Havasupai, AZ — from the surface, the Grand Canyon is just a big hole in the ground, the way to really appreciate it is to trek into it. I would have never chosen this way to descend and experience the Grand Canyon but feel very privileged to have had the opportunity to do so with old friends.
It was not just that they packed poles, blister tape, mylar blankets, food rations, filters, and headlamps, but they had balloted for restricted environmental permits to enter the Havasupai Native American reservation grounds, prepared a satellite phone and trail maps. I was both the least able and the least prepared for this reunion but I felt very special.
We drove 4 hours from Phoenix to Seligman, then hiked 9 miles on the first day starting at 5am, 6 miles on each following day, then 9 miles out. On the last day, we hurried before dawn, keen to avoid the relentless sun on the uphill switchbacks. The scenery is majestic and varied but uncomfortable, clambering uneven rock screes, slippery cave ladders and wading some of the rivers to get to the waterfalls. We were fortunate with great weather, given flash floods the week before and after.
I arrived in college with something of a fascination with Native American culture and while in college, spent time in a Navajo reservation in New Mexico. The Havasupai have similarities — syncretic traditions like an indigenous Jesus for example, but the community is so remote that it was truly ravaged by the incidence of Covid, and they are the only remaining place where USPS mail is carried by mule. Until recently there was no WiFi, but now the tiny settlement has Starlink; I'm not sure how that must feel.
The odd thing about being more disconnected is that it took me almost the whole time to be disconnected (the Brazilian market and election certainly didn't help), to sleep deeper or to feel myself relaxing physically into being present where I was, in the shades of colours and textures. Isn't that kind of sad?
