Havasu Canyon

Posted: April 4th, 2009 | Author: Roger Ludwig | Filed under: Arizona | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment »

Havasu Falls from the trailHavasu Canyon is a spell binding place where you would be sure to find spring buzzing and blooming around you. It’s not so much south but down, deep into a side canyon of the Grand Canyon, on the Havasupai Indian Reservation of Northern Arizona, a 943 mile drive from Cheyenne, Wyoming.

Let me paint a picture of your campsite. Redwall limestone soars 600 feet to the clear blue sky in front and behind you, etched with desert varnish. The new leaves of ancient cottonwoods are vibrant in shocking spring greens. To your right a twin waterfall of sparkling white arcs 100 feet to plunge into a turquoise pool overflowing its terraces to form the stream passing your camp. This is Havasu canyon, an oasis bursting with life in the midst of the desert. Strong colors of the purest blue, green, coral and turquoise stand side by side. This is the Shangri-la of the South West.

There is no noise but the water’s voice, at once roaring, now chortling, bubbling by. Tranquility eases into your soul. Why so quiet? The only way in is to walk. Or hire a horse. Or drop in by helicopter. On the way you pass through the village of Supai, population 450, the last place in the United States where the mail is delivered by mule. Havasu Canyon is a perfect escape from Wyoming winter during Spring break.

The trailhead is at Hualapai Hilltop, at 5,200 feet altitude, the dead end of Arizona Hwy. 18, 60 miles north of Route 66, west of Seligman, AZ. Here a large dirt parking lot balances at the edge of a precipitous drop into the dry reaches of Hualapai Canyon. It will be filled with the cars and trucks of the Havasupai Indians who live in the village of Supai 8 miles below, joined by the rigs of fellow visitors. In mid-morning Havasupai wranglers arrive with a string of small horses and mules for moving the mail, groceries, some tourists and their duffles. If you’re hiking you begin by walking around the horses, watching for road apples and stepping off the rim to descend the knee-jarring switch backs to the dry stream-bed 1000 feet below.
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