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 me. Nature enjoys plotting practical jokes. 

Most days, living up here between Albuquerque and Santa Fe is like a dream. Quiet mornings. Huge skies. Baby deer frolicking. It's very Snow White. Our home is the perfect setting to write, plan Airstream trips, and sit in the foyer pretending I am the sort of person who enjoys "the outdoors." We are not really homeowners, just temporary boondockers on the landscape. A blip on the timeline.

On a recent, rare day off from work, I was soaking up the sunshine in our foyer, 1,000 Chrome tabs open 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, commonly known around here as a Red Racer. I was right to be afraid.

He refused to peacefully slither by, repeatedly thrashing his body against our window. Look at this creepy, judgmental face staring right back at the camera from his hideout, judging my soul:

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.

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 with six-feet of cold-blooded hatred. 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. The charming, cottage-core 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 pomegranate appetizer plates from Frontgate. They're white porcelain with a stunning band of golden fruit, artfully arranged around the border. Strategically, I knew I should stay inside. Emotionally, I could not leave high-end hosting pieces vulnerable at the property line. If my reconnaissance mission went south, the archaeologists eventually digging up my skeleton would at least know that my death was not in vain. I died protecting 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 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.

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. 

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 snakeskin.

To be fair, this exact skin has been there since our very first month in the house, when we found the shed remnant by the guest door. It has basically become part of the architecture, like Derek's home brew setup, Derek's metalshop, and whatever woodworking experiment is currently being preserved beneath a protective layer of dust. Usually, I don't even see it. But thanks to our home intruder, it scared the heck out of me.

By the time I finally made it out to the driveway, my paranoia was running the show. I realized I couldn’t see well enough to defend myself, which wouldn't do at all because you know this snake is not above mugging the blind. I went back inside and grabbed my glasses. Armed with 20/20 vision, I resumed my expedition with the stiff, cautious gait of someone trying not to startle a landmine. Was he going to attack me from the ground? Was he going to fling himself directly at my face, slingshot style, from the trees??

When I got to the gate, I was genuinely afraid to pick up the package. Was the snake hiding under the box? I half-expected him to pop out and hand-deliver the plates himself. He doesn't even have hands! I snatched the package, scrambled back up the driveway, and immediately hit a brand-new wave of panic as I walked back toward the garage: I’d left the door wide open the entire time.

Our garage is packed with junk and tools. Yes, those are the same thing, depending on my mood when asked. Our garage is a labyrinth of junk and tools and, now, obviously a menacing snake.

Seeing as he'll be with us a while, let's learn about snakes:

Do Red Racer Snakes Shake Their Tails Like Rattlesnakes?

I know coachwhip enthusiasts (you lovable freaks) are reading this right now yelling, "He's just a harmless, curious neighbor!" But I respectfully disagree. We've already seen indisputable video proof that this Red Racer hates me.

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 he can simultaneously attack me on the front patio and the back patio. Nowhere is safe.

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.

To give you an idea of the sheer scale of our home intruder, here he is winding his way across and through our outdoor furniture, touching as much as possible to establish dominance, while also staring me down:

Way too long Western Coachwhip/Red Racer snake slithering his scary butt all over my patio chair

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 poison or constriction.
• Will they chase you? Supposedly no. Despite local folklore, they do not vengefully chase humans down as they run screaming into the desert. These snakes are high-strung and will strike if cornered, but their primary instinct is to sprint away.
• Do they eat rattlesnakes? Yes! 5 points for Team Coachwhip! Coachwhips are voracious, opportunistic predators. Their diet includes mice, lizards, birds, eggs, and even venomous rattlesnakes.
• Do they commit crimes? Derek says no. Let me know if you're heard otherwise though. I think they're just good at not getting caught.
• Are they good to have around? Technically, yes. They provide incredible natural pest control, even better than the Jack Russell Terriers we used to have. I just wish they wouldn't be so icky with their presence, darting around like untrustworthy ninjas. They'd ideally wear little collars with bells. So far though, I've been unable to figure out a way to make this happen.

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.

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). Oddly enough, this experience jogged my memory of a bunch of other snake content I have. Do you want more snakes here or have I already traumatized you enough? Drop a comment in the YouTube snake videos (either! both!) and let me know.