Havasu Falls
Day 1 – Journey to Supai and Havasu Falls
As I took my first step down from the Hualapai Hilltop, I realize that I am actually stepping into the Grand Canyon. I’m amazed at its vastness. I honestly feel a bit afraid. The southwest rim stood at about 7000 ft in elevation. It was about 20 degrees Fahrenheit and there was a dusting of snow on the ground. I look back at my rented car, which almost seemed to invite me back into its warm cabin. I had to leave it, though, and hoped it would be safe on its own parked there for the next 2 1/2 days. It was caked in snow from the slippery drive to get to this point. It was becoming quite the desert trooper.
I only had a sweatshirt and fleece to protect myself from the cold. I decided to leave my winter coat behind due to limited space in my suitcase. I figured, in my east coast naiveté, that it be warm inside the canyon as I descended in elevation. I felt really cold, but there was nothing to do but to continue forward. My body in motion would provide the heat I needed. Before I get to Havasu Falls, I have to pass the village of Supai. This village, located 8 miles north of the hilltop, is one of the most isolated communities in America with access only by foot, mule or helicopter. The Havasupai, realizing the commodity they have with the falls, appropriately charges its visitors for access. It’s not a cheap hike and entrance is especially limited in the summer.
Though I would be a dot in the Grand Canyon, I soon realized that I would be far from alone. Several mule trains, led by Native American men on horseback, passed me heading uphill as I headed down. The mules are loaded with tourists’ luggage. I step out of the way in deference each time, but the Native American men and their mules pay no attention to me. They would take the luggage to a storage area on the hilltop to await the tourists who own them.
When I get down from the hilltop and onto the canyon floor, I am awestruck at the scene before me. Words cannot describe how large the canyon is, how beautiful it is, or how small I felt. So, I will not attempt to describe it. You must see the Grand Canyon in person to understand it.
I never travel without a map and compass. It’s a paranoia of mine, but a safe one in my opinion. I didn’t know what to expect before coming here and wanted to be prepared. The route to Supai, though, was about the easiest navigation I’ve ever encountered in my years of backpacking. It is pretty much a straight-shot north.
As you travel north, the canyon narrows so that there is really only one way to go for much of the journey. Even if you feel you’re getting lost, you can always seek and follow the steady trail of mule droppings littering the path from the hilltop to Supai. It’s a heavily-used trail – used by Supai residents, tourists, and mule trains alike. This makes the formula simple. Follow the mule droppings and if you don’t see mule droppings or any other signs of travel, you’ve lost the trail.
The next few hours of walking are bliss. My head clears and I get the high I get when I walk into the wilderness. Besides the men leading the mule trains I saw earlier, I only see about 3 or 4 people on the trail. The sun comes out and it’s much more comfortable than at the rim. It’s easy walking, with the grade going slightly downhill. It would be more difficult getting out, for sure. But I didn’t need to think about that now.
About seven miles in, there is a fork in the road. Turning left would take you the village. Going straight into a repetitive maze of canyon walls. I decided to go left. Shortly after this fork is when I first hear water. It becomes apparent I’m nearing Havasu creek.
Then, it happens. I see a stream of water. It’s narrow, fast and absolutely shocking. I didn’t expect to see the signature blue water this early – and because I didn’t expect it, I hadn’t noticed at first. However, when the sunlight hit the water, there was an iridescent, topaz glow. I enter a patch of trees. As I look around, I realize that I have reached someplace special.
As I stare down at this water, I can scarcely believe that I’m observing something in reality. I believe I’ve entered a make-believe place and I forget that my modern life full of obligations exists. In these kinds of moments, I’m reminded why I hike – to find magical places like this.
I’m way ahead of schedule, so I begin to saunter. I take it slow and just enjoy this place. There’s a small forest, undoubtedly fed by the water, and I walk among the trees. Eventually, though, I see some tops of houses indicating that I’ve made it to the Havasupai village of Supai.
When I reach the town of Supai, it feels like I’ve stepped back in time about 50 years. There are no automobiles at all – only animals kept to haul loads. The houses are old, with some in an absolutely wretched state. The residents I saw outside seemed to perform their tasks in a deliberately slow rhythm looking as if they were aiming to occupy as much time as possible.
