Before each of my solo adventures, I have traditionally had a night of contemplation where I ask myself what in the actual hell I am doing. Before my four-day Suwannee River trip in November of 2022, I sat in my van, Forrest, drinking Fireball whiskey and crying over a stupid boy, wondering if I should scrap the whole thing. Though I never questioned hiking Supai in April of 2023, after dropping Julie off at the airport post-hike, I sat in a rundown motel room in Page, AZ and asked myself why I didn’t just go home like a normal person. Before paddling back down the Suwannee on July 4^th weekend of 2023, I had a similar conversation with myself as I lay in Forrest, sweltering in the 90 degree heat, trying to sleep before setting off in the morning. Every one of those trips was a momentous, awe-inspiring experience that I wouldn’t trade for the world….but in retrospect I realize that I seriously considered bailing on each of them.

Now there I was again, the night before I began my hike on the Hopi Salt Trail, sitting in a motel room at the Cameron Trading Post, trying desperately to figure out how to lighten my 40ish pound pack and still carry enough water. Was I totally insane? I had gotten lost trying to get out of the rental car parking garage for fuck sake! There’s no way I was qualified to venture into the Grand Canyon, descending 2,800 feet over 3.5 miles of treacherous terrain unsupervised. Hopefully, my trail finding skills were better on the actual trail, which was notorious for being poorly marked and hard to follow. 

I was unqualified and undertrained, and I was also cursed with the onset of my period. Seriously?! I was about to set off on the most physically challenging endeavor of my life and I was operating at about 50% capacity. Not only was this a logistics and energy problem, but I had to wonder if the animals would be more likely to stalk and eat me, like sharks when you go swimming. I had spent a sleepless night the previous week researching mountain lion attacks and felt somewhat confident that they would most likely leave me alone under normal circumstances, same with the bears and coyotes, but what about the fact that I was bleeding profusely? Was this even safe?  The timing could not be worse.

I embrace my femininity with a variety of half ass attempts at being pretty, like press on nails that are usually missing from several fingers, or eyeliner that I’ve most likely smudged. I love fashion, though my sense of style is definitely unique. I own an obscene amount of thrift store dresses, but haven’t had a real haircut in ages, even though one of my best friends is a stylist. I’ve never properly figured out this how-to be-a -girl thing and at that moment I was cursing my ovaries. For the love of God, rip the damn things out, I didn’t need them anymore anyway! Due to medical issues, I had considered surgery to do exactly that, but decided there was absolutely no way I could sit still long enough to recover, so ultimately I just continued to weather my monthly nightmare. There I was, yet again, with an adventure starting tomorrow and hemorrhaging like I was going to die. Marvelous.  

I woke up around 7am and scarfed down some leftover frybread from the night before, wishing I wouldn’t have left onion rings in the same box. I showered, loaded the car and started the hour-long drive to the trail head. 

My pre-hike jitters had worn off and my excitement grew as I drove. There’s simply no way to be negative in the middle of a world that is so incredibly beautiful. The bluest sky imaginable contrasted by the red rock and desolate Mars-esque landscape was mesmerizing. I turned left on a back road with a sign prominently displaying the need for a permit to proceed, then drove another 20ish miles on a one-car wide dirt road fraught with pot holes and washouts.  I happily sang my reggae music the entire way and was thankful I had rented a Jeep. 

At the trailhead were two parked vehicles, I couldn’t decide if I was happy or disappointed that I may have to share the river with others. The grey camper van was a dead giveaway that they would probably be decent people. 

I walked by a herd of goats and started the easy, quarter mile walk to the edge of the canyon. Once at the cliffside I took a moment to process the breathtaking landscape and what I was about to do. I could see the Little Colorado River glistening vibrant blue in the far distance, and noted how steep the rocky “trail” (if you could call it one) was below me. Summoning up my courage I took the first of countless steps that day and began my descent into the canyon. 

