Our backs hurt.
Our knees ached.
Our feet looked diseased with blisters.
It wasn't far into this arduous journey when we realized we had underestimated how backbreaking the hike to a paradise in the desert would be.
The only question we kept asking ourselves was, could we conquer Havasupai or would Havasupai conquer us?
Play the song while reading the story!
The Goal: Make it all the way to the Grand Canyon, which Michelle and I have never seen, and set up camp.
Zoom and click the map of our travels!
Just as my previous hike to Havasupai, we parked our car on the hilltop and prepared for our decent down the switchbacks and into the canyon. This was already one of the breathtaking moments of the trip - the hilltop provides a panoramic view of how vast and rugged these canyons really are. I even remember thinking, “how can the Grand Canyon be grander than this?” There wasn’t much time to drink it all in because it was already 10:30am and the Arizona sun was cooking (we were advised to leave no later than 7am). We loaded the ridiculous amount of gear we brought on our backs and started the 10 mile march to the village.
The switchbacks were busy on this Thursday morning. Its narrow trails were clogged with many horses carrying supplies and lazy travelers to and from the distant village. Travelers who actually hiked from the village were nearing the end of their journey at this point and they all looked like bone-weary geriatrics, bad hips and all, as they inched relentlessly uphill toward the finish line.
“For the love of God, how much farther is it to the top?” they would ask. It helps one’s morale when a person thinks they are closer than they really are. I’d tell them they were 25 minutes away even after we’d been walking downhill for 45 minutes. This white lie would prove useful in our own group as well.
Once we were off the switchbacks and in the ravine, the ground leveled off albeit a slight decline the entire way. One might think this decline would make the hike easier, however, 10 miles in this fashion wears on muscles your body rarely uses to stay balanced. Blisters are a major problem as your feet slide forward in your shoes, cramming your toes against the front in the most uncomfortable way. Greg’s wife, Kanda, wanted to ditch the three bottles of Merlot we were carrying to shed weight but, the harder and hotter the hike got, the more I looked forward to slugging a few drinks at camp next to the cool river…I made the executive decision to keep all three.
About a quarter of the way into the canyon, I realized my brand new handheld GPS was worthless. The high rock walls cut off too much sky to track 3 satellites - the minimum needed to triangulate a position. Before the hike, I made fun of Kanda for buying an old fashioned magnetic compass that she pinned to her shirt because it looked “cute”. It turned out her ancient technology cost 1/200th of my GPS and worked flawlessly…oh, sweet irony! No matter, it’s practically impossible to wander off the trail while in a canyon. We pressed on.
Right about at the halfway mark (3 hours in and 5 miles deep), we took shelter from the sweltering sun and had lunch under a rock overhang. We packed about 20 military MREs (Meals Ready to Eat) and tore through three of them right on the spot. Michelle, however, refused to eat them. It was her loss because, even though the Chicken n’ Dumplings pouch smelled more like tuna, it was much better than the smell of fresh dog piss and horse crap baking right next to us. Apparently, we weren't the only species in need of shade on this morning.As temperatures climbed into the 100s, it took a lot of effort to get us moving again. The girls were champions even though they started complaining and basically swore to “never to go camping with us again”. Their frustration became more vocal when they saw trains of horses walking toward the village with hikers’ backpacks strapped to them - a service provided by the tribe. Their mantra was “this hike would be so much easier without all this gear”. And I responded “but where is the adventure in that?” Keep moving.
To keep their morale up, Greg and I would tell them we were getting close...unfortunantly it was all lies. “Shhh, listen….I can hear the river close by!” More lies.
I had done this same hike with Greg two years prior but this go round was much harder than anticipated. The first time we carried one small backpack with a change of clothes and a water jug. This time I was lugging a behemothic tent on my back along with other ridiculous items such as machetes, flashlights, 50 AA batteries, binoculars, knives, and king size pillows. Greg had the MREs, water and his own miscellaneous items. The girls carried clothes, wine, first aid kits, toiletries, camel packs (for water), and we all had our own sleeping bags. We took turns load balancing as needed (which meant the guys carrying the girls stuff) and, by the end, we even considered ditching essentials like the sleeping bags to shed weight (but not the wine).
After 5.5 hours of walking, we finally did reach the river and, eventually, the village. We weren’t out of the woods yet because it took about another 30 minutes of walking through the village before we reached the café were we could rest our bones and get something to eat.
The village looked the same as it had two years ago. The wood frame houses were simple and properties were fenced with pieces of wood they found laying around with barbed wire strung between them. Most had horses, some malnourished, who were picking at any last stray grass they could find. One thing I noticed different was some gang graffiti on a sign close to an “Annual Peach Festival” billboard….did gang members make the hike to Havasupai as well?
