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,
Showing posts with label Arizona. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Arizona. Show all posts
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Snowbirds, published in Nov/Dec 2006 az3sixty magazine
“Snowbirds”
The first time I heard that word, and almost all other times since, it has been snorted in disgust.
I may not be an AZ native, but I have survived 17 summers here, so I think that counts for some sort of bragging rights, or maybe membership in the “It’s a dry heat” club. I was here on that record breaking 122 degree day, sitting in the coolest room in my house right under the air conditioning vent. I am enough of a local to state my opinion about snowbirds.
My first experience with snowbirds was my first day in Arizona, oh so many years ago. My brother took me to see saguaro cactus--quite a spectacle for anyone from the panhandle of Texas. He challenged me to check out license plates on cars to see how many different states I could count. I thought, “Hey, this is just like the game we used to play when we were kids, killing time in the back of the station wagon on family cross country trips… but why mention that game while driving on Main Street in Apache Junction in November?”
After about 2 minutes of looking out the window, I knew exactly why he asked. I saw every state north of Kansas and a few Canadian provinces as well. In complete amazement, I questioned my brother, “What is the meaning of this --have I died and gone to license plate game heaven?” He uttered only one word in reply …“snowbirds“.
So what are snowbirds and why is the word usually used in a derogatory sense? I’m not sure there’s an official definition. Maybe the state legislature ought to look into that. After all, they did create an official state neckwear (the bola tie). They could sign a declaration to replace the cactus wren with a new state bird-- the snow bird.
Anyway, a few of the stereotypical generalizations I’ve learned about snowbirds are: They’re old. Well, old enough to be retired and thus able to leave the wind chill factors of their home states behind. Their favorite pastime is to call friends back home who are shoveling snow and gloat, “I‘m on the ninth hole and I’m in short sleeves right now, short sleeves!”
They use their leisure time wisely, volunteering at schools, elections, churches, and more. They’re pretty noble that way, giving back to the world. They are crazy about their grandkids, but some have a not- in- my -backyard attitude about children living in their adults- only communities.
When driving, this unique species usually travels in pairs, in a sensible 4 door sedan, with the 2 males in front, the 2 females in back. Other driving habits include driving with the blinker permanently on and going slow. Very slow.
Their feeding habits involve going to restaurants early, before 6pm, either to beat the crowds or beat the acid reflux before bedtime. The females of the species gather at frilly lunch places wearing red hats and purple dresses. The snowbirds are a thrifty bunch, always venturing out armed with coupons.
The state education department would classify them as emerging technology learners, but most have mastered enough email skills to correspond with their grown children across the country. Businesses like snowbirds, hanging large welcome signs each fall. When all the handicapped parking spaces at Wal-Mart are full, the snowbirds are back!
Unofficially, that’s who they are, but why are they scorned? Because the rest of us are jealous. We have 2 seasons here, hot and not hot. We full time residents are forced to tough it out through the oven-like summers. We wear that badge of honor proudly. But snowbirds get the best part of the year without having to endure the worst. Snowbirds haven’t earned our weather- related respect--when the going gets tough, they retreat to the north. Inside, we cry, “It‘s not fair!” They get the best of both worlds--nice cool summers fishing on a wooded lake in Wisconsin and deliciously perfect winter days on the golf course in Arizona.
Deep down, we are secretly envious that they have beat the system, and we haven’t yet. We are still subject to the seasons. So we boast about how morally superior we are because we stick it out through the summer when those wimps vanished long before the first 100 degree day .
Admit it, if your boss offered you an extended assignment in Alaska during August, wouldn’t you jump at the chance? The only reason we don’t leave is cause we can’t. We’re still slaving away, toiling at jobs the snowbirds used to do when we were in diapers. We can only dream of being at the point in our lives when the rat race is over. They can kick back--they‘re retired, the kids are raised. Perhaps someday, like the snowbirds, we will be able to say to our kids, “See? I told you one day you’d grow up and have a kid just like you. Now I’ll spoil your children rotten and send them home to you for their post-grandma-indulgence behavioral detox.”