The first couple of hours were spent navigating large boulders and a lot of rock hopping, including a drop down a rock wall about seven feet high. I dropped my pack ahead of me, thankful it found purchase among the rocks and didn’t continue down the steep decline without me. My legs were tired, but I remained confident. I had read somewhere that when I reached an overhang on the left side and had to walk under the canyon wall, the trail would then cross to the right side of the canyon for the remainder of the hike. I acknowledged that it was a difficult hike, but without a pack it really wouldn’t have been that hard and I was happy that I was already halfway there.

Except I wasn’t. Whoever said the trail is approximately 3.5 miles each way sits on a throne of lies, and the people who wrote very adamant reviews that the trail was ridiculously challenging and dangerous were 100% correct. 

As I continued, I turned my music on to lighten my mood and curb the overwhelmingly intense physical and mental pressure of such a technical hike. I began crossing over to the other side of the canyon, following a cairn that marked the trail. My toes were screaming at me. With every step down, they slammed into the front of my hiking shoes. I tried side stepping, I tried climbing down rocks backwards, but there was no way to avoid the repeated beating both big toes were taking. The slightly declining wash was almost worse than the bouldering and every single step was excruciating.  

I stopped for a break at one point to deal with my lady issues, eat a snack and swap out my shoes. I love my Merrells, but not today. The other pair were my trusty Jambus, water shoes but with good tread and much easier on the toes. Jambus are much lighter shoes which meant I was adding extra weight to my pack by swapping them out and carrying my Merrells, however it was the only option if I was going to survive this hike.

I continued on my way and was thankful for the relief. Oddly, my back wasn’t bothering me too badly yet, but my thighs were starting to give out. They didn’t hurt, they simply didn’t want to comply and I had to be extra careful with every step to ensure I didn’t roll an ankle or lose my balance. I was starting to realize I may be in over my head and with the treacherous conditions, this trek was as mentally exhausting as it was physically. 

On the opposite side of the canyon the trail alternated between ups and downs. A few times I realized I didn’t see any cairns and had to backtrack, finding my way again relatively quickly.

I could see the river occasionally in the distance, taunting me. How could something look so close and still be so far away? I made a game of out following the cairns, challenging myself to get to the next one, then the next. My toes were in agony and I was certain I’d lose both of my big toenails. My thighs were so weak I couldn’t take actual steps but simply shuffle on the downhill parts. The uphill parts were easier to some degree, requiring different muscles and allowing me to use my arms to help pull myself upwards.

How in the hell was I going to get out of here? 

I encountered a cute, happy couple briskly walking the other direction, out of the canyon. They told me to enjoy the river and said I should be the only one there. I thanked them and wished them a safe trip out, smiling and trying to act as though I wasn’t near death. They both had day packs and clearly hadn’t camped overnight. About ten minutes later I encountered another couple, which made sense given there were two cars at the trailhead. they also smiled and wished me well. “Am I getting close?” I asked, trying not to sound desperate. “Oh yes”, the girl replied, “probably another 40 minutes and the next little stretch is easy”. 

Those 40 minutes took me every bit of two hours. I could see how the “easy” part would have been very manageable without a 40lb pack, searing toes and Jello thighs,  but I had to shuffle along like an elderly person with balance issues. Someone had left a walking stick by the crossover and I don’t believe I would have been able to continue without it. This allowed me to use more of my upper body strength and give the slightest bit of respite to my aching legs.

At one point, with the river in view but still probably at least a mile from my destination, I curled up on a rock and fought back the lump in my through and intense need to cry. Everything hurt. My hands were cactus stung and bloodied from the rocks. My ankles were scuffed and scabbing over. I was sweltering, but didn’t have the energy to change clothes. Neoprene pants were a bad idea and I had ripped two big holes in the rear, sliding down rock faces. I wanted to stop, but there was nowhere to camp, just never-ending rock in every direction. I had to keep going, but each step I took brought me further away from where I needed to go to get OUT of this place. I had no idea how I would get back, but I knew my legs were going to be shot for days. 

