Washington Serpentarium a hot spot

Gus appeared restless. The morning sun was warming his leathery skin at the window sill. He yawned and opened his eyes, bobbing his head and waving his dewlap as if he knew what was coming. Soon, a plate of kale, collard greens and mixed vegetables would show up, with a little calcium powder sprinkled on top.

Nearby, Phil flicked his tongue out to smell his visitors — and maybe some prey. Breakfast was imminent, the usual fare for a carnivore: newly thawed rats.

Over in the corner, Barnabas stuck his nose out of the water in his pool, presumably with the same expectations as Gus and Phil. His hide, black with white bands along his body, gleamed in his tank. With his excellent eyesight, Barnabas recognized Sabrina Grafton and Belladonna Ishara, his keepers today.

Grafton and Ishara were moving around the other animals, feeding them, changing tank water and cleaning cages.

Barnabas seemed to know it was just a matter of time before they got to him. After all, no one had ever forgotten to feed the alligator before — or Gus the iguana, Phil the black-throated monitor or any of the other creatures at the Washington Serpentarium.

Known also as the Reptile Zoo, it's home to 150 snakes, lizards, alligators, iguanas, turtles, spiders and other creatures. Some are far from their natural Asian, African, Australian and American habitats here in their 82-degree home in a building off Highway 2, about a mile east of Monroe.

It may seem quirky, settling reptiles in an area of the county known more for horses and cattle, but Scott Petersen, also known as the Reptile Man, stresses that this is not just another roadside attraction, not just a place to go and gape. (Though there is a two-headed turtle here, a lively 6-year-old diamondback terrapin.)

"A lot of people walk in and expect to see the little, hokey roadside-exhibit-type display," Petersen said. "And this is a world-class serpentarium. We've worked really hard on this place; we have animals that a lot of better zoos don't have."

The animals live in tanks, cases and open-air exhibits. A green tree snake sleeps in a coil around a branch. A cobra raises his head. Across the room, an alligator snapping turtle keeps his mouth open during the day, his wormlike tongue "fishing" for prey.

A water moccasin from the southeastern U.S. basks under warm halogen lights. There's a black mamba, which typically produces 100 milligrams of venom in one bite. Petersen has the 10 deadliest snakes in the world: the mamba, Gaboon viper, Russell's viper, rhinoceros viper, puff adder, taipan, black forest cobra, king cobra, sawscaled viper and Eastern diamondback.

But they're not as dangerous here.

"The day we get them, I anesthetize them, and we just remove the venom glands," Petersen said. "They still have fangs, and I do get bitten occasionally. ... We generally don't handle them as if they were pets."

"I had to do this"

Petersen, 45, grew up north of Salt Lake City, a kid who loved all kinds of animals. His parents who encouraged his collection of mice, rats, guinea pigs, hamsters, ducks, rabbits, cats, dogs and the occasional wild duck with a broken wing.

He went to Weber State University in Ogden, Utah, for his composite undergraduate degree in zoology and education, with additional studies at Southern Utah University in Cedar City.

When Petersen became a high-school teacher, he saw the reaction when he brought his reptiles into the classroom.

"The response of the children was amazing," he said. "Kids love reptiles."

One night, he was driving through the California high desert looking for snakes, "and it just hit me like a bolt of lightning. I just knew I had to do this."

Petersen quit his job two weeks later and nearly starved for a couple of years, "but 16 years later, here I am, still doing it," he said.

The Reptile Man's name is trademarked with the state, and when he talks to school assemblies and classes, he takes along 15 animals in his minivan.

Just as he does in his shows, he encourages Serpentarium visitors to hold some of the animals. He sees the facility as both an education center and a preserve.

"One-third of the world's turtles are threatened with extinction because of soup," he said.

Petersen said people would be surprised at how many amphibians are in our forests and lawns.

"They are a huge biomass," he said.

People often come to the Serpentarium with animals no longer wanted as pets.

"We place hundreds of iguanas and other reptiles into homes," Petersen said. "Animals are not really a good impulse buy. I don't recommend reptiles as pets."

As the Reptile Man, Petersen does about 1,000 shows a year all over the state, three to five each day, logging more than 70,000 miles a year on the road. His seven kids have also helped out at the Serpentarium, and his 17-year-old son, Isaac, has started doing programs. He's known as Son of the Reptile Man.

"I perform for about 500 to 1,000 people a day," Petersen estimated. "That's how I pay for this place."

For seven years, the Serpentarium was in Gold Bar. But two years ago, Petersen relocated to a 3,000-square-foot building outside Monroe.

Between 30,000 and 40,000 people visit the Serpentarium each year, he estimated, including surprising numbers of people who come in during winter holidays, when "we're the only place that's open," he said.

"They seem to be a tourist destination," said Neil Watkins, executive director of the Monroe Chamber of Commerce.

"We get a lot of calls in our visitor-information center requesting information and directions [for the Serpentarium]."

Visitors who arrive somewhat afraid may hover by the front door before coming in.

"At the end, they're holding a snake," Petersen said. "Their fear just melts away. Holding a snake is the best therapy to get over your fear."

Some of Petersen's animals have been donated, some purchased and some bred.

"We've had little baby cobras stand up out of the egg, little baby rattlesnakes," he said. "Our big green anaconda's going to have babies any day now."

One of Petersen's goals, he said, "is to create an interest in natural science and nature. Live animals are the best way to do that; children respond to that."

The reward, he said, "is to see the children come alive when they see the animals, to find the world to be an interesting place."

A special connection

On a recent day students were off from school, the Serpentarium filled up fast.

Ten little boys crowded around the lemon-colored Burmese python. J.T. Troia of Lake Stevens had invited nine friends to the Serpentarium for his eighth birthday.

When Petersen picked up the 170-pound python, someone asked, "Is he poisonous?"

"No, they squeeze animals to death," Petersen said. "They've got big muscles."

"But does he know you, really good?"

"They can recognize their keeper, yup."

"My kids constantly ask to come up here," said Jeri Troia, J.T.'s mom.

J.T. wants to be a zoologist when he grows up. "I find a bunch of baby [garter snakes] at home, about 3 inches," he said.

Though Petersen enjoys the interaction with his visitors, his favorite time comes at the end of the day.

"Some of the frogs start croaking; the alligators will bellow to each other, and the noises and the hissing," he said. "I love being here alone after hours."

Diane Wright: 425-745-7815 or dwright@seattletimes.com