Hi everyone! I’m exploring this whole blogging thing. I wrote this in April 2023, most of it on a sticky note app on my cell phone, in a desert canyon. This is a tribute to one of the coolest places I’ve been (so far).

Thank you, Havasupai tribe (people of the blue-green water), for allowing us to visit your enchanted land, it was an unforgettable experience that I will hold dear for the rest of my days.

After navigating a car rental snafu in Vegas, and getting a measly four hours of sleep, we made a stop at REI to pick up Julie’s rental gear. From there we drove the two and a half hours down a mostly deserted Route 66 to Peach Springs, AZ. We checked in at the Grand Canyon Caverns Inn for the night, which was also the place to register for our hike into Supai the next day. It was clear that most of the people checking in were campers as well and there was excitement in the air. We stood outside discussing freeze dried food quality and camping necessities with a sweet couple from Amarillo. It was a modest place with funny metal dinosaurs and a playground scattered about the property, a small diner charmingly named the Betty Boop Cafe, and a notice at the front desk announcing paranormal activity on the premise. We did a final gear check and crashed early, resting up for the next day’s adventure.

We rose before the sun and could hear the neighbors on either side chattering and loading up their vehicles. We did the same and drove an hour to the trailhead, blinded by the sunrise and watching it begin to melt off pockets of snow. Desolate desert landscape turned to pine forest, then back to desert. We had to slow down and navigate around cows in the road several times. We reached the trailhead where people milled about, checking gear, and taking photos. Heady with anticipation, we snapped a few quick photos of the breathtaking view and began our descent into the canyon.

The weather changed dramatically as we hiked, and so did the landscape. The first mile and a half is a series of switchbacks at a steep decline, descending 2,500 feet into a massive crevasse in the earth. I tried not to think about how painful carrying my pack up the last stretch was going to be on the way out.

Once in the canyon and with the warm sun overhead, we began shedding layers while the temperature climbed into the low 70s.

Towering red rock canyon walls gave way to the shock of cloudless blue sky, it could not have been a more beautiful day. We passed several hikers, both coming and going, everyone friendly and smiling. Three times we had to jump out of the way as pack mules came trotting through the narrow canyon. Julie and I both commented that carrying our gear rather than hiring a mule felt like we were earning the experience in some weird way. As we got closer to Supai, we began to follow a glowing turquoise creek. Bright green cottonwood trees grew all around.

Eight miles in we stopped in the modest little village of Supai, population 600 and deemed the most remote community in the U.S. At the village cafe we ate frybread and thirstily drank down lemonade, resting our tired muscles. Locals and hikers alike mingled both inside the cafe, and on the dirt road outside. We bought postcards off an indigenous man with very few teeth (a common local trend), and marveled at the dune buggies on the reservation…. how did they get there? The only way in or out of Supai was to hike, by mule or by helicopter, so every single thing the Havasupai people have took a small miracle to obtain. How did the dilapidated travel trailer on one property find its way to this little canyon, deep in the heart of the desert? Where did the locals buy clothes? These are questions we still do not have the answers to.

After lunch we ventured back onto the trail, eager to see the waterfalls and set up our home for the next 3 nights.

Now, I either don’t have enough high-end (light weight) gear, or I grossly overpacked, and after eight miles of carrying more than forty pounds, I was hurting. I thought the rest stop in the village would make the last two miles to the campground a breeze, but I was wrong. By this point Julie and I had each deemed our bags “that fucking pack” and shuffled our way up and down several hills, feeling every muscle scream and our toes ache. When we reached the campground, which is a mile long stretch on either side of the creek, there were no spots available. Colorful tents with REI and Marmot emblems lined the trail like jellybeans and campers milled about. We hiked a mile through, finding a spot at the very end of the campground on top of a cliff, right over Mooney Falls. It was absolutely breathtaking. There are no words to describe the ethereal world around us, and finally being able to take off “that fucking pack” felt incredible.