I prayed a lot that day. I also repeated the word “Mexico” over and over, out loud, reminding myself that I had to make it out of this canyon alive because I had tickets to a Reggae Festival in Mexico in two weeks. Damn! My battered toes were going to look nasty in flipflops. I reminded myself that every step was one step closer to the bottom. With my mantra, my music and my walking stick, I somehow found the strength to continue.  

The river felt like a mirage, moving further away from me. The reviews on AllTrails had people claiming they made the hike in 3.5 – 5 hours. I was at six and moving slowly. I was glad I had done this alone so I wasn’t torturing anyone else, and so no one could see how weak and clearly unprepared I was. 

I finally shuffled down to the helipad at the bottom with a big “no camping” sign and started following side trails hoping to find a spot  to set up my tent. I HAD to get this pack off! I followed a tree lined trail that dead ended at the beautiful electric blue water, but without any kind of beach or easy access, it was a grass lined bank with a steep drop off. 

I wandered back to the helipad and followed a different trail, finally finding a campsite. There were two empty blue barrels, presumably for water, and a few abandoned crates of camping gear, probably supplies for either scientists or adventure groups.

I was thrilled to have found a place to set my stuff. I quickly set up my tent, then grabbed a towel and found easier access to the riverbank, where I stripped down to my birthday suit and waded into the unbelievably blue water. I washed the blood and dust from my body and scrubbed my sweat soaked clothes in the river. I had worn the stupid neoprene pants to keep warm since it was in the 20s that morning, but in the afternoon sun I had sweat so much that when I sat down to rest, the rocks had been wet and literally made me question whether I had peed myself. As I bathed, my feet stuck in the goopy mineral deposits along the bank, and I almost lost my Jambus trying clumsily to get out. I snapped a few pictures of the mythical looking river that I had just about killed myself to see, and headed back up the trail towards my tent. All I wanted now was some food and to lie down.

Back at camp I hung my wet clothes from a tree, put on clean, dry clothes, and used my rented SAT phone to text and let my parents know I was alive. The temperature was dropping quickly as the sun began to set. I gathered firewood before venturing out to find the spring I had read about and retrieve more water. The river water is too rich with minerals to drink from, even filtered it was said to taste awful and be full of salt, so the spring was a blessing. I had read one review about parasites and someone getting sick, but I was going to take my chances. 

I wandered a bit, marveling at how much easier walking was without the extra pounds on my back. While my toes hurt and my thighs were akin to wet noodles, I had no real issues exploring around the helipad and quickly found the spring. The spring was clear, unlike the milky blue water of the Little Colorado, and strangely warm. I filled my water bottle and sat peacefully on a rock, taking in the grandeur of the massive red rock canyon walls around me, the primitive wildness of it all, and this peaceful little nook. I then headed back to camp. 

As light faded from the sky, I spread my towel on the ground as a seat and began prepping dinner. I had forgotten a spoon, so I used my new knife to fashion chopsticks. I filtered the spring water, then boiled it to add to my freeze-dried meal, building a fire as my food cooked. Dinner was actually pretty good and after finishing, I used my tiny kettle to make coffee for dessert. That’s when the mice began to infiltrate my camp. At first, I thought I had one curious friend, but quickly realized I was under siege. I burned the leftover food, package and all, then gathered my other meals and snacks, sealing them in a Ziplock bag, then placing them in my day pack and hanging the pack from a tree with rope. I’d read about mice chewing through tents and packs to get to food and was hopeful they would get bored and go away now that the food was secured. They did not, and as I lay in the tent after dinner, I could hear them scurrying about. Several times I flicked the tent, launching a small mouse into the air. It was going to be a long night.  

