It’s a Die Heat: 9 ways the Arizona summer will kill you

Comb 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 monuments 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:


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 dehydrated, 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 unconscious 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


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 particularly 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 drownings. From 2019 to 23, 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 accident that miraculously didn’t kill anyone occurred on Lake Havasu, where a speedboat 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


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


The term “haboob” inspires an argument about nomenclature. Is it a dust storm? Is it technically something else? The facts: It is a dust storm, and it can kill you.

Unlike a plain old dust storm, where dust and soil get pulled into the air by wind for a swirly party, a haboob is one where the dust travels via the wind of a thunderstorm or weather front. When it happens, it’s quick. It’s also complete chaos, especially if you’re in a car.

A friend and I experienced that firsthand one night in 2008, driving downtown to see, oddly enough, “Tropic Thunder.” Terrifying is the only way to describe it. Rain was pouring down, and anything that could be blown around was flying through the air. The airborne dirt and water made it hard to see. We pulled into a Circle K to wait it out, watching street lights go out, power lines come down and trees fall. Driving after that was no picnic — in just 15 minutes, the haboob caused massive destruction.

Haboob and dust storm deaths are depressingly common in Arizona. In March, a dust storm pileup on Interstate 10 killed six and injured many more. In 2009, a dust storm in Casa Grande caused a 22-car pileup that killed three. Two years later, another dust storm north of Tucson killed one person. There are many more examples. A 2023 study that used data from the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration found there were 157 deaths caused by dust-related car accidents from 1955 to 2011, just shy of three a year.

If you ever are faced with driving in a haboob — chances are you will be — Maria Wojtczak has some tips. Haboobs pop up fast and without much warning, but that quickness is the one gift they give you, said Wojtczak, who owns the DrivingMBA driving school in Glendale. “Try to avoid driving and wait for it to pass,” she said. “If you happen to be caught on the road, reduce your speed as much as possible.”

Even at a slower speed, it can still be hard to see. Counterintuitively, Wojtczak says the best move is to make yourself harder to see as well. Drivers should pull to the side of the road, turn off all lights and keep their foot off the brake so that brake lights don’t flare. If you have lights on, she said, “other vehicles on the road will follow lights if they cannot see anything else.” That’s called the “moth effect,” after the idiom of the moth drawn to the flame.

In a haboob, your car could be moth or flame. And if you’re not careful, you could be dead. – Amy Young


On a cool summer night at a Colorado park years ago, my family and others gathered to watch July Fourth fireworks. As patriotic music played, fireworks shot into the starry sky, but the “oohs” and “ahhs” soon turned into shrieks and screams. The bright explosions started shooting at the crowd instead of into the air.

A firework had detonated early, causing one of the racks of fireworks to fall over. Now, instead of blasting off into the sky, the professional-grade explosives launched straight across the lake and into the park filled with onlookers. People started to run. Some people suffered minor burns while others were hurt as the crowd surged.

Fireworks are an essential part of July Fourth celebrations. But lighting miniature rockets designed to explode is undoubtedly dangerous. In 2024, the Phoenix Fire Department dispatched crews 187 times on July 4. The day before, it was just 51. The department also had 20 to 30 more firefighters on shift that day, waiting and ready. They knew people would need their help.

Nationwide, eight people died of fireworks-related injuries in 2023, the most recent year reported by the Consumer Product Safety Commission. Roughly 9,700 people were treated for fireworks-related injuries in emergency rooms across the country, with 66% of those injuries occurring in the weeks around July 4. Phoenix fire communications director Aly Pardi said hand injuries are the most common.

“It can be anything from a firework exploding in your hand to an innocent sparkler,” Pardi said. “They burn up to 300 degrees.”

Last year, the Phoenix Fire Department published its first fire safety brochure in Spanish and English, distributing them to the public through fireworks vendors. The pamphlets included tips such as picking a safe location to light fireworks, securing pets and soaking used fireworks in water for 24 hours before throwing them away.

Pardi says the department saw a 37.5% decrease in firework-related fires last year, which she attributes to the pamphlets. The fire department also encourages everyone to steer clear of illegal fireworks, which are often not permitted due to their higher risk.

