The Sierra Estrella are a long and very impressive mountain range running generally on a northwest-southeast angle, located immediate southwest of metropolitan Phoenix. Most of the range lies within the Gila River Indian Reservation, and some old maps and references cite the range as the Komatke Range (the current-day town of Komatke lies directly below the range, a few miles due south of Phoenix and Laveen). Despite its close proximity to the country’s fifth-largest city, very few people actually climb this range’s highpoint, which for the time being has no official name (it goes by the default Sierra Estrella Peak). On the north end of the range, where the Estrellas drop down near the towns of Avondale and Goodyear, there is a county park with hiking trails, most being desert loop trails. The far-southern part of the range (near the town of Maricopa) is enclosed with a Wilderness and features a hike to a principal summit in the range, Quartz Peak. The bulk of the remainder of the range lies within the Gila River Indian Reservation, with its western foothills split between sections of BLM, State Trust, and Private lands. The highest point, the officially unnamed summit, comes in at 4,512 feet and is plainly visible from most of Phoenix and its suburbs. I’ve lived here 17 years now and I daresay I see the summit every single day. The highpoint lies pretty much dead-center of the range, a prominent pointed summit that is pretty obvious.

One reason few people climb the actual highpoint is the difficulty of getting close to the base of the range itself. On the east (Phoenix) side, the Gila River blocks all roads. On the west side, there are numerous road alignments, mostly dirt roads along the survey section boundaries. These roads tend to be sandy tracks at best. Even the DeLorme atlas is very unclear here, including roads that do not exist and excluding some that do exist. Another reason so few people climb the peak is the lack of a good route and an abundance of cliffs. There’s no two ways about this peak: it requires a lot of effort to get to the nominal trailhead, then a lot more effort to gain the summit. I was unsuccessful on my first attempt in January 2007, but came back for one more try here in November, 2009. This would be it; there would be no third attempt if this one did not meet with success. Adam Helman wanted to try for Estrella earlier this year, but I could not meet him that weekend and he ended up getting lost on the roads in due to bad directions, se we agreed to set up another attempt for this fall, when the weather would cool down nicely.

On my first attempt, I teamed with Scott Casterlin, John Hamann and two others (Pete and Larry I think). We drove in that morning and started hiking about 8 a.m. in very cool weather. We approached the summit via a very scant ridge with a lot of angle to it. We walked about a mile across the alluvial base of the range, crossing a number of arroyos, just to get to the base of the approach ridge. Sure enough, it got steep fast and I ended up calling it a day after about the fifth near-vertical rock cliff section of the climb, just a little too much exposure for my comfort. Our approximate path is noted in blue on the provided map (left sidebar). The path ends where I called it quits. The others made it but it was at dusk when the others finally egressed. I wasn’t too upset to turn around, knowing I was in over my head on some sections. I wasn’t exactly hankering to come back either, except for the feeling that we could have gone up a better ridge, one with more length, so that we could avoid cliffs altogether. So when Adam brought up an attempt, I insisted we try a ridge to the southwest of the summit, one that I had eyeballed in 2007 as possibly friendly. I would not re-attempt this peak via the original ridge, that was for sure.

For this attempt, I picked up Chris Gilsdorf in Chandler and we convoyed through Maricopa to the little burg of Mobile, on highway AZ-238, the Maricopa-Gila Bend road that runs along the south end of the Estrella Range. Adam was waiting for us at the corner of AZ-238 and 99th Avenue, what seems to be the downtown district of Mobile: a school and a City of Goodyear Police substation. (Goodyear recently incorporated all the land west of the Estrellas, presumably to build out this open desert into suburban housing). The plan was to follow a “back-way” to the Rainbow Valley, the big desert plain directly west of the Estrellas (and now part of Goodyear). There is no formal way to go from AZ-238 into the Rainbow Valley except to use a gas-line frontage road, which connects to the south end of the main road network. I guess since Goodyear took over in these here parts, they don’t want people driving this road. We discovered it to be bermed up about every half-mile at the start, the only way to get in was to go around through some very sandy sections. Eventually the gas-line road connects with a better road, which in turn connects to Bullard Avenue, which we followed to a gate that allows access toward the range. The gate is two miles east of the junction of Rainbow Valley Road and Chandler Heights Road. We went north through this gate for one mile, then right at a big dead tree onto the Ocotillo Road alignment for 5.4 miles until we came to a set of power lines, where we parked for the evening. These roads past the gate are sandy and in some places heavily eroded, but not too bad. The land here is open desert, possibly farm at one time (some concrete culverts line the roads), but it is very remote. You’d never know there’s a city of 3 million people just over the range! It was about 5:15 when we arrived, enough time to set up a simple camp and have a meal, and eyeball the route. John Klein, our fourth, showed up around 8 p.m., coming in from Tucson. The night was very mild and pleasant.