Initially when I planned this trip, I wanted to hike the extra twelve miles roundtrip to the Confluence with the Colorado River on day two, then hike out on day three. Logic now told me that was a dumb idea, and I should consider hiking out tomorrow. Even if I only made it halfway, the wash where I had crossed sides in the canyon had some places for a tent, and taking two days to hike out would break up the torture. As eager as I was to have come here and as magical of a place as it was, I saw what I came to see and I just wanted to wiggle my nose and be done with it. Unfortunately I still had a brutal return trip to make with muscles that would no doubt seize up overnight and toes that were so bruised and battered no amount of taping them was going to help.

Thanks to the coffee, I lay in my tent reading until after 10pm and continued to flick mice from the sides. I was reading the book Jungle, a true story about three friends and an imposter tour guide who got lost in the Bolivian Jungle, they actually made a movie about it with the Harry Potter guy, whose name eludes me. At one point in the book, the main character is being stalked by a curious panther and he uses a lighter and bug spray as a makeshift torch to keep it at bay. I actually stopped reading for a moment to pull out my lighter and sunscreen, hoping it would work the same way, and placed them next to my pillow, just in case.

As usual, I woke up around 3am. needing to use the bathroom.  I stumbled out of the tent and found a nearby place to relieve myself, then clumsily made my way back to bed. As I lay down, I realized I had forgotten to zip the rain guard. As I unzipped the door to correct the problem, I glanced up for the first time and realized how incredibly epic the sky was. Stars unlike anything I had seen before. I lay there that night with my head hanging out of the tent,  staring at the sky for God knows how long. An immense feeling of peace washed over me and I felt entirely happy.

The next morning, I rose around 7am and knew my plan to hike out that day was the wisest choice. I massaged my aching muscles before making coffee, then packed up camp, cooked breakfast, refilled water bottles at the spring, and explored the area. I hit the trail around 10 am, giving me enough to hike all the way out if my legs held up. 

As I began to weave my way up the side of the canyon, I was immediately winded. While climbing up was easier than going down given the condition of my toes and my thighs, I am used to living at twenty feet above sea level and the air was much thinner here. I knew right away the hike out was going to kick my ass as badly as the way in, possibly worse. 

I followed the cairns back through the desolate desert landscape, following one side of the canyon wall, then hiking down into the wash and back up the opposite side. The crossover section is the only part of the trail fit for camping, but I wasn’t ready to give up for the day. Since I wasn’t staying the night, I dumped out over a liter of extra water to lighten my pack and kept going. 

When I came to the overhang, I encountered a group of six hikers with camping gear heading in and helped them navigate around a section of the trail. It was clearly their first time and I worried that like me, they might be getting in over their heads. Looking at the time, I hoped they would make it to camp before dark. They seemed completely unaware that they were only about a third of the way there.

The crossover and overhang sections have some relatively flat parts, but I knew the ascent was coming. Every time I looked back, I felt like I had made so much progress, but when I looked forward I realized how far I still had to go. My legs were giving out and once again, there was nowhere I could camp, I had to keep going. I had hung onto the walking stick and it had helped tremendously, but I laid it on a rock at the start of the heavy climbing, hoping someone else would find it as useful as I had. I was now Spidermaning my way up rock ledges. I leaned forward and used my arms to propel myself along…at this point I was basically crawling up the side of the canyon wall.

When I reached the seven foot rock face, I found foot holds and somehow managed to scale it, but the loose rock and incredibly steep climb was treacherous. I could see the top of the canyon wall and it was so close, but I couldn’t find a passable path upwards or any cairns marking the way, just a gap between two fallen rocks. There were footprints in front of the boulders so assuming I had found the trail, I ducked down, turned sideways and tried to slide through the tight space with my pack and tent wedging up against the sides. When I popped out on the other side, I was on top of a cliff, looking several hundred feet straight down. I couldn’t back up or turn around because of the gear on my back. I tried desperately to maneuver myself around but almost fell trying. At times like this, I’d love to turn off my internal dialog because that very unhelpful voice in my head spoke loudly to me “This is it! This is how it ends”. While in reality, it was probably only a minute or two, it felt like ages that I stood, completely stuck on that cliffside, unable to move and certain death if I fell. Eventually I managed to sit down on the edge and use my hands and feet to slowly walk myself backward and upward, then managed to roll onto my stomach and crawl haphazardly back through the gap between the two rocks, shifting constantly to keep my pack and tent from getting stuck. I sat for a moment in shock at how closely I had just come to dying. 

