To my family, my fear of an aerial assault was moderately funny…
But none of them ever had a snake intentionally fling itself into their arms.
Stacy McCloud’s sharp-shooting son shows off an iguana he shot in Puerto Rico. 2013, Puerto Rico. PhotoStacy McCloud.
I have a healthy fear of creatures falling from the sky. I don’t walk under awnings, trees, bridges, or outdoor structures without investigating them thoroughly.
In spring 2013, I was driving home in northern Colorado from the grocery store with my 2-year-old son in the middle of a major rainstorm. After arriving safely in my driveway and before exiting my suburban, I unbuckled my son from his car seat and instructed him to get on my back as soon as I opened the door and to wrap his chubby little arms around my neck and to keep his eyes closed so that he didn’t get pummeled in the eyes by fat raindrops.
I gathered all the groceries in my arms with my son as my miniature human backpack, I took the front concrete steps two at a time and tried to outrun the downpour, skillfully not dropping a bag, or compromising one grocery item. I reached our mudroom door, shifted grocery bags between my arms, and tried to open the door with my slippery, wet hand.
Suddenly, the unthinkable happened.
It fell heavily on my arm and managed to hold onto me for dear life. It, too, had been traumatized by the incredible rain. I looked down in astonishment at the incredible weight that had just fallen on my forearm when total terror and horror suddenly encompassed my entire being.
Tangled on the arm that is burdened with most of the groceries, a snake had fallen from the flooding gutters above my head and wrapped itself around my arm and bags.
I did what any logical human being would do: screamed, flung my arms in the air, dropped the groceries as I spun around like a drunken ballet dancer, stomped my feet, and shook in a fit of seizures.
I reached up and grabbed my son’s hands in an effort to not drop him. I was back in my Suburban before the Clausen pickle jar crashed into a gazillion pieces on the concrete.
I had completely soared over the 7 steps that I’d just taken two-by-two to get up to the house. I'm confident my feet didn't touch one of the steps on the way down to my vehicle. I was crying and screaming, sending my son into an uncontrollable fit of terror.
Now, people can understand that my healthy respect for snakes assaulting me from the air is absolutely rational.
July 2023—A decidedly unwelcome snake found recently hiding under the front porch “Welcome” sign. Video/Stacy McCloud
Flash forward 7 years—Walking through the Puerto Rican rain forest, looking up and hoping to see blue skies and the sun, I found myself in my own personal nightmare. I could see nothing but the canopy of trees.
I felt stuck in a giant tropical snow globe. Dizzy, as if the owner of the orb is an angry toddler trying to shake my stomach contents out.
I walked in a wobbly Quasimodo-style with my neck crooked up, waiting for an imminent air assault from some reptilian species. In my hands, I was white-knuckling an LCS Air Arms SK-19 pellet gun.
I lumbered forward, looking at nothing ahead of me and everything above me. The trees were dense, just branches and fans of foliage. I heard the voices of my son, husband, daughter, and guide ahead.
Occasionally, I let myself get prodded along by their encouraging words, with my daughter trying to distract me from my brain prison that has incarcerated my rational thinking and terrorized my entire being. Frozen in terror, my rain forest-soaked feet were planted, and I began to quiver. I mustered up the courage to shuffle my feet forward.
To my family, my fear of an aerial assault was moderately funny. I’ve often wondered if these jokers made secret bets concerning me. But none of them ever had a snake intentionally fling itself into their arms.
In that moment, I could feel their amused eyes watching me, waiting for a panic attack.
As we were being prepped for this hunt, I learned how invasive our target is, especially to farmers. Iguanas are detrimental to crops, although they avoid citric acid treats.
They mow through fields and destroy crops and trees at alarming rates. Iguanas cause problems, such as collapsing and eroding sidewalks and building foundations. They cause erosion because they get into canal banks, roads, and structures. Iguanas can be a giant financial burden on property owners and taxpayers.
On average, female iguanas lay 40 eggs per year for 8 years. That’s 320 iguanas born in the 10-year lifespan of one female.
This was the tidbit of information that my brain couldn’t stop obsessing over. Each female lays on average 320 bulging-eyed, 4-legged, hissing green grenades that were all ready to fling themselves upon my head at any given moment under the tree canopy I cannot escape.
Males grow longer than five feet in length and weigh 17 pounds, making them a perfect target for my pellet gun. Since female iguanas can store sperm from their male counterparts for several years, I considered the males the root of the problem and started my abolishment of the air raid with the males. Total extermination!
It took a bit of concentrated searching. The creatures blended in with the foliage so well. Before I knew it, we all saw the canopy littered with giant crawling 17-pound grenades. We were quickly able to distinguish between toes and leaves, tails and branches.
In the end, my 9-year-old sharpshooter son had the most confirmed kills.
The iguanas were gathered as they fell, then given to local restaurants or taken home by the staff. It turns out they’re a Puerto Rican delicacy!
As luck would have it, as they fell, none landed on me. But I stand by my irrational fear.
