My father is a well-traveled man who has seen and experienced so many interesting countries in his 75 years. While I was hiking with him in Utah last October, I asked him if there was anywhere else in the world that he’d still like to see. I didn’t expect him to say that the one place he still had on his bucket list, was somewhere he had already been two times before: Havasu Falls.
Many people don’t know that hidden inside the arid Grand Canyon, there is a tropical oasis where the well-known red rock gives way to lush green vegetation brought to life by turquoise water that cascades down the layers of canyon in a series of jaw-dropping waterfalls. This isn’t National Park land. This is Native land.
While the Havasupai people have lived throughout the Grand Canyon for 800 years, over time their land shrunk to a reservation within the Grand Canyon, directly adjacent to the land designated as a National Park. In their Native American language, the word “Havasupai” means “people of the blue-green waters”. I think that’s so beautiful.
The curious thing about a trip to Havasu is that it’s a series of dichotomies. It’s one of the most complex vacations I’ve ever had to plan for, and yet, it’s a very simple itinerary:
- Enter the Grand Canyon through the Havasupai reservation
- Hike 10 miles and 2,450 vertical feet down to the campground, passing through the village of Supai at mile 8 where the Havasupai people live
- Spend your days hiking around and exploring the glorious waterfalls that bookend the campground – Fifty Foot Falls, Little Navajo Falls, the namesake Havasu Falls, Mooney Falls and Beaver Falls (in order as you descend the canyon)
- Hike 10 miles and 2,450 vertical feet out
An important aspect to understand about a trip to Havasu is that it is not risk-free. It’s inherently dangerous, and there are many things that can go wrong. And while we didn’t overtly talk about it ahead of time, what became very obvious while we were down there is that if we had gone one year earlier, the kids would have been too young. If we had gone one year later, my dad would have been too old. We were in a sweet spot, and Steve and I were the middle of the generations trying our best to hold it all together. In hindsight, the kids probably were a little too young and my dad probably was a little too old, but they all rose to the occasion beautifully.
From the moment
you state your intentions to go, until the moment your feet step out of the
canyon rim, a trip to Havasu is a lesson in overcoming obstacles that you have
no control over…
PREPARATION
It’s been 20 years since I rounded the corner and saw Havasu Falls for the first time. It was 2004, and I had just graduated from college when my dad and uncles invited me on a backpacking trip to Havasu. I was a typical 22-year old who naively accepted and left all the planning to someone else. I was just along for the ride.
Fast forward 20 years, and I am now the de facto trip planner for my family. Planning a Havasu trip has been passed down to the next generation of Bremers.
A dream of going to Havasu is essentially a delusion until you secure a mandatory permit. In 2004, permits were reserved via a phone line. In 2024, they’re secured via a website that feels more like it’s from 1998. On February 1, every permit for the entire year becomes available at the same time. The lottery is notoriously cut-throat, and many people who apply every year aren’t lucky enough to get one.
This year the tribe decided to try something new and held a pre-sale. This sounded like a no-brainer until I really dug into the confusing details. We’d have to pick an entire month that we’d be willing to hike in, and they would randomly select any 4 days within that month to give us without any option for a refund. That felt too risky. We’d roll the dice and enter into the main lottery on the morning it opened up.
Now over many years of planning camping trips, I’ve refined the art of cut-throat lottery reservation systems. But all of my little tricks don’t work if I totally forget about it the morning of February 1. Despite the reminders to myself in my calendar and to-do list, I didn’t remember it until 2.5 hours after the lottery had opened. Gah! My first strike of luck…the website had crashed (classic!) and opened back up right as I was frantically logging in. Preferred dates selected and confirmed. Oh my gosh, I can’t believe that just happened.
I could actually make this come true for my dad! He and my mom were staying with us down in the Little House, and I’ll never forget walking down there to tell him that his dream was alive. He looked completely shocked.
