Sin Topes Oaxaca: Git along little doggy

"Oh, the trail is only eight miles in and totally flat. Easy." Brian said as we were setting up an overnight camp spot on a roadside turnout in the pitch black darkness, thirty miles into the Havasupai Indian reservation. We all heard the cattle and coyotes rustling down for bed right alongside us. Turning the van to block Garrett's tent from the road, the headlights illuminated a sleepy cow with really big horns. We were in the middle of nowhere, not for the first, or the last time on the trip. Early the next morning, packing our backpacks, gearing up for the trail ahead of us, Garrett said he had dreams of cattle walking over his tent.

Brian's knowledge of the trail was instantly disproven as the three of us looked over the edge out into the Havasu Canyon, a tributary of the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon. Spectacular red rock formations and winding dry stone riverbeds waited for us 3,140 feet, in a mile and a half down the cliff, complete with cowboy mule trains carrying supplies and mail down to the small village near our destination, Havasu falls. The beauty and complete foreignness of the landscape, different from any Northwest hiking trail that I was accustomed to, made the deep gravelly sand in the bottom of the canyon creating difficult walking so worth it.

The Havasupai Tribe against all odds scratches out a living down in the riparian bottom of the Havasu Canyon, eight miles in by mule or by foot, which Brian was correct about, with only a third, more costly means of transport, by helicopter. Two more miles outside of the village we came to the camping site, so close to the turquoise Havasu river that it drowned out most conversation. The technicolor river and pools, colored by lyme deposits from water tumbling over travertine, were cold but refreshing, and the ramen noodles with leftover spiced chicken sausage and steamed vegetable mix was delectable. Everything just exactly perfect. It rained most of the night and I woke once or twice, maybe three times listening for the flash flood thundering down as the ranger warned could happen. Thankfully the worst we woke to in the morning was slight muscle soreness, which would be worked out walking back up the 3,140 ft canyon, and my unfortunate day four unwashed hair. Now that was a little scary.

"Why did I ever think getting into that canyon would be flat?" Brian asked me as we now sit at the Tucson County club pool, sun-soaking and staring into the man-made iridescent turquoise of the chlorinated water. I replied that I didn't really know, but I was happy that he was wrong that time.