We finally made it to the café and ordered every food and drink we’ve been craving for the past 6 hours (cheeseburgers, lemonades, dr. peppers, etc.) including the best corndog I’ve ever put in my mouth.
There were natives in the café with us all minding their own business. Most of them were younger than us and I noticed they were dressed in all black. I didn’t think much of it until I went to the bathroom and saw more gang graffiti there. I couldn’t read what it said since it was written in their native language (a dialect only spoken in this village) but the aggressive writing was unmistakable and there was a symbol of an Indian war feather drawn for emphasis. So now the Havasupai youth were turning gang related? I walked back to our table and realized the group in all black had been replaying Snoop Dog’s “What my Mother F---ing Name” song over and over on their boom box.As much as we wanted to relax in the air conditioned café, we still had another 3 miles to get to camp. Now we looked like the geriatrics, moaning for our blisters and sore muscles when we stood up to saddle our heavy packs back on.
We walked beyond the village and parallel with the river again. The water looked so inviting, it was clear enough to see the bottom and an unusual shade of turquoise that stood out against the craggy red rock and deep green overgrown brush around it. We could hear the distant sound of Navajo Falls (the first official waterfall) tempting us to jump in but we came for the gusto and we weren’t going to stop until we reached Havasupai Falls.
Since I’ve seen the waterfall before, I didn’t think I would be impressed by the site of it again. I forgot the scale of it, the majesty of it….there’s a reason Havasupai Falls is the most photographed waterfall in the world and I was reminded as soon as I laid eyes on it. It was the moment we’d been hiking for, the reason why we had been killing ourselves all day, and we wasted no time stripping to our bathing suits and jumping in.
The water was arctic but so refreshing after such a sweltering hike. All of the energy we lost over the day was instantly rejuvenated as soon as we got in - we fed off the raw power of the huge water fall smashing down in front of us. I was trying to swim as close to it as possible for a picture, but the rush slung me around like a sock in a washing machine. It made me feel so small and mortal, like nature could take me out any moment it felt like.By crawling along the rock cliff from the side, it is possible to fight the current and get to a small pocket in the rock behind the waterfall. We all managed to climb into the pocket and experienced what it felt like to be completely exposed in a hurricane. The water was so loud it was hard to hear….so powerful it was hard to breathe….but so exhilarating we couldn’t stop screaming how f---ing awesome it was. When we couldn’t take it anymore, we dove directly into the downpour, helpless as it washed us back out to the middle of the pool.
We knew we couldn’t stay here forever because we still had yet to make it to camp. The walk was short and, once we found a spot right on the river, Greg and I had the tent set up in no time. There is no alcohol allowed on the reservation so Michelle and I waited until it was dark to twist off a bottle of Fish Eye merlot (that’s right, I said “twist off”). Before long we were fading into the black of a moonless night.
Back in the tent, Greg was already sawing logs in a deep slumber. His snoring was ridiculous enough to label it a medical condition. It was only funny because we were delirious from the hike and the wine, plus we brought wax ear plugs to turn him off. We slept like old dogs that night on our thin sleeping bags, not worrying about the rocks underneath until the next morning.
Click to hear Greg snoring
We met an interesting character there on this morning, a native Havasupai youth with a beaming smile – and beaming red eyes to boot. I could tell right away this kid was high as a bird but he approached us as cool and relaxed as could be. He was mumbling something about wanting a smoke so I accommodated him with a couple of cigarettes that he took without even looking. Greg came over to see what we were talking about and the teenager, dressed in all black, again mumbled something about wanting “smoke”. Greg pulled out his own pack, figuring the guy wanted a cigarette or two, and the teen casually lifted the whole pack out of Greg’s hands.
“Do you guys want some smoke?” he finally blurted out. He was trying to sell us weed, meanwhile he was taking our cigarettes like we were passing out Halloween candy. We told him we didn’t want any smoke but asked him a few questions about what we could expect when we hiked further down the canyon.
“Do you know how to find the underwater caves at Beaver Falls (the third and final waterfall before the G.C.)?”
“Oh yeah bro,” he replied with enthusiasm, “first you need to roll a fattie, smoke it up, then hold your breath for like 8 minutes while you swim for it…”
According to this guy, nothing we asked could be accomplished unless you smoked a fat one first. He was actually pretty funny and surprisingly friendly, even while pushing to close a deal with every sentence. Most natives could care less about meeting outsiders. In fact, he was the first Havasupai native I’d conversed with - ever. We finally wished him well and started walking to camp. We didn’t get far before he shouted back at us, over the roar of the waterfall for all to hear, “If you know anyone who wants some smoke, make sure you tell them I’m chillin here in my backyard!”
