Chester Moore Files #2
The Burmese python invasion proved exotic reptiles can establish themselves in South Florida. Could one of Africa’s most feared venomous snakes survive there, too?
By Chester Moore
Imagine walking along the edge of a palmetto thicket in South Florida and seeing a long, grayish snake disappear into the brush.
It isn’t an eastern diamondback. It isn’t a cottonmouth. And it certainly isn’t a Burmese python.
It’s a black mamba.
Before anyone starts sharing this article with claims that black mambas are roaming the Everglades, let me make something absolutely clear: I have found no evidence of an established population of black mambas anywhere in Florida or elsewhere in the United States. I also have no verified evidence that anyone has intentionally released black mambas into Florida.

But could one survive if it escaped or was released? That is a much more interesting question, and Florida’s extraordinary history with nonnative reptiles makes it one worth asking.
Black Mamba Attacks & Other African Snake Encounters
That question came to mind while working on the latest episode of the Dark Outdoors podcast, which takes listeners into real encounters with black mambas and other dangerous African snakes.
These aren’t hypothetical encounters with mambas somewhere in the American South. They are stories involving African snakes in places where these animals naturally occur, giving us a much better understanding of what encountering one of these remarkable predators can actually be like.
Listen to “Black Mamba Attacks & Other African Snake Encounters”:
Apple Podcasts:
https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/black-mamba-attacks-other-african-snake-encounters/id1630809603?i=1000773845882
Spotify:
https://open.spotify.com/episode/7w9fPKoqAbNAehq3T29Kz8?si=T66SkaFMTim44HOftGt_Sg
The encounters discussed in the episode got me thinking about something much closer to home.
What happens when exotic reptiles end up in places where they don’t belong?
Florida has already given us the answer.
The Python Lesson
There was a time when the idea of giant constrictors reproducing in the Florida wilderness sounded like something from a low-budget horror movie.
It doesn’t anymore.
Burmese pythons are firmly established in South Florida, particularly in and around the Everglades. Wildlife officials now devote substantial resources to controlling an invasive snake that has demonstrated an extraordinary ability to survive in the region.
But there is another part of the python story that is particularly important when discussing black mambas.
Florida gets cold.
Not Tennessee cold. Not Montana cold. But South Florida experiences occasional cold snaps capable of killing tropical reptiles.
A U.S. Geological Survey study examining the historic January 2010 cold spell documented substantial mortality among Burmese pythons. Only one of 10 radio-telemetered pythons in one portion of the study survived, while 60 percent of another group whose fate could be determined survived.
In other words, cold hammered them.
It didn’t eliminate them.
Subsequent research has even found evidence of rapid genetic adaptation associated with surviving climatic extremes in Florida’s invasive Burmese python population.

That should make us cautious about declaring that an exotic reptile simply “can’t live here.”
At the same time, we shouldn’t go in the opposite direction and assume any tropical snake released in Florida would automatically become the next Burmese python.
Surviving Isn’t the Same as Invading
There are four very different questions that tend to get mixed together whenever people discuss exotic wildlife.
Can an individual survive?
Can the species reproduce?
Can it establish a self-sustaining population?
Can that population expand enough to become invasive?
Those aren’t the same thing.
A black mamba surviving a Florida summer wouldn’t tell us much. The real test would come through winter, reproduction, disease, availability of suitable refuges and the ability of offspring to survive year after year.
The black mamba (Dendroaspis polylepis) has a broad native distribution across eastern and southern Africa. It inhabits savannas, rocky hills, open woodland and other habitats where it can find both prey and suitable places to shelter.
Despite its name, the black mamba isn’t black. Adults are generally shades of gray, olive, brown or combinations of those colors. The name comes from the dark coloration inside the mouth, which can be displayed dramatically when the snake feels threatened.
Black mambas also aren’t simply inhabitants of steamy equatorial jungle. Their natural distribution covers a significant geographic area and a variety of habitats.
That adaptability is one reason I don’t think the question of potential survival in subtropical America should simply be laughed off.
It also doesn’t prove they could establish themselves here.
Could a Black Mamba Survive South Florida?
On the surface, parts of South Florida offer several things a black mamba would need.
There are long periods of warm weather, abundant prey and enormous areas of suitable cover. Black mambas prey heavily on small mammals and other vertebrates, and South Florida certainly isn’t lacking rodents.
There are also countless potential refuges.
Rock piles, tree cavities, abandoned structures, burrows, dense vegetation and other protected areas could provide a snake with places to escape both predators and temporary temperature extremes.
The larger questions involve winter temperatures, prolonged cool weather, humidity, disease, parasites and successful reproduction.
Florida isn’t Africa. Two places having similar temperatures for part of the year doesn’t mean they have identical ecological conditions.
Humidity could potentially create additional challenges for a species accustomed to different environmental conditions, while disease and parasites encountered in a new ecosystem could present problems impossible to predict simply by looking at temperature maps.
Then there are hurricanes, flooding and other environmental pressures.
This is why I’m unwilling to make the leap from “a black mamba might survive in South Florida” to “black mambas could establish a population there.”
We simply don’t have enough evidence to make that claim.
What About South Texas?
South Texas presents another interesting possibility, although in some respects it might be a more difficult environment than extreme South Florida.
