This past weekend, I went to Phoenix as a visitor, and as a citizen observing our state’s centenary.  Saturday, I drove over to Camelback Mountain, which I had not climbed since Christmas, 1982, only to find zero parking.  Opting instead for Piestewa Peak, which I had climbed three times previously, but had never photographed, I found parking and several lively climbing groups, with whom to enjoy the afternoon.

Originally called Squaw Peak, the name was changed virtually by Executive Order of then-Governor Janet Napolitano, in 2003, in honour of Lori Ann Piestewa, a soldier of Hopi-Yaqui descent, who was the first Arizonan to die in the Iraq War.  “Squaw” is a Huron word for “female”, which descended into pejorative use by white settlers, then by the general American populace in the late 19th Century.

I had known Lori Ann, while serving as a counselor in her native Tuba City, in the early eighties.  She was a sweet-natured, but bold child, and it seems she carried her boldness into military service. Boldness is a good quality for which to lend one’s name to a mountain.  This particular mountain, with its narrow and steep trails, welcomes bold climbers.

Here are some scenes of the peak and its surroundings:

                                                ,

These last were taken by a Christian lay missionary, who was enjoying the peak with his wife and another young couple.  In the course of the photo shoot, I laid my oak walking stick, a legacy of my maternal grandfather, dating from 1924, on a pile of rocks.  Then, I headed down with the two couples, forgetting the stick.  As luck would have it, another couple with a young boy passed by when I was halfway down.  I told them about the stick and that if the child found it, the stick could be his.  The couple replied that they would rather bring it down to me, if i had time to wait.  So, I did and they brought it to me ninety minutes later.  Oh, the joys of not being on a schedule!

Evening fell, and I went to downtown Phoenix, where a series of concerts was in full swing.  I caught performances by Michelle Branch and the Gin Blossoms, gladly raising my arms in a group wave to the latter’s heartfelt performance.  As the Blossoms launched into “Hey, Jealousy”, their final song of the evening, we were treated to this:

How cool was that?

I think it’s been thirty-six years since I have been present at such an emotional public gathering.  Watching things on TV or online is just not the same.