Many of my fondest memories of Venezuela have anacondas in them. I can vividly recall my first encounter with a sizable anaconda. It was in the afternoon of a clear, hot day. I was walking along a raised dike road through a flooded savanna with a group of biologists, including my future wife, Ximena. Peering between the trees that lined the road, we spotted a large, coiled serpent basking on a small island, a raised knoll about 160 feet from the edge of the dike. As good biologists, we decided to catch the animal and measure it. Four of us waded out through knee-deep water and, as we got closer and saw just how large the snake was, we began to question the wisdom of our decision. Nevertheless, we persisted and soon were wrestling with a large, writhing snake on what turned out to be a rotten log full of stinging fire ants. The ants, ironically, became a much greater problem than the snake and kept stinging us long after we had the anaconda under control. Triumphantly, we carried our prize back to shore where the rest of the group awaited. It was the first anaconda any of us had ever gotten a good look at, but after a few minutes of close inspection, I realized that we had nothing with which to measure the snake. Following a short discussion, I took off my shoe and measured the snake at thirteen-and-a-half sock lengths, which, after careful calibration of my sock, turned out to be about sixteen feet. I think Ximena remained forever impressed by my ingenuity on that occasion.