) for their first 9-14 days.

Parabuthus transvaalicus' monstrous tail churns out large quantities of neurotoxin (drop for drop as potent as any snake's). It causes severe pain, muscular cramps, uncontrolled limb movements, numbness, difficulty breathing and swallowing and death by respiratory failure (depending on the victim's body size and health- yikes!). To be fair, the species also uses its tail to excavate burrows, and to sing. Metaphorically. It emits a 'chick-chick' sound by rubbing its sting against the roughened surface of its second tail segment. Oh, and those spiffy hairs detect the air vibrations generated by hapless prey.

Sharing a bed with a scorpion is not my idea of fun, especially when I'm already feeling under the weather. But my sense of persecution evaporated instantly when I read the latest blog post by the hyena researchers  in the Masai Mara Reserve in Kenya. Oh my! I urge you to check out  what intruded on their sleep this week. Your life will suddenly seem so much better!