No, we’re not there yet, but maybe some day, if we work really hard and are extra good girls and boys, we can grow up to be snowbirds too. Then we’ll be smart enough to get the heck out of here when the heat hits.
Fortunately, I am a few years away from hot flashes and my subscription to AARP magazine. I‘m OK with that. Although, I do wonder what our generation will be like when we arrive at that stage of life. With tomorrow’s snowbirds, I don’t think we’ll see blue hair and plaid Bermuda shorts; in fact, I think all gray hair will cease to exist. We’ll fight old age fiercely, nothing graceful or dignified about it. No one will have glasses with all that new fangled lasik surgery. We’ll have botox and collagen, microdermabrasion and super white teeth, and some will still even have perky silicone breasts sticking out from the rest of their saggy skin. Ugh, I don’t even want to think what everyone’s tattoos will look like on 75 year old skin!
What kind of snowbirds will we be? If we lived in Leisure World would we volunteer, or just watch reality TV all day? Would we take up causes, or be apathetic? Would we shut our garage door behind us and never get to know our neighbors? Or would we sit on the back porch facing the community walking path so we can greet friends and strangers? Who knows, we might even go nuts and buy a Winnebago to drive around the country. We could have friends at every KOA campground from here to Saskatchewan.
Our world will consist of U2 and Nirvana playing on the golden oldies station. Former extreme sport enthusiasts will compete in the rocking chair half pipe. Dudes, we may even be drinking Red Bull so we can stay awake long enough to make it to the senior discount showing at the movies. Hearing aids will look like white ipod earbuds. We will complain about our health woes in our blogs.
We will shop til we drop, or until our Jimmy Choos give us unsightly corns. No red hats for us, we’ll wear our hair in the always classic 90s Rachel do. The metrosexual senior men will no longer wear black socks with sandals. We will all be wearing up -to -the -minute fashions from Gap for Seniors. Instead of living off a carefully planned retirement fund, we’ll still be paying off credit cards we had to max out in 06 to pay for $3.00 a gallon gas! We’ll still be driving our SUVs, only the blinkers will be continuously flashing as we go 25 in a 45mph zone.
And I’m sure the younger generation will look at us and roll their eyes and utter with disgust, “Snowbirds!”
The first time I heard that word, and almost all other times since, it has been snorted in disgust.
I may not be an AZ native, but I have survived 17 summers here, so I think that counts for some sort of bragging rights, or maybe membership in the “It’s a dry heat” club. I was here on that record breaking 122 degree day, sitting in the coolest room in my house right under the air conditioning vent. I am enough of a local to state my opinion about snowbirds.
My first experience with snowbirds was my first day in Arizona, oh so many years ago. My brother took me to see saguaro cactus--quite a spectacle for anyone from the panhandle of Texas. He challenged me to check out license plates on cars to see how many different states I could count. I thought, “Hey, this is just like the game we used to play when we were kids, killing time in the back of the station wagon on family cross country trips… but why mention that game while driving on Main Street in Apache Junction in November?”
After about 2 minutes of looking out the window, I knew exactly why he asked. I saw every state north of Kansas and a few Canadian provinces as well. In complete amazement, I questioned my brother, “What is the meaning of this --have I died and gone to license plate game heaven?” He uttered only one word in reply …“snowbirds“.
So what are snowbirds and why is the word usually used in a derogatory sense? I’m not sure there’s an official definition. Maybe the state legislature ought to look into that. After all, they did create an official state neckwear (the bola tie). They could sign a declaration to replace the cactus wren with a new state bird-- the snow bird.
Anyway, a few of the stereotypical generalizations I’ve learned about snowbirds are: They’re old. Well, old enough to be retired and thus able to leave the wind chill factors of their home states behind. Their favorite pastime is to call friends back home who are shoveling snow and gloat, “I‘m on the ninth hole and I’m in short sleeves right now, short sleeves!”
They use their leisure time wisely, volunteering at schools, elections, churches, and more. They’re pretty noble that way, giving back to the world. They are crazy about their grandkids, but some have a not- in- my -backyard attitude about children living in their adults- only communities.
When driving, this unique species usually travels in pairs, in a sensible 4 door sedan, with the 2 males in front, the 2 females in back. Other driving habits include driving with the blinker permanently on and going slow. Very slow.
