It has always piqued my curiosity. Listen to anyone who has ever traveled to Havasupai attempt to describe the beauty of the place. All seem unable to find words to express themselves and end up saying, :You just have to see it for yourself. “ I pondered going to a place whose gorgeousness defies description. In my mind, Havasupai began inching its way up on the list of “places I’d like to see before I die”
I recruited a group of girlfriends. We then expanded the plan---How about an empowering mother/teenage daughter “girl power” trip? And so the goal was set--hike Havasupai, mothers, daughters, friends, and a dad or 2 thrown in for safety (and for killing large insects).
Moms, although inexperienced hikers, were easily convinced. Teenage daughters only shrugged and glanced up from their text messaging. But after seeing some pictures of the ethereal beauty of this small branch of the Grand Canyon, the girls agreed.
Calling to reserve a spot on the reservation was quite possibly the second hardest task of the whole trip. (You’ll hear about the hardest part in a minute) I sat hitting redial on the phone for at least 6 hours a day When I finally got through to some one to sign us up for a week of female adventure in paradise, I squealed like an 11 year old calling in to a radio station to win tickets to Hannah Montana.
Preparation
I had visions of the girls (or me!) sitting in the middle of a trail in tears crying, “I can’t go on.” And thus we began our every Saturday training regimen. Like Maria von Trapp, we climbed every mountain… in the metropolitan Phoenix area. We had to make sure our shoes, our packs, and most importantly our quads and glutes were up to the task. For the first time in my life, I spent more money at the sporting goods store instead of the department store.
Packing
More daunting than the physical fitness required, was the task for us high maintenance females to try to live on as a little as possible for 4 days. After all, you really have to want something badly to make it worth carrying 22 miles. Or, ahem, I should say, paying lots of money to have a mule carry it 22 miles for you, which is what we ended up doing. The girls worried about being without their precious flatirons, but we assured them that we moms would also be sacrificing by going without make up, and it was all part of the outdoor experience.
Planning
We filled duffel bags with dehydrated food and our daughters naively asked, wouldn’t it be easier to just order pizza when we get there? Little do they know this is the only place in the United States that still has its mail delivered by mule. I’m pretty sure they don’t have any pizza delivering mules. Glad we didn’t count on Domino’s.
The pre-trip binge
One of the most anticipated events for us perpetual dieters was the evening of carb-loading the night before the hike. Nothing tastes as good as guilt free pasta and breadsticks.
Getting there
In order to begin an early morning out of the heat hike, your choices are: drive all night (moms too old and cranky for that) sleep in the car in an impossibly crowded parking lot on top of the hill (not enough bathrooms for a bunch of females), or stay in the nearest motel, an hour away in Peach Springs. We opted for the indoor plumbing. And as we laid out our gear for our early morning departure in or hotel room, it seemed like a dream. Months of preparation and here we were.
The hike
We moms gave the daughters a big pep talk about how “you are capable of anything you set your mind to and don’t ever forget that in life--you are tough and independent and you can accomplish whatever you want on your own two feet.” and so they did it, hiked all the way down talking of goals and girl power, 11 miles, tough as nails.
The campsite
About 30 seconds within reaching our campsite, however, “I am woman, hear me roar,” is replaced by “Oh my gosh there is a troop of HOT boys scouts camped right next to us! (squeal) This is going to be the best trip ever (giggle) but now I can’t get my hair wet cause it might get all frizzy! (gasp)”
So not only were we surrounded by natural beauty that cannot even be accurately described in our limited English language, our own natural female beauty was suddenly of utmost importance. The wonders of several boy scout troops nearby were much more alluring than mother nature.
We more mature moms, of course, didn’t chase after the boys. We opted to duck and dodge to avoid being seen by the scouts (and their cute leaders) due to our embarrassing lack of makeup.
Our campsite was really just a picnic table with a few patches of grass and trees, but it seemed to be prime real estate since we had a rope swing near the shore of the crystal clear aquamarine river, thus attracting even more Boy Scouts, The girls jumped right in with their clothes on, while we women anxiously awaited the mules, carrying our food and clothing. The hours tick by. Stomachs start grumbling and we devour the last few crumbly granola bars in our packs, and wait for our mules. As the sun sets, we hear the clop clop of mule feet and have never been so happy I could have kissed their sweaty fly-infested faces. We slept under the stars, grateful to have our sleeping bags, and hardly believing we were really there.
The next day we explored all three falls. If Disney set out to create a theme park ride with large waterfalls, they could never have duplicated what Mother Nature already did. Shallow pools for wading. Rock bridges for climbing, hanging green vines for a pirates of the Caribbean effect. Red rock walls contrasted to clear blue green water. It felt like a dream, or another planet , or a mountain dew commercial
Now it’s time to discuss the number one hardship in paradise. Skip this paragraph if you’re eating right now. In sharp contrast to the most beautiful place on earth, the port a johns were absolutely the most disgusting sights in the history of the world. I dare you to find something more foul , horrid and nauseating. Waste was literally heaping out over the tops of the toilet seats. We tied bandannas around our faces bandit-style way to walk by. We had girls in tears because they had to go so bad but were terrified of what we nicknamed “the evil potties of death.” If there had been a private bush or 2, we would have gladly squatted, but there were an awful lot of boy scouts around and not much privacy.
We did desperately wish for a video camera so we could hide out by the door to the port a johns and film the expressions on peoples faces as they opened the door and caught sight of the,,,you know. We would have won the grand prize on America’s Funniest Home Videos with some of the reactions we saw people have. Gagging, dancing around holding their noses and stomachs, snapping their spine as they turned sharply to bolt from the smell. I would have donated my funniest video winnings towards the installation of better facilities.
So it was with mixed emotions we arose at 1am to hike out. Loved the falls, couldn’t wait for a toilet that flushed! One o’clock may have been a fairly insane time to get up, but we had determined that while hiking, the sun was not our friend, so we chose to fumble around in the dark. We only get lost once, and it was a man leading the way! And no, he wouldn’t stop and ask for directions. But to his credit he got us right back on track quickly.
When we began the final switchbacks up to the top, the sun was just barely peeking over the horizon. Every single girl and mom made it out on her own, no helicopter rescues necessary, thank you very much. As I climbed the last few yards with my daughter by my side, it was almost emotional to think of what we had accomplished physically and mentally together. We may forget the cuteness of the Boy Scouts and the stench of the latrines, but we will always treasure the memories of mom and daughter at the most indescribably stuning and exquisite place on earth,
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