My legs were done, but I forced them to stand and continued crawling out of the canyon. I would have kissed the ground at the top but was afraid if I bent down, I’d never be able to get back up. I had forgotten the trailhead was another jaunt to the parking lot and sighed. As flat and easy as it was, I was back to shuffling the remainder of the way, which was all my body would allow. 

Relief washed over me as I reached the car. I chugged the Vitamin Water I had left for myself and inhaled a bag of Doritos as I drove back to Cameron, hoping to stay at the Trading Post Motel again. My mouth watered as I remember the turkey dinner they had advertised at the restaurant. After finishing my chips, I called my parents and best friends to wish them a Happy Thanksgiving and let them know I was alive. When I arrived at the motel, the no vacancy sign was on. I hobbled into the gift shop and confirmed that was the case, unsure of where I would sleep that night. I used the restroom, realizing I hadn’t urinated since about 8am….good Lord I was dehydrated. Washing my hands, I felt both a sense of relief and sadness as I watched the red-brown water swirl its way down the drain.

I was hoping I didn’t have to sleep in my car but was so exhausted it wouldn’t have mattered much. I decided to drive the 45 minutes to Tuba City, since it was on my way towards Monument Valley, the next day’s destination. Thankfully, I found a room at a tiny dive motel and after picking up my Thanksgiving dinner consisting of chicken tenders, tater tots and a milkshake from Sonic, I called it a night. 

I awoke the next morning barely able to move. My legs had completely seized up during the night and my arms ached from pulling myself along the trail. I somehow managed to shower and dress myself, then load up the car. From past hikes, I knew that the more I moved, the less pain I would feel so I gritted my teeth and did my best to pretend I wasn’t in agony.

After responding to several work emails and grabbing breakfast at Sonic, I hit the road, heading for Monument Valley. Making my way east on Route 160 I saw a sign the read Navajo National Monument and decided to check it out. The weather was supposed to be sunny, however as I turned left onto US Highway 564 the sky darkened abruptly, and it began to snow. Whiteout conditions followed and when I reached the visitor’s center, it was clear that hiking out to the monument wasn’t an option. There was zero visibility, and I was secretly thankful because I doubted my legs would have been able to manage the short hike anyway. I wandered around the small museum inside, admiring the model of the Betatakin Cliff Dwellings that I wouldn’t get to see and hoped I would have the chance to visit again someday.

Leaving the visitor’s center, I was thankful to have four-wheel drive, the road conditions were deteriorating quickly and as I made it back to the main road, several emergency vehicles whizzed by, sirens blaring. It occurred to me that if I had stayed in the canyon as I initially intended, I would be hiking out in blizzard conditions, slippery rock and unable to see. My thoughts turned to the six hikers I had seen heading to the river and I said a little prayer for their safety.

After passing through the town of Kayenta, the massive rock formations began, and a heady feeling set in. There’s something indescribably magical about Monument Valley. It’s a spiritual place that tugs at my soul in ways I can’t properly explain. I remembered driving the exact same route back in April, when I had spontaneously started crying at being so suddenly overwhelmed with emotion.

The Airbnb teepee I had rented for the night wasn’t available for check-in yet, so I continued to Forrest Gump Point, stopping to take photos and standing in awe at the alien landscape.

