This article was originally published in Vol. X, No. 2 Spring 1960 of Oklahoma Today. The article was written by John Rochelle and the photos were by C. Faye Bennett. It includes a “slightly” different version of the Joe Durham snakes in a plane story.

SPORTSMEN THROUGH THE AGES have hunted lions, leopards, tigers, and other vicious wild beasts. Now they have added rattlesnakes. Okeene puts on an annual rattlesnake hunt that is fast climbing into high favor with sportsmen throughout the nation. Since weather determines the activity of the snakes, and since they must be active-but not too active-the exact date has to be set each spring. Most years it falls on the Sunday before or the Sunday after Easter.

Quick as the date is set, sportsmen circle it on their International Sports Calendar; for there is a tremendous thrill in hunting and capturing live rattlesnakes. Sponsored by the local Jaycees it has developed into a first flight event where every participant must exercise fair play, have steady nerves, keen eyes, perfect coordination and all other traits of a true sportsman. Last year the hunt attracted near 30,000 visitors from twenty-five states that reached from Alaska to Massachusetts and from Texas to the Dakotas. Three foreign nations - Newfoundland, Iceland and Iran - were also represented.

The Okeene event was born twenty years ago. The idea took hold and spread like wildfire. Last year at hunt time nearly a hundred private planes headed toward Okeene and many a car traveled in that direction. Visitors enjoyed the green wheat fields stretching for miles on all sides of the town, and watched for her four tall landmark her three huge grain elevators, and the beautiful spire of St. Alban’s Catholic Church. At 7:30 Sunday morning a marked snake was released.

Red paint had been smeared on its head as a mark of identification, and a one-hundred dollar reward offered to the one who captured him and brought him to the snake market.

At eight o’clock the Hunt Headquarters opened for registration. Fourteen hundred eighty-five licenses were issued -the largest number on record for a hunt. Promptly at ten o’clock the first caravan started for the gypsum rock hills of Salt Creek Canyon, 15 miles south- west of Okeene. It was headed by Wayne Parker, president of the Jaycees and Chief Rattler of the IARH. His car and those immediately behind him were filled with members of the press and those taking pictures for radio and television. Then came the stream of cars filled with hunters and onlookers. The cars parked at the foot of the eroded, flat red cliffs above where Salt Creek has carved an enormous canyon-the hunting area. The spectators sometimes sat and looked the area over, but the hunters I piled out quickly impatient to be on the job. Most hunters went in small groups and carried one container for their catches. Others were so ambitious that they brought along a truck with a sturdy box built in back.

As the hunt got under way everybody not only looked; they listened. Their ears weren’t tuned to the twitter of the birds, or to other usually enjoyed sounds of nature. Their ears were listening for just one sound-the buzz that the dread rattler gave when he was about to strike.

Even the old-timers stepped cautiously as they hurried up the nearest hill and over its flat top and headed for a den not yet visited by this year’s hunters. Energetic onlookers slowed their pace and picked their way care-fully as they climbed up rocks and eased down slopes, shaped by erosion. Everybody stepped with extra caution as he climbed over the limestone band at the top of the hill, for last fall the snakes had hibernated up here in the high, dry air.

Some of the observers got excited trying to keep up with the catches, as they were made. Three were caught under one rock. Twenty-five feet to the right another group bagged two fine, big specimens. Snakes were every where coiled and striking, but producing little damage for the hunters were cautious. Those in charge of the hunt were relieved when they could report that only one person was bitten in the field-the victim was a boy from Dallas. A bite-fang had gone deep into the end of the third finger on his right hand.

Fortunately the boy and his father were well informed about snake bites. Between them they used first aid so successfully that the boy didn’t have to go to the hospital. Though a bit shaky, he continued on the hunt.

When the hunters began returning it was evident that no serious hunter had made a dry run in the hills. Even the first-timers caught at least one snake - some caught several.

Next came the disposition of the catches. Venom was milked to be sent to laboratories all over the world, to be prepared for numerous uses. For example, it is used as the basis for anti-venom injected to treat snake bites; it is used in the treatment of cancer; of epilepsy; and some serious eye troubles. It is converted into one of the newest blood coagulants. The newest medical hope for the venom is that it will help those suffering from muscular distrophy.

The finest specimens were auctioned to zoos as far a field as South Dakota. Two large canneries competedfor the snake meat, increasingly popular as steaks and as tidbits used at cocktail parties. Shoe, belt, and bag manufacturers always want more skins than can be supplied. The heads are in demand to be mounted. The rattles are variously used. There is a demand that exceeds the supply for every inch of the snake.

