Back in 1972 our family of young renegades moved from Indiana to Phoenix, Arizona and one of the primary challenges was to climb to the top of this mountain in the city.
Back then, and since at least 1910, it was known as Squaw Peak.
Later it was renamed Piestewa Peak after Lori Ann Piestewa, the first Native American woman to die from combat in the U.S. Military and the first woman to die in action in the Iraq War.
The mountain is a little over 2,600 feet high and sited in a park in the city.
It is a popular hiking spot so we decided to scale it one weekend.
We began clambering over rocks straight up the north side and near the top we stumbled across a trail.
Then Judy and I suddenly began being pelted with pebbles from above.
Looking up we saw this rascal.
That's Judy's son Scott, whom we had lost track of during our rugged ascent.
He had found the trail to the top much earlier and was waiting at the summit for us to appear.
Well, we finally made it.
As his mother and I panted and sat enjoying the view of the Valley of the Sun below us, Scott had to show off his daredevil tendancy.
I did refrain from shoving him but just to get even here's his picture from an earlier time in his life.
He was a newborn then and SWMBO has threatened me with my life if I say when it was taken.
(By the way, the much-more-fit-than-we-were run all the way to the summit and make it in about 20 minutes or less.)
