A decade ago, American scientist Alex Bentley traveled to Mera, a small town in Ecuador, to search for an elusive snake species known locally as the “X.” During his visit, a park ranger told him about an elderly man with an unusual snake collection. That tip led Bentley to a modest shack on the property of Manuel Genaro Peñafiel, a farmer who had spent decades gathering snakes from his finca, or rural estate.
The shack, which functioned as an informal museum, charged a small entrance fee and was filled with anthurium flowers and tropical plants outside. Inside, wooden shelves held dozens of dead snakes preserved in plastic bottles and glass jars. The specimens, some rare and difficult to identify, were stored in cane liquor that had turned cloudy over time. Bentley described the collection as a hidden treasure, something long overlooked. The jars contained snakes ranging from slender whip snakes to the equis, a venomous pit viper whose hourglass markings inspired the “X” nickname.
Peñafiel was 90 years old at the time and had devoted much of his life to catching snakes on his land, often putting himself at risk of deadly bites. In a region where snakes are often killed with machetes, Bentley was struck by the fact that Peñafiel had chosen to keep them instead of destroy them. Although Bentley was a scientist and Peñafiel was not formally trained, the two shared a deep fascination with snakes and an instinct to protect them rather than fear them. Bentley said there was an immediate bond between them, rooted in what he called “the calling of the snakes.”
The story highlights a rare meeting between science and local knowledge, centered on a species long misunderstood and often hated. It also reflects a broader conflict between human fear and conservation, showing how one farmer’s lifetime collection became a window into the biodiversity of Ecuador’s forests. Peñafiel’s simple message captures that spirit: if you find a snake, do not hurt it.
