We were vacationing for a week with some friends at their house on the lake in southern VA. My friend's wife was walking along the road not paying too much attention when she noticed something move onto the road about 10 yards ahead of her. It was a cottonmouth about 5 feet long. She stopped in her tracks and the snake stopped. She moved over to the right side of the road and the snake then moved across a little closer and stopped. She then moved back to the left side and the snake then reversed course also. She started to get scared because she felt the snake had his eyes set on her. She then moved back again and the snake followed coming closer to her but then stopped directly in the middle of the road.
Now, getting very nervous she was getting ready to start heading back to where she came from when she heard the roar of a big ol' 4x4 pick-up coming up from behind her. The truck slowed down and pulled up just beyond her and squashed the snake. The driver, a young 17 or 18 year-old local kid then backed up to her turning down the country music blaring from his stereo and said, "There, he shouldn't bother you anymore, can I give you a lift?"
She hopped in and he dropped her off at the house 1/2 mile down the road.
I believe it was around 1982, and the circuit was hitting lake Seminole down in south Georgia. My neighbor was paired with another pro that had won a brand new ranger not long before that tournament.
It was early spring, and the two were way up a creek arm in search of bedding bass. They were so far up the creek arm, that they had to saw tree bracnches out of the way.
Somehow or another, a cottonmouth had gotten into the boat, and had been there long enough to coil up in the shade under the dash, where the driver's feet would go.
The owner of the boat noticed the snake, and without saying a word to my neighbor, whipped out a .44 mag revolver,unloading it at the snake. He missed the snake all 5 shots, but he did place 5 holes in the bottom of the brand new ranger.
My neighbor, who nearly crapped his pants when the shooting started, calmly picked up an oar and killed the snake. He cussed the shooter all the way back to the marina for messing up the last three hours of fishing time.
Needless to say, Mr. shooter never lived that one down. He regularly found rubber snakes hidden in his boat during tournaments.