On the confirmation page, it asks me if I wanted a mule. Do I want a mule??? When we hiked down there 20 years ago, we never even considered having a mule carry our stuff in and out. I was hiking with a bunch of middle-aged men who acted more like cavemen…no sleeping bags, no tents, no warm food. We slept on the hard ground and ate nuts for 4 days. Traveling with a 7-year old and a 75-year old would take a little more consideration this time around. Yes, I want a mule.
Now the tribe wants to really keep you on your toes, so they put you into a virtual waiting room of people who also want a mule. Two days later I get the notification and send the funniest text message of my life: “We got the mule!”
As we moved through the early days of February, I kept seeing things from people online saying that something didn’t seem right. The conspiracy theories were abundant – that there were still dates showing available in the reservation system, this can’t be possible, the tribe has oversold the dates, they’re going to come back and say that people’s reservations are cancelled. Honestly, I thought everyone was being overly paranoid, but sure enough, in late February that’s exactly what happened. We were some of the lucky ones whose dates were not oversold and either moved or cancelled. The dream lived on.
As we moved into March, the planning really started to ramp up. In a move I’ve never done for any other trip in my life, I joined 4 different Facebook groups dedicated to planning for Havasu. This was fascinating and helpful. I giggled at the overly stupid questions that half of the people were asking. I also learned so much from everyone else trading tips and information (packing, helicopter, weather, which days to do which hikes, etc.). All-in-all, I was really grateful to have this resource available.
Honestly, there are so many reasons to talk yourself out of going on this trip, least of which is that the campsite reservations are $455 per person. Is it the most insanely overpriced campsite I will ever use in my entire life? Absolutely. Is it worth it? You betcha. My dad and I later joked that when we went in 2004, it cost about $40. Inflation has hit the Grand Canyon hard!
Deciding what to pack deserves an entire chapter to this story – because without an overly complex itinerary to plan – it became 75% of what we talked about and fretted over. I’m a very thorough planner, but never in my life have I made a packing list as detailed as this one for Havasu. Perhaps if we had been carrying all of the weight on our backs, the decisions would have been easier – take next to nothing. But having the lifeline of a mule (4 bags no larger than 32 x 19 x 19 with a 32 lb. weight limit per bag) made it initially feel like we could have some luxuries that we hadn’t afforded ourselves 20 years earlier.
All of our
glamping dreams quickly deflated when we started adding up just the basic
necessities – 2 tents, 5 sleeping bags, 5 sleeping pads, and food for 60 meals
(3 meals x 4 days x 5 people). All of the sudden the mules seemed less like a
luxury and more like a necessity. If we were 5 able-bodied adults going on the
trip, I think we could have done it on our backs. But with 2 kids and 1 senior,
there is no way Steve and I could have carried the majority of it on our own.
If anyone ever wants to do this trip, please ask me for my packing list, so
that I can help justify the sheer amount of time I spent overthinking creating
it.
The biggest question mark of all was the weather. It’s tricky deciding which month to go. If you choose the summer, you’ll be frolicking happily in the tourquoise water down in the canyon but overheating in 100+ degree temperatures on the big climb out. We decided to take advantage of Spring Break and go in early April. We had read from people in the Facebook groups that this was the best month to go, all factors (air temp, water temp, crowds) considered.
There is no weather station at the campground itself, so the closest weather report you can get is from the village of Supai, 2 miles up the canyon from the campground and waterfalls. That might not sound like much, but as we found out, it makes a meaningful difference.
The weather forecasts were calling for 32 degrees at night…yikes. Not only did this solidify our need for tents and sleeping bags (no caveman style this time around!), it also made us fret over bringing things like coats, wool socks, hats, gloves, hand and toe warmers. We couldn’t have done it without the mule!
What we had
read was a possibility – and found to be very accurate while we were down there – is that the lower you are in the canyon, the warmer it feels. It turns out that
2 miles down makes a big difference. We’ll never know what the actual
temperatures were at night, but I can tell you that no one wore a coat, hat,
gloves, or socks and we were all perfectly warm.
The night before we entered into the canyon, my dad flew into Phoenix and met us at Steve’s parents’ house in Prescott, Arizona – a 3-hour drive away from the trailhead. We ate one final send-off meal and finalized all of our last minute packing details.