Prizes were plentiful. In addition to the hundred dollars offered for the marked snake, there was a prize for the longest, the heaviest, and the runner-up in each class. Other prizes were awarded; then 50 cents per pound was paid for rattlesnakes sold in the open market.

Like many another sport the Sunday hunt is preceded by days of festivity. By the preceding Friday the Okeene Hotel is full and all Jaycees have their homes bursting with guests. The overflow finds excellent accommodations in nearby hotels, motels and lodges. High favorite among the lodges is the one at nearby Roman Nose State Park.
People scurry around, get located, then step out for fun. Festivities open with the luncheon Friday, where the candidates in the Queen contest are honor guests.

The Queen and the runner-up are selected at the luncheon, but identities are carefully guarded until crowned at the Friday night dance, held in the airport hangar. Music is furnished by a big name band, a capacity crowd attends and dances far into the night.

Saturday some go into the hills for some practice hunting. Many of those left in town go from group to group and listen to the tall tales that are being told. Two oft-repeated tales are still prime favorites, probably because those who participated were present and could be called on to verify the facts.

Mr. and Mrs. Hugh Davis, of the Mohawk Zoo in Tulsa, were able to tell their tall tale because they were familiar with the rattlesnake. The tale started when the two, letting enthusiasm outweigh caution, crawled into a cave with a small opening to capture some extra fine diamond-back rattlers that had retreated to the crevices in back. Everything was under control, and they were preparing to rake out the snakes and sack them when they heard a furious buzzing sound behind them. They wheeled around and were gazing straight at the trouble. Three fat rattlers were cutting off the only exit to the rock-bound vault in the cave and were slithering forward, determined to see what was bothering their den-mates. Mr. and Mrs. Davis were in their direct path. Mr. Davis was flat on his belly, where he had been investigating the snakes in the crevices.

Neither spoke. They could each handle one snake, but that left the third one free. Instinct and training made Mrs. Davis ease down beside her husband. The two lay flat on the floor, face down; for they must be crawled over as if they were a couple of extra rocks.

The ruse worked, but both Mr. and Mrs. Davis declared that those snakes felt yards, not .feet, long, and they must have used slow motion technique in their crawling.

Once the snakes were safely with their denmates Mr. and Mrs. Davis decided against disturbing the reunion.

Another favorite has to do with Joe Durham, then Chief Rattler of the IARH, and his companion, who flew to the canyon in Joe’s Piper Cub plane to pick up some hot rattlers and take them twenty miles to a special ceremony. They put the sacked snakes in the rear of the cockpit and were cruising along unworried when Joe’s companion nudged him and barely managed to say, “One of those snakes is loose and looking at me.”

Joe looked back. A four-foot rattler was free of that sack and headed toward him. The companion grabbed up one of their hunting sticks and whacked at the snake, but failed to kill it. He decided that three sure were a crowd in that cabin; so he climbed out on the gang- way, held on to the wing-strut with one hand, and jabbed at the snake with the other.

Joe didn’t have much confidence in his companion as a killer. He dipped the right wing of the plane and pulled the nose up. That way he broke the snake’s traction toward him, but he was still too close for safety, so Joe headed groundward. Three hundred feet above the ground he sighted a wheat field. He tossed the snake out of range by one more upward flip; then dipped again and swerved in for a dead-stick landing. He moved out of his seat in a hurry for by then the snake was in striking distance.

A tenderfoot would have said the snake could have the plane if he wanted it, but Joe and his companion weren’t quite that scared. They got the snake out, tightened the draw-string on the sack, and took the catch to the intended destination.

These and other tales were being handed about as the crowd gathered in the school gymnasium for the annual banquet. The Queen was presented, then all present were served rattlesnake steaks as the chief at-traction of an excellent dinner. Those eligible were initiated into the “Order of the White Fang”, membership 175. The candidates were those who had been bitten last year and returned to receive the honor.

Everyone-spectators and hunters alike-has a real enthusiasm for the way the Okeene hunt has been made into a first class sports affair combined with a lot of good times. Other locations have liked the plan so well that they have organized hunts of their own. Going hunts are located in Wynona and Anadarko, in Sweetwater, Texas, in Alamogordo, New Mexico, and in Morris, Pennsylvania.

Even with these concerted efforts those interested in the sport of rattlesnake hunting need have little worry that the end of their sport is in sight-science and common sense will reassure them that the rattlesnake will no doubt fight his battle and survive for a long, long time.

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