We awoke early and started our hike at 6:30 a.m., still dark but with enough light so that we did not need flashlights or headlamps. We walked up to the end of the road, then where it ended, we went southeast across open desert toward a small saddle along the ridge we’d be following up to the main range crest. For reference, we passed a small hill marked as 1,670 feet on the map. This stretch was laced with arroyos, so we crossed them until we came upon the saddle, marked as “A” on the map. To here we’d covered about a mile in about 40 minutes, gaining just under 600 feet. Looking up at the rest of the ridge, we could see mostly barrier-free climbing ahead. There were some rock fins and outcrops, but nothing overly cliffy or impossible to bypass. It looked promising. The next destination was a knob, elevation 3,660 feet, marked as “B” on the map. From A to B, we gained over 1,700 feet: it was steep going, often brushy, but never impossible. However, we did start to string out here, me being the slowpoke (as I expected). The final 200 feet to knob 3,660 was steep and brushy and loose, but it went. I came upon the rest of the crew at the knob around 9:00 a.m. So far, 2,200 feet of climbing in the books. The sun was now up and offering some good low-angle light for photographs. The summit was now visible, “only” 850 feet higher, but requiring a long traverse up and down many intervening sub-peaks. We still had a lot of work to do.

We strung out again as we approached our next waypoint, so to speak: a saddle north of sub-peak 3,795, the saddle itself with an elevation of about 3,460 feet. We all took some sort of traverse across the west-facing slopes. I had no better ideas than anyone else so I generally tried to stay level and managed to poke my way across this traverse, which seemed to go longer than it would appear on the map. The slopes were loose and very brushy, and often I found myself having to up-climb and down-climb 10-15 feet over and over again to get around tricky sections. Toward the saddle at 3,460 feet, I cliffed myself out on a small set of rocks and finally, after all my little delays, I arrived at the 3,460-foot saddle. It took me an hour to make this traverse.

John and Adam went on ahead, moving at a good pace while Chris and I resumed the crest walk, now ascending the slopes toward sub-peak 3,873. It was along this stretch that I experienced something I have never experienced before on a climb: extreme leg cramping and charley horses. I've had a little of both over the years, but nothing like this. Yes, I was probably dehydrated and lacking some salts. I had plenty of liquid and food ... but the cramping was pretty bad and it hurt very badly. By the time we worked toward the final saddle below the summit (marked "D" on the map), I was going very slow and growing quite concerned about this whole situation. But we were close to the summit! And frankly, I would be damned if I was going to turn around again. It was pushing noon by now. John and Adam had already summitted and were on the way down; Chris and I met them at about 4,100 feet on the slopes southwest of the summit, where we had a powwow. They were naturally curious about my speed (more precisely, the lack thereof), and whether I would be quick enough to be out to the vehicles by dark. This was a fair concern and I felt terrible for going so slow. But we were just 400 feet below the top by now, so it was agreed: I’d hustle my slow ass to the top as best I could, tag it and then we’d start the long walk out.

At this point Adam and John resumed their descent. John would hike all the way out while Adam kindly offered to wait up for us at the 3,460-foot saddle. Chris, much to his credit, could have gone faster but he stayed with me as mental support. I tried to move fast but every time I’d take three or four steps, my legs would seize up again, tighten or spasm, and just be in terrible pain. The final 400 feet—covering maybe 0.2 mile—took just 20 minutes but it felt like I would never get there. The usual rush of energy I get when coming upon the final 100 or so feet to a peak wasn’t there. I barely dragged myself to the top, arriving at 12:30 sharp. A small set of antennae, generators and a big solar-panel screen dominate the pointed top. A small rock outcrop at the top marks the highest point. We tagged it, got some photos, took maybe a minute to look down onto Phoenix from this unique vantage point, then started down. It had taken me 6 hours to make the top, about 1.5-2 hours more than I figured I would have under normal circumstances. I will say the views are marvelous, but I chose to enjoy them more on the descent.

The hike down went slow but at least now I could move at a more consistent pace and since I was using different muscle groups, had some relief from the cramping. I was hydrating as much as possible and eating, but nothing seemed to work. It took about 20 minutes to descend to the 3,660-foot saddle, then another 40 minutes to go up and over bump 3,873 and back down to the 3,440-foot saddle where Adam was waiting up; it was a little bit before 2 o’clock. In my mind, this pace would work well since I figured another hour to the 3,660-foot knob, leaving us still almost three hours for the long steep descent back onto the desert floor. I was happy to have the summit, but happier to be moving a little more efficiently.