We set out for Havasu early on the morning of April 2nd. We drove 2 hours to our first stop, the motel along Route 66 where we had to pick-up our permits.
From there, we drove another hour inside the reservation to the trailhead. We arrived ahead of schedule and entered into the canyon at 9:45am, excited for what lay ahead.
The girls and Steve (!) had never seen the Grand Canyon before. Even though the entry from the Havasu trailhead doesn’t give you the classic Grand Canyon views that you get from the National Park, you still get the same immediate vertical hit.
The first 1.5 miles inside the rim are by far the steepest. Fun to go down…miserable to come up.
On just about any other trail I can think of, you pass people with a cordial greeting that implies, “We’re all in this together!”. However, on this 1.5 mile stretch, the people going up and the people going down are most definitely having two completely different experiences. We happily passed many hikers who were already trudging out with 30-40 pounds on their back. We knew we’d be there in 4 days’ time.
After the steep 1.5 miles down, you enter into a large wash basin of loose white rock with red cliffs on both sides. The elevation really tapers off, and the trail is idiot-proof…walk for miles until you hit the village of Supai.
Going downhill and on uneven terrain is hardest for my dad’s knees, so we took our time following his pace and trading songs we had made up for each other. Those will always be some cherished memories, with our favorite being Lucy’s take on Peter Cottontail where Peter is our mule hiking down the Havasu trail.
Speaking of Peter, we eagerly awaited seeing him pass us, which brought some relief to know that our bags were on their way. We were also entertained by the pack of dogs surrounding every caravan of mules…sort of the like the Grand Canyon’s version of sheep herding.
As you make your way down the wash basin, you can begin to notice the canyon changing. The bone-dry landscape of the first few miles begins to show life. There’s no visible water yet, but there are green trees and even flowering bushes.
The cottonwoods were also in production this time of year, which lead to another dichotomy: what looked to be snow falling inside the Grand Canyon.
Finally after 8 miles, we entered the Native American village of Supai – the most remote community in the United States.
It’s so cut-off from the rest of the world, that it’s the only place in the US that gets its mail (and Amazon boxes!) delivered by mule.
The roads are dirt, and without knowing the exact number, it feels like about 200 people live there.
It was fun to compare today’s Supai to my memories from 20 years ago. The density felt the same – sparse houses with junk littered around their yards in a way that almost feels like a badge of honor.
But other things were different – the people were friendlier this time. Upon entering the village, all tourists are asked to wear a mask. It made me unconsciously feel like I should keep my head down and just pretend I wasn’t there. But we quickly passed a woman in the village who said, “Welcome to Supai!” and we started to lighten up.
There were some new community buildings that had been constructed, but all of the old staples – the market, cafe, school and church – were all still there. Some of my best memories from 20 years ago were hiking up to the village from the campground (2 miles each way) to get fry bread from the café.
(2004)
This time we had planned to stop there for some fry bread on the way down to break up the 10 miles. My dad and I were jarred walking into the café and seeing the modern indoor renovation it had undergone. I missed the charm of the much more rustic older version, but the “Supai Tacos” still hit the spot after all of those miles.
With Supai behind us, we were only 2 more miles from the campground.
Over the past 20 years, I remember seeing heartbreaking articles about such extreme flooding in Havasu Canyon that it would turn the raging water chocolate brown. What I hadn’t realized, is that the floods changed the landscape, too. Over time, the water has diverted and old waterfalls (Navajo Falls) that use to greet you on your way to Havasu have now dried up. The water has diverted lower and into smaller versions (Little Navajo Falls) of what it used to be.
Dried up Navajo Falls is still a welcome and jaw-dropping site because it so clearly showcases how the mineral-rich turquoise water shapes the red rock over time to grow the rock into what looks like a waterfall itself.
The floods have also wiped out little pedestrian bridges that are necessary to cross the water and enter the campground. In their places, the Havasupai have put their engineering prowess on display. The first bridge we come to was made of sheets of plywood slanted at angle.
