A ranch in Wyoming can be a rough place to grow up. I played on a rockslide that had stabilized over the years, discovered abandoned whiskey stills from the 1930’s in rough mountain terrain, and wore lace-up boots to prevent rattlesnakes from biting my feet and ankles. Of course, if it bit anywhere higher on my leg, I was on my own so I learned to be alert. And fast. A coiled rattlesnake can only strike the length of its body so if I saw it first, those lace-up boots could also burn rubber in the opposite direction.

I grew up skinny. And not just from running away from rattlesnakes. Every day after school I played for a few hours before I did my chores, or until it got dark. I walked down the river and constructed my own version of Fort Courage—remember the 60’s comedy show F Troop—from a small grove of willow trees, bits of driftwood, and a good dose of imagination. I found small tree limbs that could be carved into rifles, set up a general store substituting rocks for canned goods, and climbed up to an overhang of rocks that made a perfect lookout for marauding Indians. It was a busy life.

I also grew up with a respect for hard work and a belief that if something is worth doing, it’s worth doing well. I learned there is a difference between being strong-willed and being strong-minded—in a nest of rattlesnakes, one can cost you your life while the other can save it. A strong mind, unafraid of the risks in the unknown, led me from the mountains of Wyoming to the FBI Academy in Quantico, Virginia.

Let me share my rattlesnake survival tactics:

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