SEEING A BIG timber rattlesnake surprised me on a recent visit with a trails crew at Shenandoah National Park.

It was fascinating to watch the coiled rattler--as thick as my forearm--just a stone's throw from where the crew cut a fallen oak with a crosscut saw.

But when it was time for lunch, we moved down the trail.

When our meal was finished, it was time for the photographer and me to backtrack home.

Nervous about crossing the rattler's path again, we took a wide swing off the trail at the spot where the snake had been.

A long, slow loop through brush and saplings put us 30 yards past our rattler sighting.

But just as we stepped onto the path, surrounded by waist-high brush, a heart-stopping sound cut through the cicadas' drone.

"Tchka-tchka-tchka-tchka" came the piercing rattle of the snake, warning us to get away.

"Aiiieeeeeeeee!" came the shriek from somewhere deep in my throat as I jumped into the air like a pony stung by a bee.

By the time I quit hopping and screaming, I'd moved a hundred feet or so up the trail.

It took a half-mile of hiking before the heart palpitations subsided.

By the time we made it back to the car, the scare had faded to the point that it had become an adventure--one of many I've experienced chasing down columns through the years.

Water and getting wet have provided many of those moments.

In one of my first years working for the newspaper, I was assigned to cover the annual Fourth of July raft race.

Trying to get a real feel for it, I made arrangements with one of the crews to ride along on their homemade raft.

That's probably why it sank right there at the starting line, hitting bottom.

Another water moment came last spring when I was doing a column on a rowing team at St. Margaret's School.

Seated in the front of a tiny chase boat loaded down with me, the coach and one of the paper's photographers, I was the only one who noticed the water pouring in over the bow.