Only in New Mexico: When a Coachwhip Snake Tries to Move In
Remember when we were building our NM dream home and I told you there are snakes in the trees? Well, word has gotten out to the red racers and they are pissed. They're actively trying to break into our house to kill me.
There is a particular kind of optimism required to build your dream home in the high desert mountains of New Mexico. Not ordinary optimism. Delusional optimism. The kind where you stand on your future property, gaze dramatically toward the Sandia mountains, and say things like: I am one with nature. Inner peace. And because I'm a Seinfeld fan, Serenity now.
Nature hears you. Nature begins plotting practical jokes.
Most days, living up here between Albuquerque and Santa Fe feels exactly like the dream. Quiet mornings. Huge skies. Wildlife in the distance. It’s the perfect setting to work on creative projects, plan our next Airstream Basecamp trip, or sit in the foyer pretending I am the sort of person who enjoys "the outdoors." But every now and then, New Mexico likes to remind us that we are not really homeowners. We are temporary boondockers on the landscape.
On a recent, rare day off from work, I was soaking up the sunshine in our foyer, writing and trip planning and not even being bothered by my ADHD, when the movement of something red caught my eye. Aggressive movement. What the heck?
Staring directly through the double-pane glass at me was an absolutely enormous snake. It was a massive Western Coachwhip snake, commonly known around here as a Red Racer. I was right to be afraid.
Look at this creepy, judgmental face staring right back at the camera from his hideout:
Sorry for the language used in my YouTube videos. Look into his beady snake eyes though, staring me down, and his forked tongue catching my scent. (Yes, smelling through his tongue. Snakes are wild!) You'd have used questionable language too.
He refused to peacefully slither by, repeatedly thrashing his body against our window. To give you an idea of the sheer scale of our home intruder, here he is caught later winding his way across our outdoor furniture:
Way too long Western Coachwhip/Red Racer snake slithering his scary butt all over my patio chair
Creepy Snake Video 1: Tail Shaking and Instant Coachwhip Invisibility
It is one thing to see a snake in your yard. It is a completely different mental crisis to make prolonged, uninterrupted eye contact through double-pane glass with a six-foot reptile. Because coachwhips have incredible eyesight, he wasn’t just mindlessly bumping into the window—he was actively looking at me, tracking my movements, and openly judging my panic. It had not been disclosed to me that we were purchasing property in Jurassic Park.
We had accidentally set up a premium snake buffet right on our entryway. That charming, cottage-core house finch nest tucked inside our front-door wreath? To us, it was lovely seasonal decor. To this guy, it was a vertical brunch destination with patio views. He was hunting those eggs, and my face just happened to be blocking the view.
Right in the middle of this standoff, my phone buzzed. A UPS notification: a package had just been dropped off down at the gate.
Normally, walking down the driveway is a mindless, two-minute chore. Except this specific package contained my new gold pomegranate appetizer plates from Frontgate. Strategically, I knew I should stay inside. Emotionally, I could not leave high-end hosting pieces vulnerable at the property line. If archaeologists eventually dig up my skeleton, I want them to know I died protecting ceremonial luxury dinnerware.
But as I looked back at the front porch, the stakes suddenly felt a lot higher than upscale pottery. We had been monitoring those fragile little finch eggs in the wreath for weeks, waiting for them to finally hatch. For reference, here is what this intruder was trying to turn into breakfast—last year’s batch of baby birds, affectionately known as the Lil' Chirps:
Last year's nest of baby house finches on my front door wreath, AKA the Lil' Chirps. How tragic to allow a snake to eat the egg containing Chirpy Boy!
I couldn't just let him eat the birds. But I also couldn't bring myself to open the front door and confront a snake that had just proven it could climb glass. My courage evaporated. I needed a tactical retreat, so I decided to slip out through the garage instead.
I walked into our garage, reached out to hit the wall button to open the bay doors, and absolutely screamed. Hanging right beside the button was a shed snakeskin.