The “rambling river” at the MGM Grand pool in Las Vegas had nothing on us (except for more drunk people). We half walked, half floated down the emerald blue river and over small cascades until we arbitrarily decided to get out and walk the rest of the way. We didn’t realize how far we had floated down the river….we were only about 50 yards from the cliff’s edge where the river dropped 210ft as Mooney Falls!
Next came the most mentally challenging part of the hike: a 150ft decent down the side of the rock face
holding on to nothing more than a chain for support. It’s a mental challenge because you’re looking down the whole time, trying to place your feet in stable nooks while not thinking about the sheer drop that is merely one misguided step away. There is no safety harness, no rangers to call for help….its just you vs. your fear and there is no way to move on unless you face it.It’s interesting to know that Mooney falls was named after a miner that died scaling this very cliff. You can read a blurb about his story here.
Greg and I had done this before, so we knew what to expect. We tried to mentally prepare Kanda and Michelle the best we could, but it didn’t help that we had just passed a couple who got scared and turned back. The girls - like the champions that they were the entire trip - overcame and eventually made it to the bottom. I later learned both were almost in tears and Michelle admitted it was the hardest thing she’d ever done in her life (which was awesome because the day before she said the same thing about the endurance hike into the village!).At over 200 ft., Mooney Falls is higher than Niagra Falls and a splendor in its own right. There were others relaxing and enjoying the waters while we were rope swinging and cliff diving next to the downpour.
But we still had a mission to accomplish. We still had to make it to Beaver Falls (still 3-4 miles away) and back in time to get to the lodge. We started trekking again but now in unfamiliar territory - Greg and I never made it past Mooney last time. The trail was becoming more remote and rugged as we pushed through thickening wilderness towards our goal. At some point, the trail disappeared altogether and we had to turn back several times to find less resistant brush, even crossing the river when forced to. We were like rats in a hedge maze. We brought two machetes into this canyon and they were both back at camp when we needed them the most.
Greg was absolutely determined to get to the underwater caves of Beaver Falls and he led the charge. The girls were a step behind us but I could tell we were losing them little by little. Kanda had a
major limp, Michelle’s knees were hurting and, quite frankly, I wasn’t in much better shape. I made my second executive decision and told Greg it would be best for everyone that we turned back. We tortured the girls enough and they did everything we asked them to do. Greg was not happy with that decision, gave me the most angry, I-can’t-believe-you look and simply said “F--- You.” I wish I could have taken a picture of his face, it was classic. Here’s a pretty good representation.When we realized how far we had to hike back to the village, I think we all knew we made the right decision. Kanda hobbled on ahead to secure the lodge while the three of us packed up camp and lugged all the gear. Right before we left camp, we ran into my buddy Dominic who had been searching for us after making the hike earlier in the afternoon. Dom is a seasoned hiker and can do 10 miles in his sleep.
“DOM! Good to see you! How was the hike in?”
“This has been the worst day of my life."
And we were about to have the worst of ours too. The 3 mile hike back to the village was hell – a relentless uphill battle while we carried all the gear (including two bottles of wine) between the remaining three of us. Oh, and did I mention we didn’t have any water left? It was, without question, the hardest 3 miles I’ve ever done in my life.
The lodge was comfy; we slept on soft beds that night and everyone looked forward to the helicopter ride out the next morning. My mind didn’t want to leave but my body assured me it was time to go.
The luxury of the helicopter ride was as sobering as it was beautiful. I was lost in thought, hypnotized by the canyon trail as it snaked along below us – the same one we endured just two days prior. I was disappointed that we didn’t reach our goal to the Grand Canyon, but I also realized it was our inexperience in planning these types of trips that made it impossible.
Live and learn. I learned plenty about what it is going to take to reach the Grand Canyon and I am already planning another expedition to get there. I treated this one as a fun little adventure and Havasupai kicked our asses. Next time I'm slapping on the war paint and approaching it as a marathon. The only question I have left is, who's comming with me?
Here’s what I would do different to reach the Grand Canyon:
- Pack light – that means MREs, a hammock (to stay off the hard ground), change of clothes, camera, flashlight and iodine water tablets to drink straight from the river (water is heavy!). Oh, and no wine (bring a flask of whiskey instead). Another thing to remember: you must carry all your gear down the Mooney Falls cliff and through the river.
- Start hiking early – we started the hike to the village at 10:30 in the morning (Dominic started at 12:30). Big mistake. You may think your tough but the Arizona sun feels like a fire-breathing dragon over your shoulder. Start hiking when the sun is barely up which will help conserve your energy for the rest of the trip.
