Jack Snider was way ahead of the game when it came to hauling water.
He and his wife, Emily Jean, have lived in a rock house on West Gates Pass Road on the boundary of Tucson Mountain Park since 1972 β and have hauled water for more than 30 of those years. They drive nearly a mile to tap into a Tucson Water spigot along the road, bringing home about 500 gallons a week.
Every week, Jack, 84, removes the spigot's metal cover with a short-handled metal rod, then pulls a hose out of the truck and connects it to the spigot. At the other end, the hose connects to a white, cylindrical, hard plastic water tank. Back home, Snider pumps the water to a storage tank in a stone building uphill from the family's house.
"When we moved out here, there was a well . . . We ran into water at 90 feet and we put it into service, but it wouldn't supply the family," said Snider, who retired 13 years ago as an ear, nose and throat physician.
Back in the early 1980s, his house was hooked to a city water line that came down a wash to his property, providing enough to grow a garden.
"A big flood in 1982 that came out of the east cut the wash by our house down by a foot and a half," Snider recalls. "That was the end of city water. It wiped out the line."
He pays Tucson Water about $100 annually to connect to the city spigot.
Until now, he and his wife felt the hassle of hauling water was worth the pleasure of frontier living. But as they age, their health is declining; they suffer from a progressive neurological disorder that makes them fall asleep easily at times. Neither one drives alone.
"My kids would like to have us off the mountain," says Snider, and they're thinking about it. He's wonders if his well's demise was an ominous sign for the community. "Our future is not a sure thing, because thereβs no backup. Nobody knows what to do, right?"