The town center consisted of a large, fenced-off area big enough for two helipads, where I saw a couple tourists land. There’s also a post office, a restaurant, and what appeared to be a town hall. I also see the lodge, where those looking to sleep indoors would stay. Of course, I would be heading to the campground. There’s no feeling at all of being conspicuous, as I’m sure I’m nothing more than one of the many thousands of tourists who’ve passed through this place.
I have to wait around for an hour since the person staffing the office of tourism wasn’t around. To pass the time, I order a cheeseburger at the restaurant. It was warm inside and I savor the last decent food I’ll have for a couple days. Following this, it would be only freeze-dried fare, cold cuts, and energy bars. Some schoolkids come in shortly after and order food. They talk of normal, teenage stuff and were constantly on their phones. In summary, the kids seemed normal and American. It would be hard to distinguish the place from a normal American town except for the canyon walls towering over it and the 8-mile trek to further civilization.
After finally checking in with the office (or rather shack) of tourism, I head toward the campground. A feral, village dog follows me. I guess that it wanted me to give it food, but I don’t. I throw a stick into the woods and got rid of it. Little did I know that this would not be last encounter with feral dogs. The path to the campground is noticeably more sandy and soft than the path to Supai. It goes notably more downhill. I pass a cemetery with a sign asking not to take photos, so I don’t.
Then, the waters open up and I enter an area above the falls.
It’s not long after when I encounter Havasu Falls. It’s unmistakable as I’d seen it dozens of times before in pictures. However, I don’t savor it at that moment since I wanted to desperately put down my pack and set up camp. There was plenty of daylight left. I’m apparently the only person in the campground, which was a bit of a surprise. I guess there weren’t many people looking to camp in 15-degree weather. I set up my camp and it’s absolutely idyllic situated right by a winding section of the creek with the signature blue water.
Once I’m done with setting up camp, I take a sip of the Johnny Walker Black I brought and head back to Havasu Falls. Though I go back there feeling happy and healthy, things kind of went awry there. I found another group of 4 or 5 campers that had pitched their tent right in front of the falls. This was not allowed and quite obnoxious, in my opinion. Since I don’t enforce the rules and the campers were friendly enough, I let it slide. The falls were so loud I didn’t think it’d be a good spot to camp anyways.
What annoyed me more was that the campers had led two of the feral, village dogs with them. Perhaps they were feeding them because they approached me for food. I didn’t have any and after a couple minutes while I was taking photos, one of those dogs bit my ankle and started jumping up and down to try to bite my wrists. I was not sure what was going on, as I was simply walking near the falls one second and the next I felt dog teeth pressing down on me. I had never been bitten by a dog before and wasn’t sure how to handle it.
I tried to escape the dog by running away, but it chased me. I decided to pick up a rock and face it. I motioned that I would throw it at him, but didn’t. It did not bite me anymore, but it did not leave me alone either. This led to an awkward standoff for a few minutes and it was quite the task getting rid of that dog. It was honestly a bit frightening.
I’m a bit unnerved when I make it back to camp. However, I try to shake it off. Unlike the mountains, night comes quickly in the canyon. I try to do some stretches, but got quite cold and quickly retreated to my sleeping bag. Since it was December, night fell early. By 5:30 pm it was pitch black outside.
It was about 15 degrees Fahrenheit overnight, and I remember being very cold. I decided I needed to buy a warmer sleeping bag at some point. I make a freeze-dried meal. I then occupy myself with some Kindle books and listen to music. I drink Johnny Walker Black. What else is there to do in a tent at night?
It’s hard to sleep well in the cold. It was especially hard because I kept thinking that the dog that bit me would find my campsite and cause me more trouble. I check outside the tent at every aberrant sound. It was not the most restful night.
Day 2 – Mooney & Beaver Falls
I get up as the first light comes up. I look outside my tent and see the blue water. My body’s in pain from sleeping on an inflatable pad and being confined to the tent all night long. I warm up some water to have freeze-dried egg scramble and coffee. My spirits lift as I get some warmth in me. My throat feels scratchy. I think I may have drunk more whiskey than I should have.
