Heaven on Earth: Havasu Falls
The old couple hadn’t lied to us: you really can hear it from a quarter mile away.
The turquoise-blue water weaved its way through a massive expanse of high orange walls, carrying with it the reddish-brown dirt that accumulated at its banks. The milky blue water falls over several major cliffsides before reaching the Colorado River nearly 10 miles downstream. The serenity and remoteness of this sacred canyon is the closest place to heaven I have ever been immersed in.
The Supai reservation sits 100 miles away from any major civilization. Driving from the South Rim of the Grand Canyon, we had to travel around the entirety of Indian land, before reaching Route 66. After about 2 hours, you reach Indian Road 18, which takes you 60 miles deep into Indian land before reaching Hualapai Hilltop. Indian Road 18 is a mostly dead straight, unmaintained road in the depths of the Arizona wilderness, where wildlife frequents the roadways. For the full 2 hours we spent on that road, we did not see another car.
The hilltop sits at the far southern end of the canyon and looks north towards the small reservation called Supai. Approaching the trailhead with at least 50 pounds of gear for each of the 6 of us, we were as ready as we could possibly be. Or so we thought.
Now, we had done our research; we did not get camping reservations, and we were quite aware of the massive distances we would be walking on that Sunday. The hike just to Supai was 8 miles. Then another 2 miles just to get to Havasu falls. That makes 10 miles one way. We did not have the capacity or the permission to stay overnight, and even though day hiking is technically ‘not allowed’, we would do anything to see these waterfalls. Even pay $88 each, which is exactly what we did.
The first mile from the hilltop takes you down a very steep 2000 vertical-foot drop over the course of one mile. As we walked, pack mules walked alone right past us. When we would approach them, they would stop and move over to the side for us to pass. At the end of a pack of 12 or so mules was an Indian, dressed in full gear. He would always greet us with a smile and a nod.
The dirt was incredibly red.
I had never seen real red dirt before. As aesthetically pleasing as it was, it became annoyingly strenuous. It was powdery, and for every big step you attempted to drive with your toes, you sunk a few inches deeper.
Coming from the green, damp climates of the forests in Northern California, Arizona was an alien world to me. The canyon walls surrounded us like a giant maze. The Grand Canyon truly is a magical place; regardless of what pictures show, there is no real way to describe it’s incredible size. Being inside of it felt remarkably comfortable, a cradle of protection from the empty desert that surrounds it like a beautiful disease.
There’s nothing quite like being on the canyon floor.
From the canyon floor, you walk into another, smaller canyon. The walls go from being hundreds of feet apart to a mere 50 feet from wall to wall.
It’s nature’s world, we are truly just living in it. Looking around feels like being in Bug’s Life.
The wind, heat, and seasonal monsoons say what stays and what goes. The remnants of past waterways and wind erosion surround us like cave paintings. Time stands still in the middle of nowhere.
In some places, the rock walls sit directly overhead, casting a shadow of relief over the burning valley. Even in March, the heat reached 85 degrees in mid-day, and dropped to a frigid 28 degrees overnight.
An occasional speck of green would show itself in the mostly lifeless valley (aside from small desert shrubbery). We passed by a pair of lone oaks on our journey.
The canyon walls opened like a doorway by around our 7th mile. The remnants of an old riverbed turned into a deep flowing river just past the blazing SUPAI RESERVATION 1 MILE sign. A desert forest shone bright green around the river in the contrast of the red walls above it.
The town was very quaint. Aside from the helicopter flying overhead every ten minutes on its daily commute back and forth from the reservation to the hilltop, it was very quiet. As amazing as it was, I felt relatively guilty for being intrusive on their land, despite the many visitors every day. By our 8th mile, we had finally reached the registration office.
After an apologetic (and expensive) payment from us, the guilty white people, we walked the rest of the two miles to the falls. It was starting to get very hot, and the red dirt fumed with the heat from the sun. We walked along a teal-blue creek before reaching the first waterfalls.
The river called to us, but we were determined to get to Havasu falls. We promised our turnaround time would be 4:30, which left us with little time to take it all in.
We passed by an older couple who exclaimed how the “next falls” was absolutely incredible. They said you could hear it when you would get close.
The trail runs flat while the water carves a deeper and deeper path into the canyon, until it is just out of view. As the banks turned into 50 foot cliffs, the water became increasingly turbulent. The sound of the river was a lively and constant reminder to push on.
Until eventually, we saw it. And it did not disappoint.
Hiking down, the spray of the falls was a soft, gentle relief from the brutality of the forthcoming. Dipping your feet into the crystal blue water was a 70-degree blessing.
By the time we reached the base of the falls, we were physically done. There are several others just a short ways down the trail, but we all decided to savor Havasu instead. Mooney Falls, however. That is for next time.
4:30 came around with massive disappointment. We knew this hike would be difficult, but fuck. We were only halfway. We reluctantly packed up our things and lifted our stiff extremities off the safety of the riverside.
The hike back was fucking brutal. I mean brutal. After awhile, the canyon starts to play tricks on your mind. Everything looks the same, every turn, every rock, it starts to feel as if you’re walking in circles. It’s also an average 18% grade heading south, which did not make it any easier. We also made the potentially deadly mistake of not refilling our water at the town — we had run out of water at the peak of the day after about a mile from the town.
After a few mishaps, we made it to Hualapai Hilltop all in one piece. Luckily, the horse water tank had been left near the parking lot, so we filled all of our canisters and guzzled as much as we could. Never in my life had water tasted so good, even if it was for the asses.
17 hours and nearly 30 miles of walking later (according to my iPhone), we had reached the safety of the car. The subsequent 3 hour drive back to the campsite breezed by, and by 1 am, virtually 21 hours since our day had started, I fell into my tent for the heaviest sleep I have ever had. Ever.
This was one day of a 3 day road trip to the Grand Canyon that I took for my Spring Break. It was a 2,000 mile trip from our school in Camarillo to South Rim, then eventually back to San Jose in the Bay Area. For me, this was my first time in Arizona, and the farthest I’ve ever been away from home.
There’s a barrier that you have to break when you leave home, which is comfort. Leaving the safety of knowing street names, knowing that you have a place to sleep at night, knowing your neighbors, all a part of your comfort. This trip, personally, was about stepping out what was comfortable. Seeing a different world than that I knew, and just simply growing as a human being.
We all have the capacity to leave our comfort, nomadness is in our blood. Allow yourself to wander. If some stupid kids on college budget could do it, so could you. Who knows, you might have to drive hundreds of miles, you might have to lose some sleep, you might even have to walk 30 fucking miles — but you may just find a hidden gem, all for yourself.
You might even discover that the part that gives you the most growth wasn’t the end of the road, but the journey to it.
“No one saves us but ourselves. No one can and no one may. We ourselves must walk the path.”
