New Florida Travel Adventures: Hunt and maybe catch a python. “No experience required”

While on vacation in Florida, Rob Wessels and his family took on a lot of the typical outings—deep sea fishing, strolling through the farmers’ market, sunbathing at the pool and on the beach.

On their most recent visit in July, an Ohio family tried a completely new travel adventure: They went on a guided python hunt.

“Everyone said, ‘You’re stupid, you’re crazy, you’re crazy,'” said Rob Wessels, whose family caught five snakes one evening in July with snake hunter Amy Sue. “By the end of the night we are so happy and excited.”

Sue, well known in the South Florida python hunting community, is breaking into new territory in the wildlife conservation business by leading adventurous visitors like the Wessels on excursions to find—and maybe even catch—the giant invasive constrictors that have infested the Everglades. . .

“No experience is required to hunt,” Siwe said. “I have a lot of people who have never even touched a snake before, and they are catching pythons. And then I have people who just want to watch me do it.”

Business is booming, she said. This summer, she’s been out five nights a week in a customized Ford Bronco, complete with LED headlights and a raised stand that rises above the truck’s cab, giving her clients a better view of the scenery. The truck is covered in a snake print and has the Python Hunter logo printed on the side. One tourist joked that it looked a bit like the Mad Max movie.

Other hunters have dabbled in guided tours, but Siwe has made it her full-time business for the past two years. Tourists say she is easy to find on Google, in part because she has been described in numerous publications, including the New York Times and National Geographic, as a relatively rare female snake hunter.

For Siwe, working as a guide has proven far more lucrative than simply catching snakes as a state-certified python hunter. The Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission pays $13 to $30 an hour depending on the area, she said, but Sue charges $1,800 a night for three people and an additional $300 for each additional person plus tips for her excursions. So Rob Wessels shelled out $2,500 for his group of five for a bucket list, quintessential South Florida experience.

His daughter, Madison Wessels, 23, said the last time she touched a snake was when she was about 10 years old, at a pet store. But, armed with Sue’s advice and safety talks, she caught the four-foot ball on her own.

“I felt so comfortable. There was no risk except that you could get bitten, and that’s only if you weren’t fast enough,” Wessels said. “I thought there was only one option and that was to grab him.”

Of course, booking a sally doesn’t guarantee catching the elusive snake, but Siwe said her summer hunt has a success rate of about 90 percent, a testament to both her skill and the proliferation of the Burmese python.

No one can say exactly how many snakes live in the wild, but experts estimate the number in South Florida is in the hundreds of thousands. And they have slowly spread north, reaching as far as Orlando and Brevard County – a march that may continue as climate change raises temperatures and makes new areas attractive to tropical invaders.

But make no mistake: these masters of camouflage are difficult to spot in the wild. The state’s latest Python Challenge, a highly publicized competition that rewards hunters who catch the most snakes, required 857 participants from 33 states and Canada to find just 195 snakes over several weeks of hunting. Some years were much more productive. Since 2017, more than 14,000 Burmese pythons have been killed in annual hunts.

Sue, who has captured more than 600 pythons herself since trading in her real estate career in Indiana to become a professional python hunter five years ago, acknowledges that hunting will never eradicate the cross-country invasive species that have devastated Everglades wildlife, devouring everything. from swamp rabbits to deer. But removing more snakes won’t hurt either. And she tried to repay the debt to the Glades. She donates hunts to charity auctions and has raised $600,000 since January 2023 for conservation groups such as the Florida National Parks Alliance and others.

Snake hunting is not for those who think a Florida vacation should include beach chairs and pina coladas.

On a recent weekday, the twilight was swarming with mayflies and mosquitoes. “The more hooks, the better,” said Sive, knocking the bloodsucker off his neck. It was 85 degrees and humid—Siwe called ideal conditions for hunting.

For her, the main thing is to cover as much territory as possible. Her fiancé, Dave Roberts, who is also a guide but does more general fishing, was driving the truck along the Tamiami Trail near Shark Valley, turning into a grassy slough to get closer to the edge of a marsh that made for a bumpy ride.

Siwe kept a steady eye on the edges of the swamp, waiting for the snake to move into the grass or onto the road. Pythons are ambush predators, often motionless until they strike, and their tawny patterns blend into the Everglades landscape. Catching a glimpse can be a fleeting moment.

“I can just see one tiny stripe through this grass, and it could be 17 feet tall,” Siwe said. “Sometimes only their little head is visible, and if I look up, I miss it.”

Her largest snake measured 17 feet 3 inches and weighed a whopping 110 pounds. Xue, a diminutive 5ft 4in, relies on outwitting such large snakes rather than outwitting them with muscle. However, it helps to be fearless and fast. During one past hunt, Steve Parker, a visitor from Huntsville, Alabama, remembers freezing himself when the python he was chasing slid into the canal as Siwe yelled at him to grab it. As he retreated, Siwe dived into the swamp and caught the python.

“Without any hesitation, she jumped into that swamp,” Parker said. “Amy is extremely professional. It was a real event.”

Less than an hour after the search began, another hunter arrived in his own truck with a python in his backpack.

“Hey Amy! Do you have a tape measure? said Harold Rondan. “I just got one!”

Xue said that every evening when she hunts, she sees other python hunters, but no one looks at it as a competition.

“Everyone is on the same team, we all have the same goal, which is to get rid of these things, so we help each other,” Siwe said.

Xue measured the snake Rodan caught as 10 feet. The snake coiled itself around her neck and its tail tickled her ear. While unraveling it, the snake hissed and bit her. Even though he was bleeding, Xiwe still had a smile on his face.

“This is just part of it,” she said.

Returning to her hunt, Xiwe stood on the raised truck bed and scanned the swamp with a powerful hand beam. An hour or so passed before she shouted, “Python!” and Roberts braked the truck.

Xue, whose knee was bandaged after recent surgery, slid off the back of the truck and walked slowly in front of the snake to prevent it from sliding back into the swamp. When she grabbed the six-foot-long thing, it gave off a “musk,” a pungent odor that will follow you all night.

According to government regulations, pythons must be killed humanely. Like many hunters, she used a pistol, which instantly kills the animal. Xue took up snake hunting because she loves reptiles, and killing them is part of the job she could do without.

“I hate killing a python,” Siwe said. “I don’t want to kill the pythons, but they are bad for the environment and they will have to go.”

She grabbed a “kill kit” from her car, which included a plastic bag and zip ties. The leather she brings home to be turned into products such as Apple watch bands. For a fee, she will also skin and tan her client’s catch. The head goes to the researchers. She put it in a container and sent it to scientists studying their navigational abilities at Florida Gulf Coast University.

“We only caught a six-foot fish tonight, which isn’t hard at all. You can do it with one eye and one leg,” Siwe said.

This hunt ended after midnight, but on many nights she didn’t show up until 1-3am. You never know when the next record monster might appear.

“Everyone has something they love and are good at, even if other people think they’re crazy,” she said. “The bigger the python, the better. I’m never afraid, it’s just a challenge.”

Ashley Miznazi is a climate change reporter for the Miami Herald, funded by the Lynn and Louis Wolfson Family Foundation II in partnership with Journalism Funding Partners.

This story was produced in collaboration with the Florida Climate Reporting Network, a multi-newsroom initiative created to cover the impacts of climate change in the state.

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