Fred Brower, a Rattle Snake and Poverty Hollow, Virginia
Feb 28, 2018 12:15:08 GMT -8
leptraps and T.C. like this
Post by leptraps on Feb 28, 2018 12:15:08 GMT -8
I write this story with a bit of hesitation. I think most people involved are now dead and gone. It happened almost forty years ago. I still get a ping in my heart as Poverty Hollow was a favorite place of mine. I dearly loved the mountains of Virginia. I have some incredible memory's and a collection full of specimens.
People make life what it is. I was caught up into something I had no knowledge of or control. But regardless it is an interesting story.
FRED BROWER, FANG THE RATTLE SNAKE AND POVERTY HOLLOW, VIRGINIA
I has transferred from Cleveland, Ohio to Dublin, Virginia by my employers in November of 1974. Early in the spring of 1975 I found the legendary, Poverty Hollow. It was a beautiful location in the Jefferson National Forest of Montgomery County, just a little North West of Blacksburg, Virginia. Everything that I had read about Poverty Hollow would prove to be true. 1975 was a learning time for me. And, I learned well. Speyeria diana was common along with a long list of other species that I had only read about.
During one of my trips to Poverty Hollow in mid-July of 1975, I had stopped to collect a large stand of milkweed just off the road. I could tell someone else had been in the Milkweed patch because of the trails they had left. As I was about to move further down the road I heard a vehicle coming up the road. As it came into view there were three guys with butterfly nets setting on the hood of the car and this very plump woman behind the wheel. That is how I met Fred Brower.
I declined to join them as I was on my way to explore Craig’s Creek which I had found in late May of 1975. They continued down the road and I continued to Craig’s Creek. I had found the area I called the Kaspe. (That was the name on the No Trespassing sign on the gate fence). The Kaspe was one of my favorite locations for just about everything.
In early-July of 1976 I began a journeyed to Poverty Hollow. On my way to Poverty Hollow I was to meet Cliff Hopkins and his wife (Cynthia?) From Salem, Virginia who wanted to collect Little Meadow’s high up in the mountains NW of Mountain Lake. We spent most of the day at Little Meadows. However, as we began our journey home, Cliff and his wife were following me to learn how to get back to Blacksburg via the back roads. As we began to travel down the Poverty Creek Road (Poverty Creek Road is the correct name) in Poverty Hollow. As we approached the bottom’s area we came upon a man with a butterfly net and carrying a small box and a shoulder bag walking along the road. I stopped at see who it was. Low and behold, Fred Brower. Cliff got out of his car and I introduced Fred to Cliff and his wife, Cynthia. He was looking for a ride back to Blacksburg as he moved to Blacksburg, Virginia some time ago. (How he came there I do not know, nor did I ask.) Cliff offered him a ride and they would follow me out to the Blacksburg Road.
While they were following me, the box with the Rattle Snake was opened and the snake popped out. Through my rear view mirror I saw Cliff’s car almost crash into the ditch. It came to an abrupt halt and out the car in a flash came Cynthia, screaming at Fred and swinging a butterfly net handle, giving Fred a few good licks and then the poor snake a few, which was now curled up in the middle of the road, rattle rattling. In the mean time Cliff had found a large stick and was swinging it wildly at Fred who now has the snake in hand. I left the three of them in the road and headed for home. I believed I would never hear from Cliff or Fred or any of them again.
The following Thursday Cliff comes to my home to visit me and is all apologetic. He was not mad at me or Fred , just his wife. Cliff claimed his wife ask Fred what was in the box. He said it was Fang, a pet snake, at which Fred opened the box and brought forth Fang the snake. At the sight of the snake, Cynthia lost it, scared witless she grabbed one of Cliffs butterfly net handles and attempted to kill both Fang the Snake and Fred in the car.
I would later learn from Cliff who had evidently been collecting with Fred several times after the snake incident, that Fred had returned to Lockport, New York. Cliff said that if he had not stop his wife, she would have killed both Fred and Fang the Snake. Evidently, Cynthia has a deep dislike of Snakes. Cliff said she almost beat Fred to death with the net handle.
The following year in May I was to meet Cliff Hopkins and take a two week collecting trip to Florida with him and a friend of mine, Denny Currutt who was traveling with me. We were to meet at a gas station in Hillsville. Virginia. We waited almost an hour while I made several telephone calls but no one answered the phone and he never showed. Three hours later we began our journey without Cliff.
I had been out in the field collecting for several days when I called home to check on Momma and the boys. Ms Betty told me that Cliff had shot his wife in the head and then turned the gun on himself. It was a love triangle, Cliff supposedly killed the other man as well. That is all I ever learned. No one ever contacted me nor could I ever learn what happened.
Several years later I would learn that Cliff was a Canadian as well as his wife. Cliff’s father came and claimed his body and took Cliff back home to Canada for burial. Surviving the shot to the head, Cynthia was a vegetable. I have no idea what happened to her or the children.