There is no way that the slanted plywood bridge could hold the weight of mules, so this also marks the spot where the mules have to drop your bags. It’s about 0.75 miles downhill to the campground with just your bags and your packing decisions.
Of all the memories from my 2004 trip, the most magical was rounding a corner and dramatically having Havasu Falls come into sight for the first time. Simply put, it is the best feeling. Its sheer beauty is overwhelmingly unique, and it also signals that you are close to completing your long hike to the campground.
This turn towards the last stretch is set on a very steep incline called Hell Hill, which is appropriately named for Day 4 when you have to haul all of your bags up it to get to the mule rendezvous point.
At this point, Piper, my dad, and I have 30 pound backpacks on. Lucy is loaded up with everyone’s day bags. And poor Steve is carrying about 90 pounds worth of stuff.
After hiking almost 10 miles and 7 hours on tired knees, this is where I also started to see my Dad begin swerving. It only took 2 swerves for Steve and I to demand he sit down on the wall for a few minutes, and his 30 pound pack went on my front while my 30 pound pack was on my back. Everyone was carrying way too much weight, but adrenaline kicked in and we just made it work. We officially entered the campground, got my dad to a picnic table, and set out to scout for a campsite.
The ironic thing about our group paying $2,275 for a campsite is that you don’t even get a designated spot! Here entered the stars of our trip…the walkie talkies. We split into two groups with the walkie talkies and looked for a spot to call home for the next 3 nights.
The campground is about a mile long and spans both banks of Havasu Creek. There are no designated spots…just whatever piece of land looks good to you. Some spots are really secluded while others feel like you’re living in a tent city. Some spots are along the canyon wall, which I kept thinking would be great if you love the ideas of rockfalls, or in the “woods”. Others are perfectly perched along the turquoise water. There are even some spots that you can only reach by walking across shady planks with your heavy packs on.
There are some picnic tables scattered throughout, but there’s no guarantee that you’ll get one of those. Unfortunately after our slower pace and fry bread stop, we were the very last people to pick up our bags at the mule drop-off point. This also meant that we were some of the last people to arrive in camp that day.
After searching for 45 minutes – and another couple of miles – we reluctantly decided to settle on a crowded spot by the water where we’d have to share a picnic table with another group that we hadn’t even asked permission from. We were a little disappointed and on our way back to pick-up my dad when we saw a huge open space that I had already checked out. I went to look at it one more time with very little hope because the picnic table was already covered in gear. Out of nowhere two exuberant guys came up to me and said, “You can have this whole space and this table! We were just drying out our gear on here”. Oh my gosh, we really did score a great site! We thanked them profusely, retrieved my dad, and spent the next hour setting up camp.
Everyone in the Facebook groups say not to pick a site right at the beginning of the campground near Havasu Falls. They say that the sites at the end of the campground (toward Mooney Falls) are better. After scouring that campground, I can assure you that the best spots are right at the beginning behind the first toilet.
You’re closest to Havasu Falls, fry bread, a toilet, and the only fresh water spring in the entire campground.
We didn’t get the best spot (only about 50 yards away), but we certainly got top 10%, in my opinion.
That night we walked up to Havasu Falls, which was only a quarter mile from our campsite for a quick dip in the water. It’s so magical to be in a place like this with no one else around.
We were a little worried that the water would be too cold to enjoy, but it was warmer than I expected. The perfect end to a pretty perfect first day.
We did 12 miles and 35,000 steps that day. The kids were so exhausted that they put themselves to bed. After we finished tidying up the campsite and taking in the unrivaled view of stars that you can only get from inside the Grand Canyon, we fell asleep to the sound of Havasu Creek outside our tent door.
Day 2 in Havasu is a day for adventure. Some people spend this day hiking ~18 miles roundtrip all the way down the canyon to the Confluence, where the turquoise water of Havasu Creek enters into the chocolatey brown water of the Colorado River. There was no way that we could ask my dad and the girls to do that, and honestly, the reviews are pretty mixed on whether the experience is worth it for that many miles.