“If it explodes or goes into the air, that’s illegal,” Pardi says. “Go watch a show and leave it to the professionals. Sit in the grass and enjoy it with your family.”

As I learned in Colorado, that technique isn’t foolproof either. So let us suggest two rules to add: Have fun, and try not to die. – Tirion Boan


“Drowning is quiet,” said Caitlin Sageng, the senior program director at Child Crisis Arizona. Not much flailing, not much yelling. Just a wrong step, a quick splash and a child gone forever.

Summers boast many dangers in Arizona, but drowning is among the most ever-present. The Drowning Prevention Coalition of Arizona maintains an interactive map that shows all the child drowning and near-drowning incidents that took place in Maricopa County in 2024. The map is covered in blue dots, which signify close calls. Scattered among them are 20 red dots, each of them a child lost to the water: a 3-year-old boy in Peoria, a 2-year-old girl in Phoenix, a 4-year-old boy in Scottsdale.

Last month, Chandler-based influencer Emilie Kiser and her husband, Brady, made worldwide news when their 3-year-old son, Trigg, drowned in their backyard pool. The boy lived for six days after the May 12 incident.

It can happen anywhere, at any time, to any parent or caregiver. Nationally, drowning is the top cause of death for children ages 1 to 4 and among the top five causes of death for children ages 5 to 9.

“Kids of that age, they’re mobile, they’re curious,” Sageng said, “and it just takes Mom or Dad or a caregiver in a busy household to turn their back for just a minute and they’re able to get into the water.”

In the pool-dotted landscape of metro Phoenix, the need for education and multiple barriers to drowning can’t be overstated, Sageng said. Safe Kids Maricopa County, a coalition under the umbrella of Child Crisis Arizona that aims to prevent all types of childhood injuries, provides free pool safety programs in English and Spanish. It has also partnered with SRP to pioneer the Pool Fence Safety Program, which provides families with free pool fences. Applications for fall 2025 installations are currently open on the Child Crisis Arizona website.

Sageng said the key to avoiding child drownings is having multiple forms of protection. Pool fences with locks and self-closing gates are one piece of the puzzle, but so are swim lessons, knowledge of water safety and constant adult supervision.

“All of those things work together to make your home safer,” Sageng said. – Jennifer Goldberg


When Stacy Patterson’s oldest daughter was born, doctors thought she had a slim chance of survival. Little Kenedy weighed less than four pounds and was diagnosed with Edward’s syndrome, cerebral palsy, epilepsy and other disabilities that render her unable to walk and communicate.

Nearly 28 years later, Kenedy has long since proved those doctors wrong. But after moving from Indiana to Casa Grande 16 years ago, she now faces another danger. While Arizona’s dry climate has limited Kenedy’s previously frequent bouts of pneumonia, the heat leaves her unable to regulate her body temperature. Because of her conditions, Kenedy’s body does not sweat. When the air conditioning is on and at full blast, that’s hardly a problem.

But in late March, the nearly 20-year-old air conditioning unit in Patterson’s home started acting up. The home’s temperature continued to rise and rise. An electrician patched it but told her that it was “on borrowed time.” A new unit would cost her at least $9,200, which is money Patterson doesn’t have. On the other hand, a malfunctioning unit could kill her daughter.

Broken or nonexistent AC units frequently spell death in Arizona. Of the 138 indoor heat-related deaths in Maricopa County last year, 88% occurred in spaces that had no air conditioning system. Among deaths where an AC unit was present, it wasn’t functioning in 70% of cases.

“That’s what makes it such an emergency for us,” Patterson said of her cranky AC unit. Due to Kenedy’s significant medical needs — an expensive medical bed, a power lift and a therapy room with all her supplies — the family can’t just “can’t just pick up and go somewhere else.” What will Patterson do if the AC does die during the height of summer?

“I’m just trying not to think about it,” she said. – Morgan Fischer


The water came without warning — a trickle at first, then a roaring wall of death. On July 15, 2017, a violent flash flood tore through the Tonto National Forest near Ellison Creek outside Payson. A churning mass of water, thick with ash from recent wildfires, ripped through the area, sweeping away dirt, rocks, trees and anything — or anyone — in its path.

