entertainment

LEGEND, Dкама, and a Firefall in the SUPERSTITIONS THE ANNUAL DONS' CLUB LOST DUTCHMAN EXTRAVAGANZA

This time I'd go on the Dons' Superstition Mountain Trek for the full experience. I'd pan for gold, eat fresh-baked bread, and watch the afternoon entertainment, then be wide awake for the fireworks. It wouldn't be like those other years when I went to reassert my manliness by challenging a mountain.

The trek is an all-day happening put on in early March every year by the Dons. The club, founded in 1930 as an offshoot of the Phoenix YMCA, is dedicated to preserving the history, legends, and folklore of Arizona and the Southwest. Membership is limited to 50 active members who are assisted by life members (those who have served 15 years or more) and associate members.

The whole day honors "Dutchman" Jacob Waltz, the 19th-century German immigrant miner who supposedly worked a fabulous gold claim in the Superstitions. Lots of hopefuls have gone out in search of the lost lode, and some never came back. The annual trek combines legend, fact, and drama with entertainment, adventure, and exercise. Its roots go back to 1934, when a 40-passenger bus led a Dons' cavalcade into the Superstition Mountains, where the guests hiked, listened to cowboy singers, and dined on box lunches.

The Dons have been doing it ever since, moving to their present campsite near the mouth of Peralta Canyon in 1935. They had to put the excursions on hold during World War II, but rather than abandon the concept, they staged alternative programs in Phoenix. Since resuming in 1946, the trek has been an annual occasion except for a few rain washouts and one blizzard.

There was neither rain nor snow in the forecast for this latest trek, however. The crisp air of a March dawn honed my sense of anticipation as I strode into the Peralta Canyon camp seven miles north of U.S. Route 60. Previous years I went directly to the long hike launch site to join those eager to participate in a nine-mile ordeal of stretched muscles, twisted thighs, and oxygendeprived lungs.

The hike takes hours, and it's all uphill even when you're coming down. At least, it felt that way when I did it. So I'd stagger back to base camp too pooped to pan for gold, too tired to do justice to the munchies included in the price of admission.

But not this time. Freed from the urge to inflict pain by going on the hike again, I'd see the entire production.

I began with the bread baking. Longtime Dons Jerry Welty and Tom Renshaw explained how the club built the oven with caliche in 1980 as an experiment. Now there's a line of bread enthusiasts waiting for every loaf.

Then on to the gold-panning exhibit, where 1999 President-elect Jack Evans gave a woman from Illinois a lesson on how to swish the water so only the gold stayed in her pan. A couple of flecks surfaced, and the pupil got so excited she dropped her pan. Almost everyone finds gold, but nobody gets rich. (The Dons buy $80 worth of gold flakes and use a cement mixer to combine them with tons of sand.) The afternoon entertainment started in the amphitheater, and I was able to concentrate, for a change, on the intricate steps executed by the Native American and Hispanic dancers instead of gasping for breath up on the mountain and looking down on the tiny figures as I had done on previous treks.

Those who made the hike this time began filtering back into camp. There was a certain smugness about them, like they had accomplished something really important while the rest of us sat around eating and searching for gold. I knew that feeling. But my focus remained on enjoy-ing what was going on down here, on the flat ground. The afternoon sun faded to signal the eve-ning events, including a meal of barbecued beef and spicy cowboy beans with plenty of soppin' bread and chocolate chip cookies. This means more work for the Dons. It takes more than 200 volunteers to stage the event. Dick Totman has been among their ranks for decades. In the pageant, which retells the legend of the Lost Dutchman Mine, Totman plays Jacob Waltz. It was the 28th time he had portrayed Waltz. "One thing for sure," he said, "I know my lines."

The pageant has several highlights. One is when a strategically placed floodlight turns Jacob Waltz into a thousand-foot shadow on the face of the cliff. It's a semiprofessional production, and the basic plot never changes: Waltz and his partner find the mine, hide it, protect it, then lose it.

The play ended, and it was time for the finale, one of the big reasons the trek draws about 1,200 fans every year.

Prior to the event, the Dons had transported the rockets, flares, and 3,000 pounds of charcoal halfway up the mountain. They poured the charcoal into a huge steel container, ignited it, and let it simmer throughout the day. And then, when the last shadow had been cast by the floodlights below and the sun was but another memory of the day, the spectacular began.

The fireworks opened the display of light and sound. Their bril-liant colors traced incomparable patterns across the dark sky and painted the canyon walls with dazzling flashes. And the rockets echoed like thunder, their sounds reverberating until they finally played out on a moun-tainside several valleys away.

Then the pyrotechnicians tilted the steel container, and the burning charcoal made a fiery descent down the mountain, blanketing the sandstone cliff in red sparks while a thousand flashbulbs erupted from the spectators.

I saw it all this time. Unlike those other years when the nine-mile hike sapped me of all desire to witness such things of great beauty, I saw it all.

And it transformed me. From now on, I'll take a firefall over a stumble and fall any time.

WHEN YOU GO

The 1999 Dons' Superstition Mountain Trek is scheduled for Sunday, March 7. Tickets are $35, adults; $17.50, under age 12. The admission fee includes lunch, dinner, snacks, coffee, and soft drinks. For more information, call Dons of Arizona, (602) 258-6016, or AAA Tour Center toll-free at (800) 532-5382. You also can check the Dons' web site at www.donsofarizona.org or send a fax to (602) 598-9412.