That first evening we encountered Jose and Kenny from Laguna Beach. Kenny was a musician with Brushfire Records, as well as a dentist. “I should just move here and fix everyone’s teeth for a place to stay” he joked, “I’d never run out of work”. We stood around the campsite singing songs that evening, everything from gospel music to The Rolling Stones, and enjoying the good company. They were leaving in the morning and we promised to find them online when we had cell service again.

The next morning, we woke up and noticed that a campsite with a picnic table and even better view had opened up, so we moved our camp to what we thought was an ideal location. After coffee and breakfast, we began the exhilarating climb down Mooney Falls through a series of cave-tunnels, chains, and rickety ladders. I’m pretty sure OSHA has never visited this place. We met two sisters on the way down who were also from Panama City, FL: one a firefighter, the other a nurse. I joked that I was glad to be in the company of people who knew first aid.

At the bottom of the thunderous falls, we stood in wonder: water roaring and mist so thick you could not see the bottom of the falls. After taking in the scenery, we began the 4.8-mile hike further back into the canyon, to Beaver Falls.

The trail to Beaver Falls included several thigh-high river crossings. We hiked through a giant cactus patch and what felt like a haunted forest of trees that had not yet budded for the season. All the way we followed the marvelous turquoise waters of Havasu creek, encountering a bighorn sheep lazily snacking on grass along the way.

Once reaching the Falls and soaking in the healing waters, I thanked God repeatedly for sharing this masterpiece with us. He is the artist of all artists. I do not know how anyone can marvel at a sunset, a starry sky, the ocean, or the beauty of Havasu Creek and question His existence, and I feel privileged and honored to be able to experience it.

At Beaver Falls we contemplated continuing on to the Confluence, six additional miles to where Havasu creek meets the Colorado River, but decided it was too late in the day and we were not adequately prepared with water and snacks, so we began the hike back instead.

Upon our return to camp, we found that the wind had picked up and gusts in excess of forty miles per hour whipped around us as we stood on the cliffside in awe, staring at our battered camp. We had anchored our tent with stakes and our heavy packs, but it had clearly moved despite our efforts. A kind neighbor had broken down the tent and put large rocks on top to keep it from blowing off the cliffside. We knew we had to move somewhere more sheltered so we packed up camp and found another campsite off the trail, at the base of the canyon wall. Exhausted from the day, we made dinner and called it a night. Everyone at the campground seemed to be on the same schedule, rising with the sun and turning in, exhausted, at last light.

We woke up our final day, sore from head to toe. We had learned that the more we moved the less we hurt, so after popping Aleve and drinking a pot of coffee we ventured into the village. Our opinion on pack mules had changed drastically and we were hoping one was available to carry our “fucking packs” out.

In the village we sat in the cafe, eating frybread, mingling with the other campers and writing out postcards. Supai is the last place in the country where mail is carried out and delivered by pack mule. When we went to the office to ask about a pack mule for the following day, we almost cried tears of joy. It was a “take my money!” situation and immediate relief knowing that our battered bodies would not have to each carry forty pounds out of the canyon the next day.

On the walk back towards camp it began to snow. I stood in bewilderment…. yesterday we had been soaking in the creek and diligently applying sunscreen, today we were hiking in the snow. Everything about this magical land seemed surreal and like something out of a movie. I felt as though we were becoming a part of the Na’vi from Avatar. The fact that the limestone rich water gave our skin a faint blue-green glow only further supported this theory. As we left the village, children leaned out the window of a ramshackle house, waving to us.

There were several other waterfalls on the Havasupai reservation and we wanted to see them all. We looked for side trails on the two-mile hike back, following each one to see where it went. We encountered some other hikers doing the same and made our way through thick brush, then rock-hopped our way down to Fifty Foot Falls. The water and air here were unexplainably warm. Five of us stood on the riverbank while one spritely hiker we had seen at the cafe began wading into the water, then jumped in and swam along the bottom of the falls. We debated jumping in ourselves, but decided wet clothes and wet feet combined with a long walk back to camp in the cold wind was not wise.

