Florida’s wild places are home to some of the most remarkable—and in some cases, imperiled—snakes on the planet. But in 2025, two species are making headlines for very different reasons: the elusive, jewel-toned rainbow snake and the formidable, ever-expanding Burmese python. Each tells a story about the state’s changing ecosystems, the challenges of conservation, and the surprising science hidden in the undergrowth.
The Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission (FWC) recently issued an unusual request to residents and visitors alike: keep your eyes peeled for the rare rainbow snake (Farancia erytrogramma) and let authorities know if you spot one. According to Diario AS, this plea comes after more than five years without a confirmed sighting of the species, which is renowned for its glossy black or violet-blue skin, three bold red stripes, and yellow scales on the chin and lips. Some individuals even sport a violet-speckled pattern, making them a true spectacle—if you’re lucky enough to see one.
But luck is in short supply for these snakes. Their numbers have been dwindling, threatened by human-induced habitat loss, a decline in their favored prey (eels), and a worrying fungal disease that’s been spreading in other states. “We need help from Floridians and visitors to better understand where rainbow snakes still occur in the state. Every sighting report gives us valuable data about their current distribution and helps us assess the health of the species in Florida,” FWC research scientist Kevin Enge stated, as reported by Diario AS.
Rainbow snakes are non-venomous and semi-aquatic, typically inhabiting rivers, springs, or brackish marshes. Historically, a subspecies lived in Fisheating Creek, Glades County—over 150 miles south of the nearest known population in Lake County. But there hasn’t been a confirmed sighting in that southern outpost since 1952. The situation seemed bleak until early 2020, when hiker Tracey Cauthen snapped a photo of a four-foot-long rainbow snake in Ocala National Forest. This marked the first confirmed sighting in Marion County in half a century, offering a glimmer of hope for the species’ survival.
FWC is urging anyone who encounters a rainbow snake to report the sighting via its official website. Every bit of information matters as researchers try to piece together the current distribution and health of this remarkable species. For many Floridians, the rainbow snake has become a symbol of the fragile beauty—and precarious future—of the state’s native wildlife.
While conservationists scramble to save the rainbow snake, another reptilian resident is proving far less elusive. The Burmese python, originally from Southeast Asia, has become one of Florida’s most notorious invasive species. Over the past 30 years, these snakes have slithered their way across southern Florida, thanks to accidental escapes and intentional releases of captive animals. The result? A population boom that’s upending local ecosystems.
According to the Palm Beach Post, the Conservancy of Southwest Florida has removed more than 20 tons—yes, 40,000 pounds—of Burmese pythons from the region since 2013. The group uses an innovative approach: deploying 40 “scout snakes” to track down reproductive pythons during the breeding season, which runs from November through April, across a 200-square-mile swath from Naples through the Western Everglades. Their main target? Adult females, whose removal can prevent thousands of eggs from hatching. In fact, since 2013, the team has stopped an additional 20,000 python eggs from coming into the world.
What makes the Burmese python such a formidable invader? For starters, their appetite. These snakes can eat meals exceeding 100% of their own body mass, feasting on more than 85 species—including deer, bobcats, foxes, rabbits, birds, reptiles, and other native wildlife. Their impact on Florida’s biodiversity has been profound, with native species under siege from these voracious predators.
But it’s not just their diet that’s astonishing. Scientists recently uncovered a remarkable adaptation that helps explain the python’s prowess as a predator. As reported in the Journal of Experimental Biology, researchers have discovered a previously unknown cell type in the intestines of Burmese pythons that allows them to completely digest the skeletons of their prey. Professor Jehan-Hervé Lignot of the University of Montpellier in France led the study, which involved feeding captive juvenile pythons three different diets: whole rodents, boneless rodents, and boneless rodents with calcium carbonate supplements.
Examining the snakes’ intestinal cells, the team found that “Burmese pythons possess a specialised intestinal cell type involved in excreting excess dissolved calcium and phosphorus that originate from the prey and are precipitated as particles that must accumulate in the faeces.” In plain English: these snakes have a way to safely process and get rid of the huge amounts of calcium and phosphorus that come from digesting entire skeletons. Without this adaptation, the snakes could suffer from dangerous calcium overload. On the flip side, feeding them boneless prey led to calcium deficiencies—striking a delicate balance that’s key to their health.
Professor Lignot explained to EurekaAlert, “We wanted to identify how they were able to process and limit this huge absorption of calcium through the intestinal wall.” It turns out, Burmese pythons aren’t alone in this adaptation; similar specialized cells have been found in other pythons, boa constrictors, and even the venomous Gila monster.
The Burmese python’s size is also legendary. The Conservancy of Southwest Florida’s scientists have been recognized for capturing the largest female python ever documented—an 18-foot, 215-pound behemoth—and the largest male, measuring 16 feet and weighing 140 pounds. While these snakes aren’t venomous, their bites can be nasty. As python hunter Amy Siewe described it to the Palm Beach Post, “They are like a mouthful of hypodermic needles.” Small pythons aren’t generally considered dangerous to people or pets, but large individuals can inflict severe lacerations with their sharp teeth.
Florida’s relationship with its snakes is a study in contrasts: on one hand, the desperate search to protect a vanishing native species; on the other, the relentless battle to control an invasive giant. Both stories reveal the complexity and unpredictability of managing wildlife in a changing state. As science uncovers new secrets—like the python’s bone-dissolving cells or the rainbow snake’s stubborn persistence—one thing is clear: Florida’s snakes aren’t done surprising us yet.