We decided on a slow morning enjoying our campsite, cooking breakfast and playing cards.
The rest of the day was spent hiking 4 miles one-way from the campground down the canyon to Mooney and Beaver Falls and back. It’s roughly half of the trip to the Confluence. For as much as we had to worry about in the lead up to this trip (weather, what to pack, will my dad be okay, etc.) this day was what worried me the most. Leave it to my dad to bring his “4th best pair of Keens”, which were broken in two places, for the big day.
The end of the campground is essentially the top of Mooney Falls, the tallest and most dramatic of the waterfalls in Havasu Canyon.
My memories of the descent down Mooney 20 years ago was that of adventure. I hadn’t done much hiking back then, and so the caves and ropes of Mooney were something that I had never experienced before. I remember it being life-altering in the sense that it unlocked a totally different level of outdoorsmanship in my mind.
On one hand I was excited for Piper and Lucy to have a new level of the outdoors unlocked in their imagination. On the other hand, I had a fear of heights and remembered it being challenging. I don’t know if my memories are glossy or if this climb has become more technical in the last 20 years, but I underestimated how dangerous it would be.
The descent to Mooney goes something like this…
Hike down exposed ledges, passing dried up portions of Mooney Falls along the way. This feels fairly safe and starts to tease you for what’s ahead.
Enter into cave #1, which isn’t too hard, and gets your excitement peaked.
Pop out onto the most beautifully perched ledge you could possibly imagine. Could life get any better, you ask yourself?
Enter into cave #2, which also is pretty easy to navigate. It’s at the end of this cave that you get your first glimpse of the vertical cliff you have to descend while holding onto chains and finding footholds that are no better than ruts in the rock. This part was far more technical and sketchy than I remembered, and it was also more wet. Mooney Falls is tall and powerful, and the mist that it generates flies right into the where you’re climbing down. This makes everything – the chains, steps, shoes and gloves – soaked and more slippery.
We descended in order of Steve > Lucy > Piper > Katie > Dad. Lucy was pretty protected by Steve, and I was helping talk my dad through every foothold. Piper was sort of in the middle of both of us feeling like no one was giving her enough help, and it really scared her. She cried (and then screamed) the whole way down, which broke my heart. I had to focus on getting myself down safely, helping my dad, and trying my best to give her verbal support. To make matters worse, Lucy also started screaming 2/3 of the way down because she was so cold from the waterfall. It was honestly a terrifying situation.
It’s one thing to be the person who assumes the risk for themselves. It’s entirely something else when you’re the trip leader and put other people (especially children who trust you) in a situation where they feel unsafe. I didn’t anticipate the weight of responsibility I would feel this time around.
We don’t have any pictures or videos from our time on the Mooney chains. Just survival stories and a dash of trauma. This is the only proof that Steve took looking back up at my dad and I as we came down the last (and easiest) ladder.
And here is a video that a stranger shot on a head cam, which looks a lot safer than we felt.
Once we were down the chains, we were so wet, cold and emotionally exhausted from Mooney that we just wanted to move on. We could come back and play at the falls on our way out if we wanted.
It’s 2.5 miles between Mooney and Beaver Falls through a beautifully lush valley that requires you to hike through the turquoise water in multiple places. I can’t think of a better way to spend the day.
0.25 miles from Mooney Falls, Lucy was hiking in front and rounded a corner to find a wild ram staring back at her.
I had seen a ram’s head as one of the four symbols on the Havasupai crest, but I had no idea that they actually roamed the canyon! We walked within feet of 3 or 4 of them eating grass and watching the shocked tourists.
Shortly after that, my dad decided to stay at a picnic table along the water (under an ancient Buddha cave drawing, no less), while we hiked the rest of the way to Beaver Falls and back.
We crossed the water, swam, hiked through undulating fields of grapevines...
...and ascended sketchy ladders tied together with rope.
It was another classic display of Havasupai engineering.
Finally we reached Beaver Falls, a beautiful series of cascading waterfalls and travertine pools.