For some reason, every time I see a snake, I think of Cliff Hopkins, his wife, Fred Brower and that poor Fang the Snake.
That was the last time I saw Fred Brower.
People make life what it is. I was caught up into something I had no knowledge of or control. But regardless it is an interesting story.
FRED BROWER, FANG THE RATTLE SNAKE AND POVERTY HOLLOW, VIRGINIA
I has transferred from Cleveland, Ohio to Dublin, Virginia by my employers in November of 1974. Early in the spring of 1975 I found the legendary, Poverty Hollow. It was a beautiful location in the Jefferson National Forest of Montgomery County, just a little North West of Blacksburg, Virginia. Everything that I had read about Poverty Hollow would prove to be true. 1975 was a learning time for me. And, I learned well. Speyeria diana was common along with a long list of other species that I had only read about.
During one of my trips to Poverty Hollow in mid-July of 1975, I had stopped to collect a large stand of milkweed just off the road. I could tell someone else had been in the Milkweed patch because of the trails they had left. As I was about to move further down the road I heard a vehicle coming up the road. As it came into view there were three guys with butterfly nets setting on the hood of the car and this very plump woman behind the wheel. That is how I met Fred Brower.
I declined to join them as I was on my way to explore Craig’s Creek which I had found in late May of 1975. They continued down the road and I continued to Craig’s Creek. I had found the area I called the Kaspe. (That was the name on the No Trespassing sign on the gate fence). The Kaspe was one of my favorite locations for just about everything.
In early-July of 1976 I began a journeyed to Poverty Hollow. On my way to Poverty Hollow I was to meet Cliff Hopkins and his wife (Cynthia?) From Salem, Virginia who wanted to collect Little Meadow’s high up in the mountains NW of Mountain Lake. We spent most of the day at Little Meadows. However, as we began our journey home, Cliff and his wife were following me to learn how to get back to Blacksburg via the back roads. As we began to travel down the Poverty Creek Road (Poverty Creek Road is the correct name) in Poverty Hollow. As we approached the bottom’s area we came upon a man with a butterfly net and carrying a small box and a shoulder bag walking along the road. I stopped at see who it was. Low and behold, Fred Brower. Cliff got out of his car and I introduced Fred to Cliff and his wife, Cynthia. He was looking for a ride back to Blacksburg as he moved to Blacksburg, Virginia some time ago. (How he came there I do not know, nor did I ask.) Cliff offered him a ride and they would follow me out to the Blacksburg Road.
While they were following me, the box with the Rattle Snake was opened and the snake popped out. Through my rear view mirror I saw Cliff’s car almost crash into the ditch. It came to an abrupt halt and out the car in a flash came Cynthia, screaming at Fred and swinging a butterfly net handle, giving Fred a few good licks and then the poor snake a few, which was now curled up in the middle of the road, rattle rattling. In the mean time Cliff had found a large stick and was swinging it wildly at Fred who now has the snake in hand. I left the three of them in the road and headed for home. I believed I would never hear from Cliff or Fred or any of them again.
The following Thursday Cliff comes to my home to visit me and is all apologetic. He was not mad at me or Fred , just his wife. Cliff claimed his wife ask Fred what was in the box. He said it was Fang, a pet snake, at which Fred opened the box and brought forth Fang the snake. At the sight of the snake, Cynthia lost it, scared witless she grabbed one of Cliffs butterfly net handles and attempted to kill both Fang the Snake and Fred in the car.
I would later learn from Cliff who had evidently been collecting with Fred several times after the snake incident, that Fred had returned to Lockport, New York. Cliff said that if he had not stop his wife, she would have killed both Fred and Fang the Snake. Evidently, Cynthia has a deep dislike of Snakes. Cliff said she almost beat Fred to death with the net handle.
The following year in May I was to meet Cliff Hopkins and take a two week collecting trip to Florida with him and a friend of mine, Denny Currutt who was traveling with me. We were to meet at a gas station in Hillsville. Virginia. We waited almost an hour while I made several telephone calls but no one answered the phone and he never showed. Three hours later we began our journey without Cliff.
I had been out in the field collecting for several days when I called home to check on Momma and the boys. Ms Betty told me that Cliff had shot his wife in the head and then turned the gun on himself. It was a love triangle, Cliff supposedly killed the other man as well. That is all I ever learned. No one ever contacted me nor could I ever learn what happened.
Several years later I would learn that Cliff was a Canadian as well as his wife. Cliff’s father came and claimed his body and took Cliff back home to Canada for burial. Surviving the shot to the head, Cynthia was a vegetable. I have no idea what happened to her or the children.
For some reason, every time I see a snake, I think of Cliff Hopkins, his wife, Fred Brower and that poor Fang the Snake.
That was the last time I saw Fred Brower.
I shall contribute my like.