#4 Flagstaff

Across the expanse of the Navajo Reservation, we could see the San Francisco Peaks jutting up from the flatland and we knew we were nearing Flagstaff. As we climbed up from the desert to the 7,000 foot altitude that accommodated Flagstaff we were once again surrounded by snow.

Flagstaff got it’s odd name when some of the first settlers there stripped the limbs from the tallest ponderosa pine that overlooked the area and hoisted a US flag to the top. The flag could be seen from miles around in every direction.

In the 1970's we always approached Flagstaff with great trepidation. On all our leavings of Phoenix, we never seemed to have a good enough vehicle, good enough tires, good enough fan belts, good enough radiator, etc. etc. And we were always at our worst after the long, hot climb from Phoenix to Flagstaff. Many times we limped into Flagstaff on 3 tires and a steaming radiator. We could hear the sound of the Flagstaff auto repair people rubbing their palms together when we were within 25 miles of their town. They knew they had us and they charged accordingly.

In 1996 just Dale and I were traveling to Phoenix and we approached Flagstaff winding down out of the very heart of the San Francisco Peaks from the South Rim of the Grand Canyon on Highway 180. Traffic slowed to a crawl and we soon saw that the forest was ablaze in front of us. Police blockaded the road and traffic was at a standstill. Huge ponderosa’s were blazing and we could hear the crack of the fire and trees falling. Smoke billowed into the air. We watched the blaze work its way closer to the highway and there we were stuck. Finally as I was beginning to panic, traffic was diverted onto a small forest road and we were able to work ourselves into town and out onto the freeway where I stuck my camera out the window and snapped pictures of the gully we had been stuck in. Flagstaff was our Nemesis.

The Hopis, Havasupai, and Navajos considered the San Francisco Peaks as sacred – the home of the Gods. To the Hopis, these mountains are the home of the Kachina People – and these mountains were not to be trespassed upon. Only those People who were authorized to collect sacred medicines were given freedom to search the sacred slopes without fear of retribution.

We were not of the People, and we were not collectors of sacred medicines. It seemed to us that we were always being singled out from the hordes trespassing on the sacred mountain for Gods’ vengeance and retribution. But this day, as we held our breath and connected onto I-17, the Gods seemed to be looking the other way, and we sped, without mishap, toward Phoenix.