The water of Havasu Creeks gets its turquoise color from the high concentrations of lime that it carries, and that lime gets deposited on the creek bed to form terraces.
We had fun swimming around and jumping from pool to pool.
After swimming and having lunch, we made our way back up the canyon, met up with my dad, and returned to the base of Mooney Falls.
It had been another day of a lot of miles and was getting a cold. The mist that comes off Mooney Falls is so strong that it feels more like you’re getting pelted with tiny water bullets. We decided to forgo swimming in Mooney…there are better waterfalls to frolic in. Plus, the fear of having to go back up the chains had us wanting to get it over with.
My dad started up first, which in hindsight wasn’t the best idea, but he did great. The kids also did awesome, and it was a much more positive experience for everyone going up.
That said, my anxiety was at level 12 until everyone had navigated up the chains, through the caves, and were planted safely back onto the dirt hiking trail. Mooney Falls, you are a spectacular wonder that took years off my life!
After 8 miles and 20,000 steps, we were all wet, cold and tired coming back into camp that afternoon. We got our warm gear on – the only time we wore it the entire trip – and then took the short walk up to Havasu Falls to enjoy the view at dusk. We love being there in the evening after everyone else clears away.
DAY 3
There was a mass exodus from the campground early the next morning. It felt oddly quiet and peaceful once everyone had left. Unlike every other camping destination where people come and go as they want, everyone is in Havasu for exactly 4 days. The departures meant that everyone must have come in one day before us. No wonder it was so hard to find a campsite! We enjoyed the quiet scene playing cards and helping ourselves to 2 rounds of coffee and hot chocolate…it would mean less to carry up Hell Hill tomorrow!
Given that Day 4 is when you hike out and have to face the big climb, most people spend Day 3 as more of a rest day. It’s almost as if Havasu Canyon is perfectly made for this. There are 3 beautiful waterfalls within 1.5 miles from the campground that are easy to get to – Fifty Foot Falls, Little Navajo Falls and Havasu Falls. We spent the entire day just playing around in them.
We started at Little Navajo Falls, which we got to mid-morning and had the whole place to ourselves. It was so beautiful that it was almost unbelievable.
It felt like we were in Hawaii, not in the middle of the Grand Canyon!
It would be easy to spend hours here hopping between the pools, swimming under the waterfalls, and enjoying the view.
There is also an upper section of Little Navajo Falls that you can swim in, which combined blue water and green plants to make you feel like a mermaid swimming in an aquarium. This is also where I tried to jump over a waterfall and misjudged the height, slipping on the rocks and scrapping up my leg pretty badly. Whoops!
From there it’s a short, albeit slightly technical hike up the creek to Fifty Foot Falls.
It was pretty here, but there is no significant amount of dry land to put your backpack on or to sit around and enjoy the view. We swam a little bit and then headed back down the canyon.
At the top of Havasu Falls just before you turn the corner and see the dramatic view, there is a canvas tent fry bread hut.
Aside from the very impressive composting toilets in the campground, this was the best improvement in 20 years. It meant that we didn’t have to hike 4 miles roundtrip every day to get a break from dehydrated meals. We loved eating “Supai Tacos” and fry bread with Nutella, honey and powdered sugar within steps of Havasu Falls.
It still cracks me up that this places shows up on Google Maps and Yelp.
After our delicious fry bread lunch, we walked down Hell Hill and spent the rest of the afternoon playing at the namesake Havasu Falls, which is bathed in sunlight in the afternoon.
20 years ago we only stayed 2 nights instead of the 3 nights that is customary today (I think everyone wants to get their money’s worth now that permits are so expensive). The best thing about adding that 3rd night is that it really gives you the opportunity to take your time and enjoy all of the waterfalls in a way that we weren’t able to do on my first trip to Havasu.
The sun was out, the water was blue, and we were in heaven.
We also joked that the girls thought it was pretty cool there were waterfalls at the frog farm.
Just like the herd of rams, it was a first for us to see the frogs of Havasu Falls. Sitting on a little island within the Havasu pool were loads of little frogs that the girls spent hours hunting and catching.
