Jule Drowns neighbor and riding buddy, Yvonne, and her buckskin gelding, Cherokee, make their way up the Suicide Pass trail.

Recently, I was riding with my neighbor, John, who’s lived in the same home and ridden horses for 61 years, ever since his father came to Tucson to operate a dude ranch. I asked John if he happened to know the challenging trail up the high pass to Safford Peak, a pinnacle in the Tucson Mountains created by ancient volcanic activity. It’s located about a mile behind my home.

I had no idea if the trail, which isn’t marked, had a name. It’s the hardest trail I’ve ever ridden on, and I’d never encountered another rider using it; I was rather proud of having ridden Natalie, my diminutive, agile Paso Fino mare, up to the pass and back down a few times by myself.

John answered without pausing. "Jule, that’s called ‘Suicide Pass.’ The wranglers at the Lazy K Dude Ranch constructed the trail many years ago. It starts out easy enough, but all of a sudden it gets steep and turns into a rock scramble."

What an apt name for a trail! On my first attempt, I’d turned back halfway, wondering if it was passable. The next time, I successfully made it to the top on Natalie, both of us experiencing an adrenalin rush.

A hot, nervous horse, Natalie bounds up the trail too quickly instead of picking her way up slowly and carefully. Despite my communication asking her to relax and ascend at a careful speed, she gets rattled by the difficulty of the trail and hurries to the top. As a result, she cuts one of her legs every time.

Once, she misjudged a passage over rocks, slipping and falling to her knees. My heart pounding, she quickly regained her balance and moved forward.

No Second Chances
With few level places or spots without rocks, Suicide Pass doesn’t offer riders second chances or alternatives. That’s why I’d ridden it by myself, so Natalie and I could focus on getting the job done in our own time frame.

In some ways, coming down the trail is scarier to me, because you’re looking at the steepness and rocks below you, while trying to keep your horse focused on just taking one step at a time. Natalie has a tendency to jump when faced with small rocky ledges on the trail itself, so I’m very careful to keep her slow.

Whenever I ride this trail, I feel exhilarated at least twice: when I reach the safety of the top looking at the fabulous views on each side of the pass spreading across the Tucson Basin to the larger mountain ranges in the distance, and when I finally get back down to the bottom of the trail.

Natalie senses when we’re back at the start. Still a ways from home, she gleefully gaits and then gallops when we hit the flat sandy wash at the peak’s base. We both feel great that once again we’ve conquered Suicide Pass.

I ride Suicide Pass only in the winter months, when the rattlesnakes are hibernating, since it’s too steep in places to maneuver around a rattlesnake.

Last March, I picked a Sunday morning for my last ride of the winter season up Suicide Pass. My neighbor, Yvonne, wanted to join me for a ride. At first I thought, there goes my plan to ride up to the pass. Then I reconsidered, thinking Yvonne might enjoy the trail. She’s an accomplished rider and a Border Patrol agent who formerly conducted mounted night patrols along the Mexican border.

Yvonne didn’t hesitate to join me on the challenging ascent. Cherokee, Yvonne’s big buckskin gelding, actually did better than Natalie, because he didn’t rush up and down the trail. We had a glorious ride with fabulous views and the added bonus of vibrant wildflowers blooming along the trail.

Desert Rattlesnakes
Rattlesnakes are common residents in the desert outskirts of Tucson. Having learned a lot about their habits, I’m not afraid of rattlesnakes, but I do respect them.

My equestrian friends and I encounter many rattlesnakes while trail riding during the warm months. Sometimes, the third person in line will shout, "You guys in front just walked over a rattlesnake without noticing it!"

Other times, we’ll suddenly see a coiled snake beside the trail at the same time we hear it rattling; it’s reacting fearfully to the vibration of big horse hooves striking the ground. We stop our horses and wait for the snake to slither out of our way or we briefly ride off the trail, skirting around the snake.

My husband, Rich, and I occasionally see rattlesnakes on our property and leave them alone. Rich installed rubber sweeps on the bottom of our hay shed’s big double doors to prevent adult snakes from entering. Twice, baby rattlers have gotten in the shed. I gently released them outside.

One evening last summer, a rattlesnake seemingly followed me from paddock to paddock as I mucked; I kept my eyes on it and stayed out of its way. When it was time to bring the horses in for the night, I made sure the snake had left the paddock area, although the horses would know instinctively to stay out of its way.

Suicide Pass, Natalie, and rattlesnakes: These desert denizens add spice to my life!