My nickname around the camp I learned to hunt was "Kopperhead Kull". I came out one morning in my skivvies to go grab clothes out the truck. I stepped off the porch as my hunting partner and mentor was walking up to the steps. I took one step off the porch and he told me to stop and not move. I'm still trying to get the sleep fog out of my head, but I was compliant enough to stand there and wonder what the cause of his statement was. He grabbed a rake leaning against porch, and took a few steps towards me. I thought maybe I didn't like hunting, or him anymore for a split second. He broke the tension saying "snake, back up a couple steps slowly". I complied, and he pinned down one of the biggest copperheads I'd ever seen in my young life. It was curled up on the stepping stone, which had some leaves on it, perfectly camouflaged. Two more steps, and I was going to be in a pickle.
They tried all weekend to incorporate snake, kid, and underwear into a nickname, but simply settled on copperhead. It's still funny when his now fully grown kids call me copperhead, always brings back good memories.
I'm always in awe at how well their camo works. Humans eyesight is funny - "what you see is all there is"....