Lucy and I walked through the water to far side of the pool to check out a hidden trail, Steve floated in the travertine pools, Piper continued to catch frogs, and my dad and I explored a cave under the falls. It was a perfectly relaxed afternoon experiencing Havasu from every angle.
It was also great to have a low key day to rest our bodies – only 3.5 miles and 19,000 steps.
By the time we walked the quarter mile back to our campsite, we knew we were in for a long night. The weather had turned windy, which meant that everything had turned sandy. We walked up to see that our 4-person tent was not only being flattened by wind, but the inside of it looked like we were living in the Sahara Desert. There was red sand everywhere!
We spent an hour getting it cleaned out and highly reinforced the tent cover with rocks. It serves us right for using a tent that my Dad brought for us that we had never tested out before.
On our last evening, I took a swim in my favorite part of the creek. Lucy got locked in a bathroom only to be found by Piper, who had a walkie talkie and radioed to Steve who rescued her with a switchblade. We walked to the top of Mooney Falls one last time to say our goodbyes – it was spectacular being there with no one else around.
We ate astronaut ice cream bars and started packing up everything we could since it would be a very early start the next morning.
DAY 4
We hardly slept that night because of the wind. At times it felt like the tent was going to collapse on us, so at 4:30am we decided just to go ahead and get up.
We loaded up the bags and began the slog up Hell Hill at 5:45 with all of that weight on our backs and a sadness that we were saying goodbye to such a special place.
We crossed the slanted plywood bridge one last time and dropped our bags at the mule rendezvous point by 6:00. We were in Supai by 7:00.
It had always been the plan to drop my dad off in Supai for him to take the helicopter out while Steve, the girls, and I hiked out. He’s done the hike out twice before, but there was no reason for him to put his body through that strain when the helicopter option is available.
By this point in the trip, we felt like we had already overcome so much…the long hike in with my Dad, our heavy bags arriving on the mules and carrying them to the campsite, finding a campsite, the weather, surviving the descent down Mooney…the helicopter was just the next thing in a long series of unknowns.
Fun fact: even though the campsite cost $2,250 and the mule cost $400, the 4-minute helicopter ride only costs $100. They have such a strange disproportionate value of money inside the canyon.
The helicopter only flies from 9:00-2:00 4 days per week, and even then it’s highly variable due to the weather and the number of people who want to fly out. Locals get first priority. We had read horror stories of people waiting more than 12 hours for a flight. All through the windy night before, I laid awake in my sleeping bag convinced that the helicopter wasn’t going to fly the next day. By breakfast, we all admitted to each other that everyone was worried about the same thing.
I hated it…there were so many what-ifs. What if the helicopter doesn’t fly because of the wind, and we’re already out of the canyon by the time we find out? My dad would have to hike out, carrying his 30-pound backpack. That wasn’t an option, so it would mean Steve or I hiking the 8 miles back down to get him and another 8 miles out. Another option we considered was breaking up the group and having Steve or I stay with him in case the helicopter didn’t fly.
After fretting about it for the 2 miles up to Supai, we decided to stick to our original plan. At the helicopter pad, we handed my dad one of the walkie talkies, and he placed his backpack on the 6th peg, holding his place in line.
I absolutely hated leaving him there. I felt like I was abandoning him, but it’s what he wanted. The first woman in line was someone we had met the day before. With tears in my eyes, I asked her to take good care of my dad. I gave him a hug and a kiss through our masks (what a strange moment) and we turned to head out of the canyon saying prayers that he would make it out okay. We had come so far already, we just needed a little more luck.
Just outside of town we crossed the final bridge over the turquoise water, and radioed my dad for the last time before the walkie talkies lost connection. A pack of mules went by with an even bigger pack of dogs, and we were on our way.
Minutes later, one of the dogs came barreling back down the path so fast that he was out of control and nearly crashed into all of us. I honestly thought he was going to take Lucy out, but instead, he crashed right into her beloved hiking stick which he broke into two pieces. I don’t know who was more upset – Lucy who wailed over her broken stick, or the dog, who looked back at us in shock like we had intentionally hurt him.
