Finally, the oft-delayed conclusion to the nail-biting cliff-hanger. Click here for part one.

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The air was still.

The ocean's waves had even stopped rolling.

This was a full-fledged, man vs. nature stand-off.

The snake made the first move, slithering a foot closer to the prize- a backpack with my keys in it. I surveyed the rocky terrain. There were no sticks within reach. What a lame way to die this would be. Done in by tiny reptile looking to make a home out of a Jansport bag.

The next five minutes flashed before my eyes. I would reach for the bag and the snake would dive at my throat with teeth blazing. The nearest Lifeflight helicopter would be located in either Tillamook or Astoria, 50-miles each in opposite directions. Already woozy from the 2-gallons of venom coursing through my bloodstream, I would frantically claw at the cell phone in my pocket. My fingers would never reach 9 let alone two 1's. The snake, triumphant, would do a victory lap around my corpse before gorging himself on a Cliff Bar in his new digs.

Not eager to prolong the battle, he threw down his trump card. This was no garden-variety gardener snake. It was a gardener snake with a single, tiny foot.



GOOD GOD! I WAS ENGAGED IN A BATTLE TO THE DEATH WITH A ONE-LEGGED SNAKE!

With no weapons at my disposal, alone, on a sunny mountain top, I was now doomed. I stood little chance against a normal, yet obviously extremely lethal, snake. He had kept his appendage hidden behind mountain brush. With a clawed foot (circled above) now at his disposal, he would completely disembowel me in seconds.

Chugging my fear like Cherry Coke, he once again came closer, now revealing three additional feet o' death. The snake wasn't a snake it all. It was some sort of hell spawn salamander/gecko thing.

Now dying from a snake bite is one thing but death-by-gecko is downright pathetic. There was no way I was going to be done in by some tiny, insurance-peddling punk. Summoning up a forgotten batch of courage, I leapt up and snatched the bag with a quick swing. Shocked at my sudden, cheetah-like reflexes, the snake/salamander/whatever fled behind the nearest rock.

Drunk on victory, I struggled to think of a snappy line from Predator. All that came to mind was, "this stuff will make you a goddamn sexual Tyrannosaurus" and that didn't really apply here. My enemy, already long gone, wouldn't have heard it anyway.

The moral of this story? Keep your enemies close but your iPod closer. No, wait, keep your iPod close but your enemies as far away as possible.