Their feeding habits involve going to restaurants early, before 6pm, either to beat the crowds or beat the acid reflux before bedtime. The females of the species gather at frilly lunch places wearing red hats and purple dresses. The snowbirds are a thrifty bunch, always venturing out armed with coupons.
The state education department would classify them as emerging technology learners, but most have mastered enough email skills to correspond with their grown children across the country. Businesses like snowbirds, hanging large welcome signs each fall. When all the handicapped parking spaces at Wal-Mart are full, the snowbirds are back!
Unofficially, that’s who they are, but why are they scorned? Because the rest of us are jealous. We have 2 seasons here, hot and not hot. We full time residents are forced to tough it out through the oven-like summers. We wear that badge of honor proudly. But snowbirds get the best part of the year without having to endure the worst. Snowbirds haven’t earned our weather- related respect--when the going gets tough, they retreat to the north. Inside, we cry, “It‘s not fair!” They get the best of both worlds--nice cool summers fishing on a wooded lake in Wisconsin and deliciously perfect winter days on the golf course in Arizona.
Deep down, we are secretly envious that they have beat the system, and we haven’t yet. We are still subject to the seasons. So we boast about how morally superior we are because we stick it out through the summer when those wimps vanished long before the first 100 degree day .
Admit it, if your boss offered you an extended assignment in Alaska during August, wouldn’t you jump at the chance? The only reason we don’t leave is cause we can’t. We’re still slaving away, toiling at jobs the snowbirds used to do when we were in diapers. We can only dream of being at the point in our lives when the rat race is over. They can kick back--they‘re retired, the kids are raised. Perhaps someday, like the snowbirds, we will be able to say to our kids, “See? I told you one day you’d grow up and have a kid just like you. Now I’ll spoil your children rotten and send them home to you for their post-grandma-indulgence behavioral detox.”
No, we’re not there yet, but maybe some day, if we work really hard and are extra good girls and boys, we can grow up to be snowbirds too. Then we’ll be smart enough to get the heck out of here when the heat hits.
Fortunately, I am a few years away from hot flashes and my subscription to AARP magazine. I‘m OK with that. Although, I do wonder what our generation will be like when we arrive at that stage of life. With tomorrow’s snowbirds, I don’t think we’ll see blue hair and plaid Bermuda shorts; in fact, I think all gray hair will cease to exist. We’ll fight old age fiercely, nothing graceful or dignified about it. No one will have glasses with all that new fangled lasik surgery. We’ll have botox and collagen, microdermabrasion and super white teeth, and some will still even have perky silicone breasts sticking out from the rest of their saggy skin. Ugh, I don’t even want to think what everyone’s tattoos will look like on 75 year old skin!
What kind of snowbirds will we be? If we lived in Leisure World would we volunteer, or just watch reality TV all day? Would we take up causes, or be apathetic? Would we shut our garage door behind us and never get to know our neighbors? Or would we sit on the back porch facing the community walking path so we can greet friends and strangers? Who knows, we might even go nuts and buy a Winnebago to drive around the country. We could have friends at every KOA campground from here to Saskatchewan.
Our world will consist of U2 and Nirvana playing on the golden oldies station. Former extreme sport enthusiasts will compete in the rocking chair half pipe. Dudes, we may even be drinking Red Bull so we can stay awake long enough to make it to the senior discount showing at the movies. Hearing aids will look like white ipod earbuds. We will complain about our health woes in our blogs.
We will shop til we drop, or until our Jimmy Choos give us unsightly corns. No red hats for us, we’ll wear our hair in the always classic 90s Rachel do. The metrosexual senior men will no longer wear black socks with sandals. We will all be wearing up -to -the -minute fashions from Gap for Seniors. Instead of living off a carefully planned retirement fund, we’ll still be paying off credit cards we had to max out in 06 to pay for $3.00 a gallon gas! We’ll still be driving our SUVs, only the blinkers will be continuously flashing as we go 25 in a 45mph zone.
And I’m sure the younger generation will look at us and roll their eyes and utter with disgust, “Snowbirds!”
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