Beyond Monument Valley is the town of Mexican Hat, UT, a place I had not previously been. I continued heading northeast on Route 163, hoping to see something of interest. After crossing a small bridge and passing through some semblance of a small town, I was back on desert road with nothing remarkable to look at. I decided to turn around and start heading back towards Monument Valley. As I returned to the bridge, I noticed a sign in the window of a small restaurant that read “beer” and decided to stop. Alcohol is prohibited on Navajo Nation, which encompasses everywhere I had been over the past four days, and it sounded like the perfect afternoon treat.

As I sat inside, sipping an IPA and eating chili, it began to rain. I watched a skinny, orange tabby cat in the parking lot hiding under cars and suddenly felt a deep sadness wash over me. As vehicles left, he would move to another spot, finding warmth from the engines and drinking from the puddles. I wondered where he found water when it wasn’t raining, which was rare out here in the middle of the desert. It was cold and windy outside and my heart broke a little in that moment, knowing that he didn’t have anywhere warm to go home to.

After paying my tab to the strange and overly-friendly server, I navigated toward my rental for the night. As I drove back past Forrest Gump Point, dark clouds threatened more snow, but rogue sunbeams shone brightly on the snow capped monuments giving them an even more mythical feel.

Pulling up at the small campground circle comprised of several teepees, a small cottage and a handful of tent-sites, I smiled. Aaron, the Navajo host, helped me get situated. I hobbled awkwardly, retrieving my belongings while he brought me extra blankets and space heater, noting that it was going to be in the low 20s that night. He then had me follow him to the cottage, which he and his father had built, and showed me the Navajo art that lined the walls, several paintings, handmade rugs and pieces of pottery made by his own family. When we returned to my teepee, a small black dog with snaggle-teeth lay on the second twin-sized bed. “Oh Peewee!” exclaimed Aaron, and he explained that Peewee was a stray that he was caring for, along with several other dogs and cats on the property. I quickly assured Aaron that Peewee could stay and he never moved from that spot until sunrise the next morning.

Aaron left to assist other campers and asked if he could come back and play me a welcome song, after they were settled. I enthusiastically agreed and as promised, he returned later that evening with a drum and a flute, and sang/played me a Navajo song which he loosely translated to mean “thank you, thank you Holy Spirit for watching over us and protecting us”. He gave me a small, homemade instrument to shake and we played in harmony. We then sat and talked about the challenges of the local youth, the state of the world and how much better things would be if we all treated each other with respect and kindness. Aaron and I exchanged phone numbers and agreed to keep in touch. His genuine character and obvious love for others moved me. He then excused himself and I heard him move on to the next teepee where he continued to share his musical talent.

The snow stopped, however the temperature dropped significantly that night and I was incredibly grateful for the space heater and layer of warm blankets. I awoke to watch the sunrise with Aaron and the other campers, then started the Jeep and waited for the ice to melt before beginning my six hour drive back to Phoenix, where I would spend the night with a friend and fly home first thing the following morning.

As I drove back to Phoenix, stereo blasting, my heart was full. Perhaps I was just born different, but I have this insatiable need to experience things. To FEEL things. I will get a crazy idea in my head it becomes a personal challenge to make it come to life. There’s something inside of me that needs to fulfill these crazy ideas like I need air to breathe. I research vigorously before each trip. In this case, reading trail reviews, watching YouTube videos (many of people who started the hike and turned around), following the weather, even monitoring river flow charts to ensure the water would be its signature electric blue. While I was ridiculously sore, absolutely exhausted, and also quite sure I was going to lose my toenails, I was also incredibly happy and proud. The Little Colorado is probably not a hike I will ever do again. It’s certainly not a hike I would recommend, especially to anyone who isn’t a serious backpacker in excellent shape, but I had done it! And the icing on the cake was my spiritual evening in Monument Valley, truly one of the most magnificent and awe-inspiring places on the planet. As I drove, I began to contemplate where I might go next. I had really been hoping to see the Ten Thousand Islands off the coast of Marco Island, Florida…..perhaps that would be my next adventure.