S imon F earn of the Queen Victoria Museum and Art Gallery in
Launceston examines the colourful history of human interaction with
snakes in the island state.
‘On the 7 th inst; as two boys were bird nesting
outside the township, one boy, of about six
years, and son of Richard Hampton, felt
something prick his leg as he was looking about
some brambles. A faintness came over him, and
the other boy caught hold of him. While doing
so he saw in the thicket where his comrade was
pricked a large yellow snake. He carried his
fainting comrade home, who never rallied, and
died in two hours.’
Launceston Examiner, Saturday 9 November
1867.
This bite occurred at Deloraine in Tasmania's north
where large yellowish Tiger Snakes (Notechis scutatus)
can still be encountered today, but tragic outcomes such
as the above have been confined to history. Snake bites in
modern Tasmania are rare and mostly confined to reptile
hobbyists and individuals removing 'nuisance' snakes
from residential properties on the urban fringe.
Development of specific antivenoms in the first half of
the 20 th century, mechanisation of farming and forestry,
advances in snake bite first aid, first world medical care
and ease of transport have all conspired to render death
from snake bite unheard of in the island state. Only two
deaths have occurred in the Tasmanian mainland since
the introduction of Tiger Snake antivenom in 1931. On
Friday 9 th of January 1948, news began to trickle out of
an unfolding tragedy in Tasmania's famous Cradle
Mountain area. 1,2 A snake had bitten a young woman
who was part of a hiking party from NSW in remote
country the previous Wednesday, but her condition was
unknown. Sodium potash was applied to the wound as a
first aid method and help sent 20 miles over rough terrain
to alert authorities. This event occurred before good
roads, tracks or telephones existed in that part of
Tasmania; everything had to be done by foot and direct
word of mouth. It was noted in the press that ‘assistance
was sent at once, but the task of conveying her over the
rough country to the chalet presented considerable
difficulty’. On January 10 the Hobart Mercury 3 was
reporting that due to a lack of phones no information on
the woman's condition could be obtained. On January 12
both Tasmania's leading papers 4,5 reported the tragic
news that Miss Dorothy Townson of Murwillumbah had
died of a Tiger Snake bite on Thursday January 8 th . Some
idea of the difficulties of getting the victim to civilisation
was conveyed by those in the stretcher party who ‘sank
to their knees in mud and how at times, the front bearer
had to be pulled up steep ground, while the rear bearer
was pushed. They covered less than a mile an hour at
times, and made the 24 miles in between 15 to 16 hours.’
This was big news in Tasmania at the time and ignited a
lively debate about the need for a telephone at the Cradle
Mountain chalet because of the area’s increasing
popularity with hikers. The Advocate Editorial 6 of
January 12 noted, ‘In the tragic case just recorded, it is
possible that medical assistance could have been
summoned in time, because the victim did not die until 14
hours after the bite’.
It was another 29 years before the last Tasmanian died of
snake bite, but this was not a typical case of a member of
the public going about their business and running into
misfortune. Gordon Kennedy was displaying snakes at
the Brighton show near Hobart in November 1977 when
he was bitten by a Tiger Snake. Kennedy collapsed
almost immediately and died shortly after reaching
hospital. His death caused much public interest at the
time, with the Mercury newspaper 7 running the heading,
‘Sudden death explained: bid to ease snake panic’. It was
reported that the Coroner’s findings were released early
to allay public fears around snake bite, and that Kennedy
had had a history of snakebites over his lifetime and had
died from anaphylactic shock.
Although these two examples, many years apart, are the
only recorded deaths on the main island since the 1930s,
one location in the state of Tasmania remained a hot spot
for serious envenomations and deaths; Mount Chappell
Island. This 325-hectare island in the Furneaux Group in
eastern Bass Strait has attained almost mythical status
among both professional and amateur herpetologists
alike, as it is home to a dense population of very large
Tiger Snakes. The popular writings of Eric Worrell 8,9,10
in the 1950s made Chappell Island famous all over
Australia and around the world. Subsequent generations
of snake enthusiasts have written about their own
experiences on the islands, including the author. 11,12,13
In spite of this interest, Chappell Island was remote and
hard to get to, so no serious scientific studies were
undertaken on the island’s snakes until the 1980s. 14
Generations of islanders knew the snakes on Chappell
were plentiful, large and dangerous, and they were
viewed as an unacceptable menace during the annual
harvest of Mutton Bird (Puffinus tenuirostris) chicks. 8
As early as 1881, a local correspondent for the
Examiner 15 reported, ‘I take this opportunity to let you
know that all the people have arrived upon this island,
and will commence the mutton birding upon the 18 th inst.
The snakes are very numerous this year; about 50 have
Left: millions of snakes have been destroyed in Tasmania
since European settlement. This image from Burnie in
1959 was a typical and common sight throughout
Tasmania until relatively recent times. Photo courtesy of
Wendy Draper.