To be fair, this exact skin has been there since our very first month in the house. It’s caked with dust and has basically become part of the architecture, like crown molding or Derek's woodworking tools. Usually, I don't even see it. But today, my brain decided it wasn't old dust—it was a warning sign left by the resident cartel.
By the time I finally made it out to the driveway, the paranoia was running the show. I realized I couldn’t see well enough to defend myself, so I actually turned around, went back inside, and grabbed my glasses. Armed with 20/20 vision, I marched down the pavement with an agonizing, tight-legged slowness, scanning every single piece of high-desert brush before taking a step. I looked less like a proud homeowner and more like someone navigating a minefield in orthopedic sandals.
When I got to the gate, I was genuinely afraid to lift the cardboard. The snake had vanished from the window minutes earlier, which meant he was definitely lurking in the immediate vicinity. I half-expected him to pop out from under the box and hand-deliver the plates himself. I snatched the package, scrambled back up the driveway, and immediately hit a brand-new wave of panic as I walked back into the garage: I’d left the door wide open the entire time.
Our workshop is packed with junk, tools, and Derek’s homebrew setup. It is a labyrinth of perfect reptile hiding spots, and now he was surely lurking inside.
Do Red Racer Snakes Shake Their Tails Like Rattlesnakes?
My brain was fully convinced he was already inside, setting up a perimeter. I know coachwhip enthusiasts are reading this right now yelling, "He's just a harmless, curious neighbor!" But I respectfully disagree. Because this particular visitor wasn't finished delivering terrifying educational content on our back patio.
The real problem with coachwhips is their speed. They are among the fastest snakes in North America, capable of hitting four miles per hour. That sounds modest on paper, but when a slender, six-foot serpent launches itself across concrete, it looks like a possessed jump rope. He moves so fast that I am entirely convinced he can simultaneously attack me on the front patio and the back patio.
And the second they stop moving? They perform a complete magic trick of instant invisibility.
To make matters worse, they engage in psychological warfare. When a non-venomous coachwhip gets cornered or defensive, it will rapidly vibrate its tail against dry leaves, dirt, or patio floors. It creates a fast, aggressive clicking sound that perfectly mimics a rattlesnake—a trick designed to make you lose your mind.
Creepy Snake Video 2: Red Racer Hides in the Yard
One second: giant snake. Next second: gone. I watched him slide beneath the patio table with the same utter disbelief usually reserved for old David Copperfield specials. He disappeared completely under that tablecloth.
Make sure to watch both videos above to see this coachwhip behavior caught on camera. I had to experience this madness and I refuse to suffer alone.
Quick Facts: Is the Western Coachwhip Dangerous?
If you landed here after frantically Googling massive pink snake in New Mexico, here is the fast breakdown of what you actually need to know:
- Are they venomous? No. Red Racers are completely non-venomous. They rely on sheer speed and agility to capture prey, not fangs or constriction.
- Will they chase you? No. Despite local folklore, they do not chase humans down to whip them. They are high-strung and will strike if cornered, but their primary instinct is to sprint away.
- Do they eat rattlesnakes? Yes! Coachwhips are voracious, opportunistic predators. Their diet includes mice, lizards, birds, eggs, and even venomous rattlesnakes.
- Are they good to have around? Technically, yes. Objectively, they provide incredible natural pest control. Subjectively, I now scan every window like a prison guard.
What the Future Looks Like: Me and The Snake Forever
The snake eventually moved on. Ha, ha, no.
Our spooky friend disappeared into the yard. He's so (ssssso? He is a snake, after all) fast that he could be anywhere. Somewhere out there on our property exists a creature capable of climbing glass, sprinting at athletic speeds despite a lack of legs, mimicking a rattlesnake, and making direct, judgmental eye contact through windows. Every time I open a door might be the final time.
Drop a comment in the YouTube snake videos: Would you have braved the driveway for the Frontgate plates or would you be packing your bags? Let me know what you think of our new "friend" (really, more of a frenemy, what with him plotting to kill me and all).