I chose to retry the traverse I had done in the morning back to knob 3,660, whereas Adam and Chris chose to go up and over the range crest instead. I was trying to mitigate the uphill portions and keep things as level as possible, but within minutes I realized I had no idea what path I'd followed on my morning traverse, so I abandoned the traverse and climbed the remaining 150 feet to the range crest. The spasming was intense and I had to sit every few feet and rub my thighs to relieve the pain. I finally arrived at the 3,660-foot knob at 3 p.m., which was "on schedule" for me and still gave us plenty of time for the big descent ahead of us. I was happy there would be no more uphill climbing of any sort.

The descent back down to the low saddle at 1,970 feet went slow, of course. By now I was simply out of gas, exhausted and confounded by my legs’ cramping. The steep slope made every step a slow one since the rock would often roll out from under me, and I could barely stand as it was. But, on the upside, there were no obstacles and the views were stunning. I did have to take numerous breaks and yes, I fell flat on my ass a couple times. Finally, back down to the low saddle, we stopped and met up with Adam, then the three of us walked the easy grades across the arroyos back to the road, and from there back to our vehicles, just as the sun was setting. An eleven-and-a-half hour day for me. I was just damn happy to be done with this ordeal. My legs were absolutely killing me, and I could not figure out why. I was utterly spent, and apologized to the others—and thanked them too—for being patient with me under these circumstances.

John had been back at his truck for probably hours by now and he was happy to see us. We stood around and talked briefly, but didn’t waste too much time. I sucked down some cool drinks from my cooler and massaged my legs, but we decided to get moving as by now it was dark and we wanted to be back on the pavement before too long. John did reveal that his GPS had tracked our gross elevation change for the day to be 4,700 feet, which includes all uphill sections, both on the ascent and descent. That was surprising at first but would explain a lot: 4,700 gross feet is a lot, averaging out to over 1,000 feet per mile. Again, nothing I haven’t done before, but this time it just nailed me. Maybe I was out of shape, maybe I rushed at first to keep up. Whatever it was, the cramping was extremely inconvenient and worrisome, especially since I’ve never had such an occurrence before.

Once back to pavement we drove north back toward Buckeye and Goodyear, where we split ways. I drove from here back home, back to my wife and kitties, two fruit pies in hand for my wife. I could barely walk! I took a good bath, ate a whole bag of chips (for the salt?), and slept like a log that night. I was happy to be home.

It felt great to finally climb Estrella. I no longer have to view the peak every day of my life and let it bug me that I haven’t climbed it. On the upside, the route we chose worked very well and was never more technical that brushy class-2, with some rubbly sections. We had no cliffs whatsoever, nothing that couldn’t be bypassed. I felt vindicated in a way from my 2007 failure, now knowing there is a better way to the top that avoids cliffs entirely. I appreciate very much the camaraderie of my teammates. I daresay this is the toughest peak I have ever climbed in Arizona. In terms of just pure effort, ruggedness, length, height, steepness, this peak has it in abundance. The views are superb and the Estrellas, as I learned, have a well-earned reputation for their ruggedness. I can’t imagine more than a handful of people climb the highpoint per year (the tower workers being ferried by helicopter). As Chris said, you have to really earn this peak. We most certainly did.

On the descent, I peered down the slopes below peak 3,795 and they looked fairly consistent, no huge cliffs or rocky obstacles. There was a time I was considering descending that way, but the concern of getting stuck prompted us to not try it at this time. It’s marked green on the map, and I suggest some brave hikers consider this approach as a possible way to gain the high ridge yet save some distance in the process. As for me, I am never going back. I am done with the Estrellas! I shall be content to admire them from afar.

Is it "Hayes Peak"? I have come across a few scattered references that call the highpoint Hayes Peak, in honor of Ira Hayes, a Pima Indian and a member of the Gila River Indian Community. He was born in Sacaton and gained fame as one of the flag-raisers in the photograph taken on Iwo Jima, during the second World War. Fame was his curse, and he died early at age 32, in January 1955. As for naming the peak after Ira Hayes: I think it's an excellent idea. It's absurd such a prominent, obvious mountaintop has no official name, and Ira Hayes is arguably the most famous person to come out of Sacaton. The name is unofficial and probably no more than a grass-roots effort for the moment. I hope it gains traction and the name becomes official sometime down the line.