It takes me a couple hours to actually get going. The hardest part of winter camping is getting out of the sleeping bag in the morning. My planned route that day would be going north a further 7 miles and turning around at the intersection of Havasu Creek and the Colorado River. On the way, I would pass Mooney Falls and then Beaver Falls 4 miles further.
I start off around 8:30 am and immediately find Mooney Falls. It’s significantly larger than Havasu Falls by (my estimate) ~40 feet. The volume of water is tremendous. It becomes clear right away that the hiking north of Havasu Falls was challenging – a surprise given how easy the hiking had been yesterday. To start, there was the descent down the side of Mooney Falls using a slippery network of ladder and rebar stuck into the rocks.
The canyon narrows and you have to constantly cross Havasu Creek. The creek becomes very wide and fast at parts and requires delicate crossing across thin, wet logs. I keep a slow pace to savor the solitude and uniqueness of the environment. My only worry was running into something unexpected and getting stuck or injured. It was the off-season, and I doubted many people were venturing this far in. I could have been on my own for a while if I got into trouble.
The hike got noticeably more difficult the further north it went. Stream crossings were wider, grades were steeper and there was more need to use my hands to get up and down the canyon walls. Still, it did not take me long to get to Beaver Falls. Unlike Havasu and Mooney Falls, Beaver Falls was more of a collection of smaller waterfalls. It was still very impressive.
Following Beaver Falls, my intent was to travel 3 miles further north to where the Havasu Creek intersected with the Colorado River. Unfortunately, though, it did not happen. First of all, travel north of Beaver Falls was a bit precarious. The route wasn’t as well defined and I soon found myself climbing up and down canyon walls for long stretches and crossing waterways across rocks that were getting smaller and spaced further apart.
It also becomes darker and more ominous the deeper ones goes into a canyon. While I’m sure experienced canyoneers think nothing of this, it honestly made me feel a sense of dread and foreboding. I tried to ignore my nervousness and was game to keep going. About 1.5 miles north of Beaver Falls, though, I finally ran into a creek crossing that I couldn’t reasonably do. The crossing mandated going about waist deep across 7 meters or so of rushing creek water. Getting wet was unavoidable and not the best idea in 30-degree weather. I also wasn’t confident that I wouldn’t get swept away by the fast current. I had not seen another human being all day, so I knew help wouldn’t be readily available if something bad happened. As a result, I made the difficult decision to turn around.
It was about 1 in the afternoon when I decided to turn around. So, I took off my pack, found a sunny spot, and took it all in for a while. My theory about no one else venturing this far north was becoming true. I hung around Beaver Falls for almost an hour and did not see another soul. I remember laying down on a picnic table by the trail and staring at the sky for a long time.
I found what I had been looking for. Peace, solitude, and a time to reflect. I reflected on much. My life had changed drastically in the past year and I desperately needed time away to look at my life from afar. On my way back, I finally ran into some other people. A family of about 9 were making their way to Beaver Falls. I wished them luck.
Upon reaching Mooney Falls again, I ran into the young campers I saw the day before at Havasu. All bad thoughts I had towards them for bringing along the feral dogs that caused me so much trouble had gone away. We took pictures of each other and had a nice chat.
Before long, I was back in camp heating up my dinner and settling in for another long night. Night 2, I must say, was just as bad as night 1. While bight 1 was intolerably cold, night 2 was intolerably windy. My lightweight backpacking tent was very thin at the top and it could not protect from the wind getting inside and making me very uncomfortable. It was also so noisy that I could barely sleep at all. It was another rough night.
Day 3 – Hiking Out
Waking up was a bit easier this day. It was quite a bit warmer. As I make breakfast and start to pack up camp, I find out that there were another couple campers with me in the campground that night. It made me feel good to know I wasn’t the only one crazy enough to sleep outdoors in this kind of weather.
I go slow and savor the environment before starting the trek out. There’s not too much to say about it. The journey from Supai out of the canyon was just as easy as the journey in. By 2pm I was atop the hilltop and at my car. By nighttime, I would be in Scottsdale in a luxury hotel sipping on Johnnie Walker Black and gorging myself on pizza and buffalo wings.
Just a few more photos of me saying goodbye to this wonderful place. I hope to be back soon!