On my way into a McDonald's in Vegas to relieve myself, a wrinkly, gangly black man was sitting by the entrance and I braced myself for when he would surely ask me for money. Instead, he asked me, "D'you buy that van that way?" "No," I replied, "my brother made it that way. He's crazy." He laughed.
Around 3 in the afternoon we finally reached the trailhead. While Ryan finished packing things that were strewn about his van, I walked to the office to see if I could get anymore information (we couldn't see where the trail started from our parking spot). The office was padlocked and vacant, but I did find these unhelpful and downright confusing signs.
So we were forbidden to hike at night and there was no day hiking. Hmmm. Well, we'd driven 9 hours and weren't about to head back, so a nice couple in the parking lot pointed us to the trailhead and we began our descent into the Grand Canyon.
At first it looked really cool, hiking down in like that. I'd never seen the Grand Canyon before, and now I was really experiencing it. Unfortunately, after only a mile or two of the total eight for us to hike that day, the heat exhaustion set in. I had a headache, I was sweating faster than I could drink, and I felt like throwing up. Ryan took good care of me, making me rest in the shade and sharing his water that was colder than mine, but it put a serious damper on how excited I was to continue. The trail seemed to stretch on forever, with no sign of hope or life or water-nothing but dry and deadly desert.
Eventually we made it to the villiage and started seeing signs "Campground -->" We followed sign after sign and found no campground and it began to seem like some sort of cruel joke. When we finally arrived at the fabled campground it was dark and it took us a while to find our friends and family waiting for us. It was only eight miles (much shorter than my beloved Timp hike) and it was all downhill, but I was exhausted and my calves HURT. And I'll admit it, we were grumpy.
The next day my calves were like bricks, but I told them I was the boss, and I told them to walk. We visited a few different waterfalls that day that were pretty neat, and I'd say the falls match any of the marvelous ones I saw in Croatia.
The water was deliciously cold, a fact that was enhanced by how dang hot it was. It seemed you stepped out of the water for a moment and you were dry, another moment and you were soaked again- this time in sweat.
That night I was rudely awoken by a cockroach crawling on my face and should have known then that nothing good could come of a day that started off that way. We set off for Cassity's favorite falls, and I'll admit the first part of the hike was nifty. Not long after leaving the campground we came to the top of the biggest waterfall of all, and had to climb in and out of the rock walls, clinging for dear life to the chains along the way, on the near vertical descent to the bottom of the falls.
For someone who is afraid of heights, it was a little nerve racking, but fun all the same. If only we had stopped there.
The trail from then to Cassity's favorite falls was in and out of the water, and even though I'd taped my emerging blisters, it didn't take long for my wet Chaco's to start to be a nuisance. Plus, my infamously bad knees were fed up with what I had been putting them through, and they would not be ignored any longer. After many ups and downs and false turns, I was very much ready to be done and swim and then head home. Still, it was intriguing in a way to hike through the random jungle there in the middle of the desert; it was eerie and out of place.
After a small eternity- or at least that's how it seemed to my knees and everything below- we reached Beaver Falls, but the trail that Cassity remembered had been wiped out by a flood, and we couldn't figure out a way down to the swimming hole. Ryan was eager to swim and opted for climbing down the cliff face, an option way to dangerous and scary for me. The others opted for a different, more accessible swimming spot, but I didn't feel good about leaving Ryan alone, so I followed the directions of some others already swimming on an easier way to get in. After a while it became clear that I was searching in vain, there was no easy way down. I was lost, frightened, in pain, frustrated and alone. When I finally found the spot where Ryan had climbed down, it was still too scary and I sat down and sobbed. Loud enough for the swimmers to hear me over the waterfall. They climbed up and helped me down the cliff as I sobbed in terror; I knew I would fall and die right there. We swam for a while in the mediocre swimming pool, but it just wasn't that great. We wasted time looking for an easier escape route, but eventually had to leave the way we came, with people dragging me along through tears of terror.
After the fact, Ryan admitted that it was foolish to attempt such a climb without safety gear. Needless to say that I was not exactly in the mood for the hike back to camp.
Ryan and I were still super achy from the hike in, and he needed to get back to work as soon as possible, so we decided to take the helicopter out instead of hike. I was pleased that my knees and blisters would be spared any more strain, and that heat exhaustion wouldn't be an issue again, but mostly I was excited about how much that would expedite my return to my husband.
Tuesday morning, my legs below the knees were swollen and I hobbled along like a granny. The hike from the campground to the village was probably only about a mile, but the whole time I just kept telling myself it was only a mile, and then a helicopter ride. I could do that. Very few times in my life have been as painfully disappointing as when we learned that the helicopter wouldn't fly again for two days; we would have to hike out after all.
We waited for some cloud cover and headed out. I clenched my teeth and hobbled along out of pure necessity, not knowing how I was going to manage this. Eventually it started to rain, and as the first sign at the office said, it was monsoon season and there was a danger of a flash flood. We found high ground and nervously waited it out. then the sun came out and it made progressing on our hike a foolish endeavor, so we waited it out in the shade. I didn't like stopping because it was hard to get my legs going again, but we had no choice. The last mile was the hardest- the steepest parts and the seemingly endless switchbacks as you exit the canyon. I only made it of pure necessity, of a desire to leave that horrible deathtrap and to see Christian as soon as possible. So make it I did, but just barely.
Ryan drove pretty much all through the night, so I got home early on the 4th, and was able to spend the whole day eating, watching Deep Space Nine, and resting my still swollen legs. They are mostly all better now, but I probably won't be returning to Havasupai- in fact I scoffed at the friendly sign on the way out inviting me to "Come again!".