Julie and I scoped out several other paths along the trail back to camp, coming across an abandoned mud hut down one and running into thick sloppy mud down another. On the hike down the hill past Havasu Falls on the way back to the campsite we ran into Loren, an Indigenous gentleman we had met on the hike in. Loren greeted us with a huge smile, proudly showing off his two teeth. Bluto, Loren’s yellow lab mix lay at his feet. We spent time laughing and joking while Loren educated us on how to pronounce words correctly and marveled at my peace sign earrings. His booming belly laugh was almost childlike as we joked that his cursive writing on his “business card” was now an antique. I will forever have the image of his genuine and wholesome smile seared into my brain.

We loitered at the bottom of Havasu Falls for a bit before heading back to camp, where I got a wild hare and decided to climb up the cliffside to explore a small cave. After dinner we hiked through the campground back to Mooney Falls, the largest and most impressive of them all, and drank a cup of coffee on the cliffside, enjoying what may be the last time we ever get to see its indescribable beauty.

The weather our last night was windy, and in the twenties, so we once again turned in early. This time we layered our clothes and loaded our pockets with handwarmers before climbing into our sleeping bags. I am a chronic three-am pee-er and was so thankful we had a private spot behind camp that became my makeshift bathroom. When you are camping the little things mean so much, and I was thrilled I didn’t have to hike to the rather disgusting composting toilets in the freezing cold.

We rose before the sun and packed up our gear, brewing coffee for the hike out. As the sky began radiating its enchanting morning glow, we carried our gear a mile uphill to the pack mule pickup spot, dropping our packs and beginning the journey back to civilization. The two miles to the village is almost all uphill and every step I took I was thankful I was not carry an extra forty pounds on my back. At one point a woman, most likely in her late sixties with an incredibly heavy-looking load, passed me. We had two empty spots on the mule and offered one to her, but she refused. I made a note to myself that I was getting shown up by someone old enough to be my mom and needed to do some serious training when I got home.

Passing through the village I was once again in awe. The charming, ramshackle village was a place where nothing made sense to my modern eyes. Houses had broken or boarded up windows, trash lined the yards: but then, in complete juxtaposition, one house had a neatly manicured lawn and fresh paint. Rotting fruit hung from budding trees and the place screamed poverty, yet the school had a magnificent and colorful playground and both Christian and LDS churches stood proudly, claiming their place in the community. We passed children walking to school and a mom pushing a young child in a stroller who excitedly waved to us. Two happy puppies chased us along a fence line, dipping under it to follow us for a bit before turning back towards home. Locals rode by on pack mules blasting gangster rap. At one point two rogue mules thundered by us with a desperate local chasing after them. I have so many questions about this little, remote community. Questions I will likely never get answers to. It is a place I will always hold dear in my heart.

As we hiked through the forest outside of the village, the sky was brilliant blue and birds chattered in the trees like they were singing us a farewell song. Forest gave way to desert canyon, our boots crunching over red-rock and sand as we began the ascent up grueling switchbacks, climbing most of the 2,500 foot evelvation gain over the last mile and a half. I was again humbled, and reminded myself that however tough I think I am – I am NOT – and I need to train harder. Out of sheer stubbornness and determination I am confident I would have made it out of that canyon with my pack, but most likely I would have been found lying incapacitated next to the car days later.

Even pack free, I imagine that climbing out of that canyon felt like returning from a mission to the moon. For three days we stepped into a time and place light years away from our modern, comfortable lives. We hiked approximately fifty miles over four days (twelve of them carrying heavy gear) and experienced an otherworldly land I feel inadequate to describe. As long as this blog is, I still feel I am leaving out so much. We met people from from various places and cultures, and together we all shared an unforgettable and indescribable experience.

***note, no photos are allowed inside the village so if you are curious, you will have to go see it for yourself.

If there is a moral to this story, it is to go live as big as you can. Take that chance! Experience that adventure! Never settle for a mundane life – because this crazy world has infinitely more to offer you than you can ever imagine. Go LIVE!