Anyone who has spent time in the South Texas brush country knows just how hot the region can become. Summers are long, prey is abundant, and the landscape contains an almost endless assortment of brush, burrows and other potential snake refuges.
But Texas can also experience powerful Arctic fronts.
Temperatures can plunge dramatically over relatively short periods, even in portions of the state normally associated with subtropical conditions.
That could be a serious limiting factor.
Could an escaped black mamba survive a South Texas summer?
I wouldn’t bet against it.
Could it successfully overwinter?
Possibly under the right circumstances, particularly if it found a sufficiently protected refuge.
Could multiple animals survive multiple winters, locate one another, reproduce and eventually create a self-sustaining population?
That’s where speculation needs to stop and science needs to begin.
Black Mambas Are Already in America
There is another important element to this discussion.
Black mambas don’t have to somehow cross the Atlantic Ocean on their own.
They are maintained in captivity in the United States as part of the exotic reptile world.
Florida specifically regulates possession of venomous reptiles. Keeping dangerous snakes requires permits, experience, secure facilities and specific caging standards.
And this is where an important distinction needs to be made.
Responsible reptile keepers aren’t the enemy.
Many serious herpetoculturists have tremendous knowledge of reptiles and maintain their animals under highly secure conditions. Zoos and other professional facilities have kept dangerous snakes for generations while contributing to research, education and conservation.
The issue is irresponsible ownership, escapes and deliberate releases.
Florida has learned the consequences of that problem repeatedly.
Burmese pythons are the most famous example, but they’re far from the only nonnative reptiles now found in the state. Iguanas, tegus, various geckos, anoles and other reptiles from around the world have found their way into Florida’s ecosystems.
Some disappear.
Some survive.
And some stay.
What My Sources Are Telling Me
This is where the story takes a darker turn.
Over the years I have developed sources in numerous corners of the wildlife world, including people familiar with the exotic animal trade.
I have been told by sources I consider credible that individuals have intentionally released certain exotic reptiles in South Florida with the hope of establishing reproducing populations that could later provide animals to capture and sell.
Let me emphasize what I am not saying.
I have not independently documented these alleged releases, and I am not identifying individuals because I don’t have the evidence necessary to publicly accuse someone of committing an illegal act.
Most importantly, none of my sources have provided me evidence that black mambas are being released in an effort to establish a Florida population.
I don’t want anyone twisting this investigation into that claim.
What I am saying is that I have heard enough about alleged intentional releases involving other exotic reptiles that I believe the broader issue deserves scrutiny.
Florida wildlife officials certainly recognize the danger associated with releasing exotic animals. The state regulates nonnative wildlife and has programs designed specifically to prevent unwanted exotic pets from simply being turned loose.
The reason is simple.
Once a reproducing population becomes established across thousands or millions of acres of difficult habitat, putting the genie back into the bottle can become virtually impossible.
A Very Different Kind of Snake Problem
The ecological impact of Burmese pythons is obvious. They are enormous constrictors capable of consuming an astonishing variety of native wildlife.
A black mamba would represent something entirely different.
This isn’t a 15-foot constrictor capable of swallowing a large mammal.
It’s a highly venomous African elapid whose presence would create a potentially serious public-safety issue.
That doesn’t make black mambas evil, and it doesn’t mean they spend their lives chasing human beings through the African bush.
They’re wildlife.
Their reputation comes from a combination of size, speed, defensive capability and extremely potent venom. When cornered or threatened, a black mamba is an animal that deserves tremendous respect.
And without prompt treatment, a serious envenomation can be catastrophic.
That’s precisely what makes the real encounters discussed in the latest Dark Outdoors episode so compelling.
These aren’t stories manufactured around some imaginary Florida mamba invasion. They involve people encountering dangerous snakes in Africa, where black mambas actually belong.
Could It Really Happen?
So let’s return to the original question.
Could a black mamba escape or be released somewhere in the southern United States and survive for a period of time?
I believe that possibility should be taken seriously.
Could one survive for years?
That’s harder to answer.
Could enough animals survive, find one another, reproduce and establish a permanent population like Burmese pythons have in South Florida?
We don’t know.
And that’s the answer I’m comfortable giving.
There is no reason to manufacture another Florida monster story when the real story is more interesting.
South Florida has become one of America’s greatest real-world experiments in exotic reptile establishment. Animals from distant continents have arrived through human activity and, in some cases, discovered that Florida was close enough to home to stay.
The Burmese python should have taught us something important about predicting what exotic reptiles can and cannot do.
Survival is not establishment. Establishment is not invasion. But establishment has to start somewhere.
The black mamba represents an extreme version of the question Florida has already forced wildlife managers to confront:
What happens when an animal from another part of the world discovers our backyard isn’t as inhospitable as we thought?
Hopefully, with the black mamba, we never find out.
Hear the Dark Outdoors Episode
Listen to “Black Mamba Attacks & Other African Snake Encounters” on the Dark Outdoors podcast.
Apple Podcasts:
https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/black-mamba-attacks-other-african-snake-encounters/id1630809603?i=1000773845882
Spotify:
https://open.spotify.com/episode/7w9fPKoqAbNAehq3T29Kz8?si=T66SkaFMTim44HOftGt_Sg
Dark Outdoors investigates terrifying encounters, unsolved mysteries, true crime and dangerous wildlife—because the outdoors has a dark side.
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Email Chester at chester@chestermoore.com.











