Ahhh, Piestewa. Climbing the second highest peak (2,610 ft) in the Phoenix Mountains takes willpower—but to many, and I mean MANY, the hike is more than worth it. After all, how many places can one summit a mountain in the middle of a city?
Renamed Piestawa in 2003, the peak honors Army Specialist Lori Ann Piestewa—the first female killed in action in the Iraq war and the first Native American woman to die in U.S. military combat.
Flag bearers nearing the summit.
Dave hadn’t hiked Summit Trail 300 in five years—for me, it was closer to eleven. I remembered it as grueling and sweaty—feeling like a wet rat upon my return to the car. However, that was then, and this is NOW.
Wednesday, 8 a.m., and the parking gods were with us. Dave and I must have arrived between surges because we nailed a spot right by the trailhead. That never happens.
Trailhead ahead.
Many seek out this trail for a daily workout. It is not unusual to encounter trail runners, fitness gurus, and influencers along the route. Many hike it to honor others, or to train for bigger ventures like the Grand Canyon. Whatever the reason, there is a lot of passion involved.
Steps.
The hike was short and taxing—a little over a mile to the summit, with an elevation gain of 1,200 ft. Giant, carved stone blocks paved multiple switchbacks. The trek could best be described as a relentless Stairmaster, accompanied by a convenient pause button.
More steps.
Dave and I took plenty of opportunities to step off the labyrinth and enjoy viewpoints along the way.
The landing.
The giant quartz outcropping near the summit.
We loved the summit—everyone enjoyed a birds-eye view of the valley amongst the crags.
A narrow sliver between boulders leads to the false summit. See below for real summit.
Summit.
A view of Phoenix Mountain Preserves.
On our trip down, the mountain started to resemble an anthill.
By the time we reached the bottom, the park was nearing capacity.
There’s a reason this trail is so popular—meaning and purpose strike a chord with locals and visitors alike. And with a bit of patience, timing, and stamina, anything is possible.
Dave photographs me photographing the squirrels gazing into the valley below.