I am not a monster; I am a snake of Sedona.
I live where red rock meets blue sky, where heat shimmers off stone and people come seeking peace, vortexes, and good selfies. I bask near your hiking trails and homes not because I want to scare you, but because you built your lives inside mine.
Here in Sedona, I am often, but not always, one of two kinds: a calm, non-venomous bull snake, or a rattlesnake with a warning built into my tail. We share this land with you—but too often, when you see us, our story ends with a shovel.
We are not hunting hikers
When you step onto the trail at sunrise, we are not waiting for you. The bull snakes among us are searching for rodents in the brush, sliding through grasses, controlling the very pest populations that chew wires in your cars and carry disease into your homes. The rattlesnakes are looking for shade under rocks, warm spots on the sand, a safe place to rest unnoticed.
If you see us near your house, your driveway, or a Sedona trail, it is not because we chose you as a target. From our view, your stucco walls and flagstone patios are just interesting rock formations with shade, cracks, and sometimes… mice.
When we coil, rattle, or lift our heads, it is not an attack. It is our only way to say, “Please stop. Please don’t come closer.”
Bull snakes and rattlesnakes are different—but we both matter
The rattlesnakes are venomous, yes. They deserve respect and distance. But they are not villains. Their venom feeds them by stopping prey and, when studied, helps your scientists understand blood, pain, and potential medicines. And the rattle? That is not a threat—it is a gift: a loud, clear warning system to help you avoid harm.
When you kill a bull snake here in Sedona, you remove a harmless neighbor that keeps disease and damage in check. When you kill a rattlesnake on sight, you often do it even when we were giving you every possible chance to walk away.
We strike because we are cornered, not cruel
We do not have arms to push you away, or voices to shout, “Back off!” We do not carry pepper spray or phones to call for help. Our defenses are simple: hide, flee, or, only when trapped, bite.
Most of the time, we choose to slip away before you ever see us. When a rattlesnake rattles at you on a Sedona trail, it is not a threat; it is a final alarm: “I am here. Please give me space.” When a bull snake hisses, it is fear, not hatred.
The rare bite usually happens when someone steps too close, tries to move us without training, or decides that the only safe snake is a dead snake.
The bull snakes here are non-venomous. We cannot poison you. We look tough, we hiss loudly, we might even pretend to rattle our tails in dry leaves, but it is all bluff and theater. We are excellent at eating rats, mice, gophers, and other small animals that damage gardens and carry problems into garages and attics. We are your quiet, unpaid pest control.
Sedona’s beauty includes us
People come to Sedona for spiritual retreats, quiet hikes, and stunning views. They speak of energy, harmony, and connection to the land. But true harmony means living with the life that already calls this land home.
We are part of that life.
In the washes and on the slickrock, in the scrub by your back fences, we help keep the balance. Fewer rodents means fewer chewed wires, fewer droppings, fewer diseases. Our presence says the ecosystem is still functioning, that wildness still exists around your neighborhoods and trailheads.
When fear leads to knee-jerk killing, that balance erodes. You get more pests, more poison laid out, more suffering all around.
A small request from the desert floor
We do not ask you to hold us, pet us, or love us. We do not need to be your friends. We ask for something smaller and more powerful:
Pause before you kill. If you see a snake near your Sedona home or on a trail, step back. Give space. Most of us will move on if you let us.
Learn who we are. Bull snakes: non-venomous, long, patterned, sometimes mistaken for rattlesnakes, but no true rattle. Rattlesnakes: rougher pattern, triangular head, and that distinct rattle. Knowing the difference turns panic into judgment
Call for relocation. In many parts of Arizona, including around Sedona, there are professionals and rescues that will safely move rattlesnakes away from homes and yards. Use their skills instead of a shovel.
Respect our warning. If you hear a rattle on the trail, stop, locate us from a safe distance, give us several feet (more is better), and walk around. We are not chasing you; we are asking you not to step on us.
Your fear has a cost—so can your compassion
When fear wins, a bull snake dies for no reason. A rattlesnake dies even as its tail shakes in desperate warning. A child watching learns that the right response to fear is to smash what scares you.
But when you choose differently—even once—you teach something new:
That a living being can be dangerous and deserving of space.
That not all fear must end in violence.
That in a place like Sedona, famous for peace and healing, that peace can extend all the way down to the rocks and brush where we slide and hide.
I am a snake in Sedona—sometimes a bull snake, sometimes a rattlesnake—sharing this red earth with you. I ask only this:
See me as part of the desert, not an intruder.
Heed my warning, then let me go my way.
Note from a Sedona Human:
Studies confirm snakebites disproportionately affect young men, often due to behaviors like approaching, handling, or provoking snakes rather than accidental encounters.
Key U.S. and Arizona Statistics
Study/Source Demographics Context/Behavior Notes
Arizona Hospital Data (2017-2021, n=1,288)
66% male; median age 48 (IQR 28-62); mostly White/non-Hispanic 60% at home outdoors; 25% in natural areas; hands/feet most common sites (84%); higher in urban areas
Arizona Poison Center (25 years, n=3,808)
69.9% male; peak evenings/summer; near home (38%) Many unaware of snake beforehand; young males overrepresented in encounters
National U.S. Reviews
69-80% male Male risk factor; often "illegitimate" bites from handling/handling snakes
Southern AZ Rattlesnake Bites (2002-2014)
Average age rose from 35 to 45; male majority Increasing lower extremity bites from hiking/gardening; young men historically dominant
Occupational Bites
96% male; landscaping/snake handlers (52%) Work-related; young/working-age men
Why Young Men?
Behavior pattern: Bites often occur when males (especially 18-40) attempt to catch, kill, pose with, or harass snakes (e.g., "illegitimate" bites ~23-50% in some data)
Arizona specifics: Rattlesnake season (March-Oct) sees peaks from trail mishaps, but handling/provocation is common among young locals/outdoor enthusiasts
Shifts noted: Median age rising (less teens, more adults), but males still 2-3x more likely than females.