- Train for it– this hike is not for the meek. You must really love being outdoors and enjoy pushing your body to reach a goal.
Some observations regarding how the Havasupai Indian Tribe has changed over the past two years...
Two years ago, Greg and I first came to the Supai village not really knowing what to expect. We appreciated the village’s simplicity even though we were slightly taken back by some of the trash littered on individual’s properties. I wouldn’t say the people were friendly but definitely not rude – most just minded their own business and let us mind ours. My biggest surprise was how morbidly obese almost all of the natives were. They were supposed to be a proud Indian people but didn’t take care of their land or themselves as I expected. That being said, I want to note that neither one of us felt unsafe at any time during that stay.
About a week before we left for Havasupai this time, I read a recent article called “Trouble in Paradise” where the author described the Havasupai youth of today as “immersed in a hip-hop culture that is fueled by methamphetamine and punctuated by violence.” I knew the article grossly exaggerated their state of affairs; there was no way things could have gotten as bad as the author described in just two years. However, it did make me aware that a female camper, a Japanese tourists, was viciously murdered a year ago by one of the natives.
I was a little concerned about the girls who were coming with us. I decided that, based on the heavy influx of outsiders that still visit Havasupai without incident, I wouldn’t mention the article and make them paranoid…but I had it in the back of my head the whole time. Now that being said, I want it clear that none of us felt unsafe at any time during this trip, either. The girls even hiked back to the village while we stayed at camp and reported everyone was very nice to them.
But I did notice some significant deterioration in the Havasupai culture in the two years since my last visit. Even as we took our first steps into the village, I noticed it had become more “ghetto-ized” – from the gang graffiti, to the kids dressed head-to-toe in black, to the constant hip-hop playing on someone’s boom-box in the village café.
I am trying not to judge, I used to love – LOVE hip-hop music up to a few years ago, but now hip-hop is dead. All that remains from it are the glorified negative stereotypes like violence and drugs, both which are easy to latch on to when you live in poverty and relative isolation like these natives. I’m not saying they are all violent and on drugs, however, I am saying I can see the youth of their culture heading down that narrow canyon trail.
But I think their biggest threat is that they’ve failed to preserve their own identity. There seems to be no pride in their tribe, no sense of worth to share their culture. They have survived in this village for 800 years but there isn’t a single noticeable remnant of their history. There is really no education about their customs or their rituals. I’ve heard there was a “museum” near the village entrance but I’ve never noticed it. In fact, the only cultural center I’ve seen is in the café where you can eat a piece of frybread and stare at an Indian landscape painted on a wall panel. Lame.
Michelle said it best with her observation: some of the poorest towns she’s ever traveled to in this world still had a little magic. Unfortunately, the magic of Havasupai doesn’t start until you pass through the village and approach the falls.
I admired the Indian drug dealer I met by Havasupai Falls. Not for his profession, of course, but for his initiative to get out and hustle. He was a natural salesman who would probably make serious money at a legitimate job if given the chance.
I think the morale of the village could benefit from his attitude. With the amount of tourists passing through, it would be easy for the natives to “hustle” a little bit for themselves, which would help the poverty-stricken, depressed feeling that permeates the village. I would have paid to take part in a native Havasupai ritual of some sort, the girls would have paid for a short horseback ride from the village to the falls, and all of us would have paid for a foot massage service. But none of these were available because no one had taken the initiative to set them up. Instead, the minds of their youth stay bored (it is very apparent there isn’t much of anything to do to stay busy), which only festers their lack of self worth, bolsters their amphetamine problem and increases their tendency to become violent. There is an old cliché, “an idle mind is the devil’s workshop”. Their idle minds could be a catalyst to their worsening social problems.
The tribal leaders wrote, “When American television shows hour after hour of violence, it appears on our screens, too. Influences like this do not fit our culture and hurt our young people.”
The natives didn’t even have real television before DirecTV, which was only implemented on their rooftops in the last several years, but suddenly the youth has adopted a “ghetto-ized” hip-hop culture in the last two years. If I've learned anything from this experience, I can end the debate in my mind of whether or not media can truly influence a society, since I see the remote Havasupai as a controlled environment for this “experiment”. Media is not a reflection of society, as some may say, the current culture of the Havasupai youth is a direct result of what outside influences have pumped into them.
The moral of all of this? The Havasupai have their own problems to deal with. But maybe we, as an American society, need to take a look at how our culture influences each other and the rest of the world. Then maybe we need to be a little more realistic on how many problems of ours are self-bred by leaving dangerous influences unchecked and labeling them as “entertainment”.
Oh, that's right....there's no money in that.
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