By Ben Smith:
There’s something about that first hard frost of the year that really makes you feel like it’s hunting season. The leaves begin to fall, and the woods begin to open up to where you can actually see. There’s almost a certain sense of satisfaction that goes along with it. I love being in the woods on a cold morning when I can see my breath. And there’s relief that comes with a frosty morning. I start to worry less about ticks, although I know they are still there. Mosquitoes don’t buzz around my face nearly as much. And maybe the best thing about this changing of the seasons is that I don’t get drenched in sweat walking to my stand or climbing a tree. There is one thing, however, that we get too comfortable with in Mississippi after a frost.
I’ve got a good friend of mine that won’t hardly go trampling around the woods when it’s still warm, and for good reason. He isn’t afraid of the heat, or the bugs, or the poison ivy that’s still growing on every other tree. It’s those slithering creatures that gives him the heebie jeebies. If we see a snake he’s pretty much done for the day! I’m not nearly as cautious as him when it comes to snakes, but I get it. I don’t ever want to be bitten by a snake at all, but I definitely don’t want to be bitten by one when I’m two miles from the truck and over thirty miles from the nearest hospital.
That first frost of the year, as wonderful as it is, sometimes gives us a false confidence of snakes going dormant. Guess what? They aren’t. Sure, they may not be as visible as they are during the warmer months, but they are still there. They may be tucked under a fallen tree or in a pile of leaves. As the morning frost burns off, you’ll sometimes catch them sunning on a rock to warm themselves up. I’ve known several hunters that crawled into a ground blind in late December to find a rattlesnake curled up in there with them. That freaks me out a little bit.
Most people think of snakes as fair-weather creatures, and that’s mostly true. Being cold-blooded, they rely on external heat to stay active. Once the temperatures drop consistently, they’ll seek out dens or burrows to overwinter in—a process called brumation, which is similar to hibernation but not quite the same. A bromating snake doesn’t sleep the whole winter away. Instead, it slows down, conserving energy, becoming sluggish, and emerging occasionally during warm spells.
And those warm spells are what catch people off guard. You can have a week of frost and then a string of sunny afternoons in the 60s or 70s, and suddenly the rocks along a trail or the edge of a brush pile are warm enough to draw a copperhead or timber rattler out of hiding. That’s when someone, lulled by the chill of the morning, sticks a boot or hand in the wrong place. Wildlife biologists will tell you that snake activity can continue well into late fall, sometimes even into early winter, depending on where you live. In southern states, it’s not uncommon to see snakes moving around in December. In northern areas, a mild November day can still bring a surprise encounter. The bottom line: frost signals change, not disappearance.
When the cold starts creeping in, snakes look for places that offer consistent temperature and protection from freezing. Rock crevices, old root systems, decaying stumps, and even the foundations of abandoned buildings can all serve as winter dens. Some species will den alone, but many—like timber rattlesnakes—will gather in communal sites that they return to year after year.
If you’re an outdoorsperson who spends a lot of time off the trail, it’s worth learning where those dens might be. That rock outcrop you like to sit on while glassing a ridge could be part of a winter refuge. The tangle of brush you plan to clear for a food plot might have more life under it than you realize. Knowing how to spot potential dens is part of being a responsible woodsman—and part of keeping yourself safe.
One of the biggest risks this time of year is the assumption that “they’re gone.” When people believe snakes are inactive, they get sloppy. They step over logs instead of onto them. They sit directly on sun-warmed rocks. They reach under piles of leaves for kindling without thinking twice. Those are exactly the moments when late-season bites tend to occur. Snakes that are out this time of year are sluggish, which ironically can make them more dangerous. A lethargic snake may not flee as quickly. It might rely more on camouflage, holding still until it’s stepped on or disturbed..
If there’s a lesson in all this, it’s that the woods never stop demanding awareness. Just because the calendar says November and there’s frost on the ground doesn’t mean the risks—or the wonders—have gone to sleep. The wild is a continuum, not a collection of separate seasons. The more we pay attention, the more we notice those subtle overlaps—the lingering crickets on a warm day, the last garter snake slipping beneath the leaves, the tracks that tell us life is still moving all around.
So, this fall, keep enjoying those crisp mornings and quiet walks. Keep scouting and breathing in that smoky, leaf-scented air. Just remember frost doesn’t end vigilance. The woods are still alive, and it pays to keep your eyes open until winter truly settles in, which is never in Mississippi.
Thanks, Ben! I always look forward to reading your posts. Learned a lot more about snakes than I wanted to know!