Seen while leading a group of mostly fifth-grade day campers on a hike along the James River Park’s North Trail in Richmond: an entanglement of wriggling snakes, smack dab in the middle of the trail.

As we got nearer, I saw the mouth of a black snake firmly clamped onto the ropy body of a tan one and realized this was a wrasslin’ match! I grabbed my camera and reminded the kids to stay behind me, and we took our front row seats for this once-in-a-lifetime performance. As we inched forward, the light-colored snake—the copperhead, the pit viper—arched its head up and back, then furiously struck, sinking its fangs into the coiled muscle of the king snake. We crept closer, the whole group moving as one, me squatting with kids clinging to my head, back, both elbows, scared to venture any closer but spellbound by Mother Nature’s headliner.

The snakes tumbled over, a writhing Möbius strip, with the king snake’s mouth still clamping the copperhead and its coils tightening. This would not be a draw: King snakes are impervious to the venom of copperheads, cottonmouths and rattlesnakes. We watched as the copperhead released its hold, waved its head and upper body out and down and sagged back into the throes of this honest-to-god wrestling match, not a WWE charade.

“Ms. Pearsall, remember it’s ice cream day,” piped a voice behind me. Ice cream, snake fight, ice cream … no contest. Leaving before the final bell, copperhead (most probably) pinned to the mat, we gave the wrestlers clear berth and traipsed gingerly on up the trail to the bus.

—Tricia Pearsall