Once we were past the wild dog incident (which my dad would have found absolutely hilarious), the miles went by surprisingly fast. We saw Peter carrying our bags up…one less thing to worry about.
The constant fear on everyone’s mind was whether the helicopter was going to fly. The weather was turning worse – it got cold, light rain began to fall, and wind was blowing into our faces. We passed some hikers who told us the weather was worse the higher up you got…not a good sign.
Then at 9:12am, we heard the unmistakable sound of chopper blades in the sky. The helicopter was flying! It was music to my ears. A huge weight lifted off my shoulders.
We were very entertained by hearing and then seeing the helicopter make laps between the trailhead above us and the village below us. I was even timing it…10 minutes round trip from the trailhead, 5 minutes roundtrip from the village. All we could wonder is which one he might be on.
The miles continued to tick by at a fast pace, and before we knew it, we had made it to the steep 1.5 mile stretch out. The girls had already done so well, and with minimal complaining, we trudged up, up, up.
Less than a half mile from the top, I heard the most glorious sound: “Grape Leaves, this is Ram’s Head, come in” on the walkie talkie. My dad had made it to the top! I looked up at the rim above us and could make him out at the trailhead.
It is hard for me to even explain the relief that I felt in that moment. I’m the one who had agreed to take him on this hair-brained adventure one last time. We battled through so much uncertainty and risk. He was an absolute joy and champ through it all. And now he was officially out and safe. 100% sheer relief.
We figured that if he did make it out on the helicopter, he’d beat us by a couple of hours. What he didn’t anticipate is what great little hikers the Nauman girls are. Piper & Lucy kept a pretty blistering pace (we use riddles to distract them), and we were all shocked that we made it out of the canyon in 5.5 hours and within 30 minutes of each other. It was a very, very sweet rendezvous at the top.
On the drive home, we had the best time hearing every little detail about the helicopter adventure. It turns out that my dad was on the 7th helicopter out. The first 4 were taken up by locals. He didn’t even sign a liability waiver; he just put his name on a ledger and handed over a $100 bill.
3 hours later we were full of Starbucks, showered, eating and drinking at a brewery, and sleeping in a clean, warm bed.
THE AFTER EFFECTS
In the Havasupai language, there are words for the four cardinal directions, but they also have words for two additional ways of orienting themselves: “up there” and “down there”.
For days after we came out of the canyon, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I was devouring articles about how the past floods had changed the landscape and how the Havasupai people are changing, too. I looked up the weather forecast for Supai days after we had come out. Why would I do that? Because my body was up here, but my head and my heart were still down there.
It took me two weeks to even write this story down. I couldn’t escape the fear that I wouldn’t be able to do it justice. It’s a testament to how unique Havasu is.
I have felt much more emotional about this trip than I normally do when we return home. I’m immensely grateful that it happened and also quite sad that it's over.
While we were down there, we were completely cut-off from technology and the outside world. It is just you, the people you’re with, and to a certain extent the community of campers around you doing one thing: experiencing. There really is nothing down there to disconnect you from that shared experience. You’re immersed in it from the moment you hit the trailhead until the moment you emerge out. In this day and age, it is so rare to be a part of something like that, and it really was a shock to my system when I came out.
I have experienced reverse culture shock twice in my life (2002, 2012), and it feels oddly reminiscent of that. Is it possible to get reverse culture shock after only 4 days??? That seems silly to think, and yet, that’s sort of how I felt. If technology has shortened our attention spans and sped up our need for stimulation over the past 20 years, I suppose it makes sense that only a 4-day detox from it would speed up reverse culture shock, too.
Most importantly, it was one of the greatest honors of my life to be able to help my dad get down to his happy place one last time. It was even more special being able to watch him introduce his granddaughters to a place that means so much to him.
Thank you, Dad.
The allure of Havasu Falls has most definitely passed down to the next generation
of Bremers.
