on a hike Just before 11 a.m. on June 9, the Phoenix Fire Department received a familiar call: A hiker was in distress on Camelback Mountain. Cpt. Daniel “DJ” Lee grabbed one of the already-packed 40-50 pound backpacks and made his way onto a firetruck. En route, his team received another call. Three more hikers, on the same mountain but on a different trail, needed help as well. “Almost every shift, we’ve had some type of mountain rescue,” Lee said. “So, summer is upon us.” Phoenix’s first responders know the drill. Hiking rescues typically require 10-12 men. Each has completed 200 hours of training for high and low rescues, swift water rescues, ropes and knots and more, all to assist the all-too-frequent dehy- drated, stranded or heat-exhausted hiker in Phoenix. On June 9, the four stranded hikers were all rescued. They were airlifted out by a Phoenix police helicopter. The other was rolled out on a contraption called the Big Wheel, which is basically a stretcher rolling on one ATV-sized rubber tire. Two of the adult patients were transferred to a hospital — one stable, the other in critical condition. But Phoenix’s 200-plus miles of hiking trails aren’t always as forgiving. Tales of hikers running out of water, falling uncon- scious and dying of heat exhaustion are all too common. Last month, the death of hiking influencer Hannah Moody in a Scottsdale nature preserve made national headlines. In 2021, the Phoenix Parks and Recreation Board established the Trail Heat Safety Program, which restricts access to certain trails on extreme heat days. As a result, Lee said, heat-related hiking calls from Phoenix trails have fallen from 90 in 2021 to 80 in 2022 and 60 in 2023. Things went the wrong direction last year, which saw 68 heat-related hiking calls, underscoring just how unavoidably dangerous the Arizona heat is. “Every year, we still seem to get a couple fatalities from heat-related injuries,” Lee said. “Our goal is to not have any.” – Itzia Crespo on the sidewalk A trope of hot places like Phoenix is that once the mercury rises into triple digits, you can fry an egg on the sidewalk. That’s because the pavement can be anywhere from 140 to 170 degrees, Phoenix Fire Capt. Kimberly Ragsdale said. Just imagine what that can do to a person’s skin. When a person lands on the pavement — whether because they fall, pass out from working the heat or are on a bike and topple off — first responders and medical pros call it a contact burn. It takes only 30 seconds or so at these elevated temperatures for skin to burn. Previous contact burn victims have shared that their skin immediately peeled off, then turned black. Last summer, hundreds of people visited the Diane & Bruce Halle Arizona Burn Center at Valleywise Health. Of those patients, 157 people were admitted to the center — a 15% increase from 2024 and an 84% increase from 2023. What’s driving the increase in contact burns is hard for doctors and first responders to pin down. Arizona Department of Health Services Chief Heat Officer Eugene Livar points out that extended periods of even hotter temperatures could be a factor. Burn victims may spend weeks or even months at the burn center recovering. In the summer of 2024, 13 people died from their contact burns. “That is a very high mortality rate,” said Dr. Kevin Foster, the Arizona Burn Center’s director. “That’s a testament to not only the incidence of these injuries but the severity of these injuries.” – Sara Crocker on a boat If you want to do some depressing Googling, plug “boat death Arizona” into your search bar. Then notice how many news reports about different boat accident deaths from the last year fill the first page of results. A Memorial Day weekend death on the Salt River. A man who fell off a jet-ski and died in Lake Pleasant. Three people who likely died of carbon monoxide poisoning on a houseboat on Saguaro Lake. A woman and two kids who died when their pontoon boat capsized on Lake Powell. Though it’s from 2023, here’s a particu- larly grim one: a 6-year-old girl who died after she was hit by the propeller of a boat driven by one of her parents. The U.S. Coast Guard’s Boating Safety Division keeps statistics about boating accident deaths, which include drown- ings. From 2019 to 2023, there were 45 fatal boating accidents in Arizona that resulted in 52 deaths. That’s an average of just more than 10 boating deaths a year. One high-profile recent boating acci- dent that miraculously didn’t kill anyone occurred on Lake Havasu, where a speed- boat that was going for a world record on a closed course went airborne and spun around. Sgt. Kyler Cox, who works in the boating safety division of the Mohave County Sheriff’s Office, said that “fatal incidents unfortunately occur numerous times each year” on the lake. What causes such accidents, at least aside from world-record attempts? Alcohol and drug impairment is often a factor, Cox said, though he added that Mohave County has “seen a significant decrease in that factor over the last 15 years.” Other top factors are “boater inexperience, speed and failing to wear a life jacket,” Cox added. Life jackets are required for children 12 and under. In public service announcements, Mohave County encourages summer revelers to “boat sober” and “always wear a life jacket!” If people listen to that advice, Cox said, “their outing is significantly less likely to take a turn for the worst.” – Zach Buchanan C omb back through vintage Arizona tourism ads and a word keeps jumping out: “adventure.” The state beckoned visitors who saw themselves as adventurers, who wanted a “new kind of vacation thrill.” Sunshine by the gallon. Resorts galore. Golfing and fishing and hiking. Lawn bowling. Dude ranches. Tennis ranches. Indian trading posts. Luxurious outdoor pools. More national parks and monu- ments than any other state — a whopping 18, and at just about any elevation you’d care to inhabit. But then you read the fine print on these splashy posters. These amenities are “autumn adventures.” These daydreams are “your winter in the Valley of the Sun.” Anyone who has existed here for so much as a wink during the summer, where the heat has killed more than 600 people in Phoenix each of the last two years, learns the difference between cutsie, dude- ranch-ready wintertime jaunts and the true adventure: our “Mad Max”-grade midyear hellscape, where a balky air conditioner could mean a trip to the morgue or a dust storm twice the height of Camelback Mountain might blind you on Interstate 10. You’re going to retire to Phoenix? Not if the Phoenix summer retires you first. If you live in the Valley — really live in the Valley — you have to own this brutal season. The first step to doing that is straightforward survival. Here, the staff at Phoenix New Times has rounded up some of our deepest, deadliest summertime fears in hopes of steering you toward a summer of safety. When the mercury tops 110 for two solid months, you may mutter to yourself that you wish you were dead, but you do not wish that, and we do not wish that for you. Look alive out there, and we’ll see you back at the pool in late September, when its rolling boil calms to a gentle simmer. Until then, don’t die: Summer in the Valley is a killer. Here are 9 ways you don’t want to go.
