Havasupai, Ariz. — FIVE hundred miles away, there's a lawn that needs mowing. The desk at the office is buried with work.
Right now, none of that matters. I'm reclining against a warm, smooth rock after a swim in the turquoise-hued pools of Havasu Creek, and the only thing I have to worry about is getting too much sun.
A thundering waterfall makes conversation difficult. That's good. This tableau of mighty canyon walls, sapphire blue skies, springtime greenery and crystal-clear water is best taken in without chatter.
Getting here had taken some doing. There was a nine-hour drive across the desert to the Hualapai Indian Reservation northeast of Kingman, Ariz., followed by a chilly Friday night camped under the stars on the Hualapai Hilltop. Then, rising at dawn, we saddled ourselves with backpacks full of camping gear and hiked 10 miles.
Our reward: this gem-like pocket of the Grand Canyon known as Havasupai Canyon. Here, the blue-green waters of Havasu Creek tumble to the Colorado River through a trio of remarkable waterfalls -- Navajo, Havasu and Mooney.
We had planned to make this trip five months earlier. I had signed on to help Greg Lievense lead teenage Venture Scouts on a four-day backpacking trip into the canyon. We put off the trek until spring break because of job demands. I wouldn't have minded another postponement. But after descending into this ancient canyon, I had no regrets.
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Mule trains
IF you've ever stood on the South Rim of the Grand Canyon and wanted to explore one of the many redoubts within the giant chasm, Havasupai is a good place to start.
Although it's just 40 miles west of Grand Canyon Village, Havasupai is 180 miles away by road, and a greater distance by vibe. There are no shuttle buses, pricey souvenirs or four-star restaurants. You won't find big crowds either. To get here, you walk, ride a horse or descend by helicopter. The Havasupai Tribe runs a 24-unit lodge in Supai and a 250-person campground that skirts the creek outside the village.
The three main waterfalls and the pools below them are the big attractions, each a stunning oasis in the Arizona desert. Unlike the icy cold Colorado River a few miles away, the waters of Havasu Creek are about 70 degrees most of the year.
Supai (population 500), the village where the Havasupai have lived for centuries, is one of the last places in the country where the mail (along with most everything else) is packed in and out by four-legged beasts. A postcard mailed from the Supai post office will be postmarked "Mule Train Mail."
To visit, you must make reservations through the tribal office and pay a $30-per-person entrance fee. If you're willing to pay more, you can ride into the canyon on a horse or even in a helicopter. You can also walk down with just a day pack and water and pay to have your camping gear hauled in.
For us, these options aren't even slightly tempting; we're backpackers. In the last six or seven years, Greg and I have led Scouts on hikes across the Sierra Nevada and San Gabriel ranges in California and through the Sangre de Cristo Mountains in New Mexico. But our sons are now at or near 18, and our days of Scout hikes are coming to an end. Havasupai, we figure, will be the place to close out a chapter.
After a long hike, there's nothing quite like a swim to rinse off the trail dust and loosen up sore muscles. Havasu Falls is the closest of the three to our campsite, and we spend Saturday afternoon there. Our Scout troop has been to this spot before but always in November, when hardly anyone else is around. It's warmer now in April, and the canyon is more crowded. There are 50 or 60 people in the pools below Havasu Falls, and the eight boys seem pleased to see that a dozen of them are wearing bikinis. We all agree that April is better than November.
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A natural 'cathedral'
IN 1880 or thereabouts, prospector D.W. "James" Mooney lashed himself to a rope and went over a cliff where Havasu Creek plunges 190 feet. The rope broke, Mooney was killed, and the place has been known as Mooney Falls ever since.
Descending the steep trail on Sunday morning, we have no problem imagining what happened to Mooney as we crouch through a series of narrow, cave-like tunnels to reach the bottom of the falls. Spray makes for slippery footing, and a misstep could be deadly. Heavy chains have been drilled into the rock at strategic points to provide handholds. The last leg of the descent is along an aluminum ladder tied fast to the cliff.
The pools at the bottom offer another chance to swim, but we decide to keep exploring, veering west into a narrow box canyon. At first, it doesn't seem like anything special. But after hiking about 100 yards and squeezing past giant boulders, we are enveloped by soaring canyon walls. We see signs of an ancient waterfall that had sluiced through the red and tan rock, shaping it into a natural cathedral.