In seconds, the catastrophe became a tragedy. Ten members of the Garcia family, gathered for a birthday celebration, were killed. The 2017 tragedy had all the deadly hallmarks of a flash flood. A sudden burst of monsoon rain slammed into a wildfire-scarred landscape, where scorched trees and damaged soil couldn’t absorb the deluge.

Flash floods in Arizona are no joke. They’re the state’s second-deadliest weather hazard after extreme heat, said Glenn Lader of the National Weather Service in Tucson. Though they can strike year-round, they’re far more common in summer, when monsoon storms unleash sudden, torrential downpours. The desert soil can’t absorb it fast enough. And the water has nowhere to go.

Rainless winters also don’t help matters. “With a dry winter, the soil is affected,” said Arizona State Climatologist Erinanne Saffell. “And when we get our summer precipitation hits those dry soils, instead of going into the ground, it runs off.”

Flash floods can develop suddenly, Saffell says, developing after “just a few minutes” of rainfall. Nor are they rural-only dangers. In urban areas of Arizona, monsoon rains can overwhelm washes, riverbeds and city streets. Deaths from urban flash floods aren’t as common, but they still happen. In 2014, a 53-year-old Tucson woman drowned after record-setting monsoon rains swept away her car in foot-high floodwaters.

When a deluge of monsoon rain occurs, Lader recommends using caution and common sense. If you’re in a forest or canyon, be aware of any storms on the horizon and have a plan to find shelter and safety. In urban settings, avoid driving into any flooded washes, even if you think your car can make it. Lader says it takes only six inches of water to push a moving car downstream.

“Basically, our point of advice is anytime you encounter a flooded roadway is to turn around,” he said. – Benjamin Leatherman


John Galgiani has made it a life mission to get more people talking about coccidioidomycosis. That’s the technical name of valley fever, and if it merely twists your tongue, consider yourself lucky.

Something like 5% of people in Phoenix will, at some point, develop an infection from Coccidioides, a fungus found in southwestern desert climes. A single spore can set up residence in your lungs and move from there to other parts of your system, including, catastrophically, your brain. Most people will suffer through mild symptoms and soon enough feel just fine. Others can wind up on anti-fungals the rest of their lives, or straight-up die. From one fucking spore.

“Living here,” Galgiani said, “is the risk.”

Galgiani is a doctor and a professor of medicine at the University of Arizona’s two colleges of medicine, as well as the director of the university’s Valley Fever Center for Excellence and the Banner University Health Valley Fever Program. His fascination with infectious diseases goes back to studying medicine at Stanford in the 1970s. At that time, coccidioidomycosis was most closely associated with California’s San Joaquin Valley, which gives valley fever its name.

As Arizona’s population boomed, Phoenix became the more vulnerable valley, with Arizona accounting for 60% of the 25,000 valley fever cases diagnosed in 2024. Per the Centers for Disease Control, the actual case counts could be 10 to 18 times higher and contribute to 1,000 deaths a year. Since the mid-’90s, Galgiani has led the charge in Arizona to, in his words, “take some responsibility” for addressing a disease that will roam ever-wider as climate change desertifies the American West.

Haboobs get the blame for many valley fever cases: They’re big and woolly and more than capable of wafting a spore into your nostrils. But Galgiani says you’re not in significantly greater danger of valley fever during the summer, storms notwithstanding. Rather, you’re also never exactly safe, especially if you go into the Sonoran Desert. Your ground-snuffling dogs, too, are at risk.

Most people who get the disease won’t ever know it. If you do suspect coccidioidomycosis — you’re feeling generally sick or fatigued or weird-rashy — ask your doctor or a walk-in clinician for a test. Patients who get tested early fare much better. Before too long you can also look for a valley fever vaccine, which was discovered at U of A and is currently in development.

“The more you know about the disease, the less scary it is as a risk per person,” Galgiani says. “But it's still 5% of the population. That's a real number.” – Sam Eifling