Havasupai Day 3: The "Nope" of Mooney Falls and My Solo Adventure

Pre-Dawn Panic and the Mooney Gauntlet

Today was the day—the Mooney Falls Day. The descent where you transform into a human spider, clinging for dear life with zero safety nets and only a bunch of ladders and chains that scream, "I hope your life insurance is up to date!" Naturally, I spent most of the night wide awake with a delightful mix of nerves and regret. Mooney Falls is a beast at 150 feet tall, and you get to scale down the side of a cliff to see it up close. Yeah, not sketchy at all.

Being the planner that I am (aka anxious Googler), I packed some rock climbing gloves weeks in advance. I also did a quick search for “deaths by falling at Mooney Falls.” Results were inconclusive, mostly because I didn’t have the nerve to go beyond page one. By the time my friends woke up, I had firmly decided there was a solid 95% chance I wasn’t going to do this. I’m a single mom with a history of broken bones, and if anyone in our group was going to make the local headline of "Accident at Mooney," it would definitely be me.

The Early Bird Gets the Willies

One of my friends was also on the “no thanks” train, so we headed out early to scope out the situation. The hike down through the campgrounds was stunning, with turquoise-blue waters winding their way through like a scene from a fairy tale. We got to Mooney, peered over the edge, and boom—there it was, looking like Havasu Falls’ bigger, scarier cousin. I held my camera over the ledge, took a quick shot, and that 95% “nope” turned into a confident 100% “Not today, Satan”. My friend, however, caught the adventurous bug and decided she wanted to do it. Of course, I agreed to help her find the start of the descent, because I’m supportive (and also secretly hoping she’d change her mind).

We found the chains marking the beginning of the “Are you really doing this?” route. Just standing there made my palms sweaty and my knees weak. Did I mention I’m afraid of heights? My friend was gearing up while we waited for the rest of the group. They showed up just in time for a pep talk from the "been-there-done-that" group nearby. We exchanged nervous glances, shared some tips with another group who looked equally horrified, and then they were off, scaling down the ladders like seasoned pros. Right before they left, they dropped some bad news: the woman at the lodge said the helicopter might not fly the day we were scheduled to leave. Awesome.

My Solo Walkabout

With my friends now gone and no turning back, I headed back up the trail through the campgrounds. For once, I was moving at my own pace, not speed-walking to keep up with the group. It was bliss. I stopped at Havasu Falls, and by some miracle, I had it all to myself for nearly an hour. I found a low tree to perch on, snacked on trail mix, and just absorbed the sound of the waterfall and the glow of the pools as the sun crept over them. Pure magic.

Recharged, I explored every lookout point on the way back. Just when I thought I’d seen it all, I stumbled upon Hidden Falls. Score! A local woman noticed my wandering and suggested I check out 50 Foot Falls. I climbed down an embankment and ventured to Navajo Falls first, with its beautiful curtain of smaller falls and a rock in the middle perfect for reflection. Cue the mom guilt—I filmed a quick video for my daughter and soaked in the beauty. Following her advice, I scrambled over to 50 Foot Falls. At first, it looked underwhelming until I heard voices on the other side of a smaller fall. I made my way across (not my smartest solo move) and was greeted by a jaw-dropping sight: huge waterfalls surrounding a giant pool with people wading and swimming. A hidden oasis. I wished my friends had seen it and made a mental note for next time.

Village Vibes and Helicopter Hopes

Back at the village, I stopped by the helicopter line. A sign confirmed that they were not flying on Tuesdays (our departure day). Ugh. I found a staff member who verified it, and my stomach officially dropped to the canyon floor. Next up, Plan B: riding a horse out. Turns out, that’s only for experienced riders, and they didn’t have any extra saddles, and I wasn't up for a treacherous bareback ride. So, back to the drawing board. In the end, I booked a mule to carry our bags out, sparing our backs and giving us one less thing to worry about.

The lodge lady was chatty and kind, sharing how understaffed they were and how she juggled everything from cleaning rooms to guest check-ins. The hot water situation? Still a lukewarm “meh.” On my way back, I met a local man with a majestic Akita he’d rescued from Indonesia (the backstory I never got but am dying to know). School had just let out, and it was adorable seeing the local kids rushing to the store and cafe, some on foot and others galloping on horses like they were in an old time movie.

Wrapping Up and Resting Up

That night, our group reunited, full of stories, scrapes, and one twisted ankle. We all agreed Mooney Falls was a “one and done” experience, but they were glad they’d done it. I announced my plan to start hiking out at 5 a.m. while others would stay back to drop off the bags at 6 a.m. (shout-out to the lodge lady for the tip: dogs would pee on them if left out too early). After some last-minute calls home, a final dinner at the cafe, and a round of collective sighs, we packed up and headed to bed, bracing for the hike out.

Hike Stats for Day 3:

• Distance: 9.3 miles

• Elevation Gain: 454 feet

• New phobias added: 1 (falling off cliffs)

Lesson of the day? Sometimes bravery means climbing down a waterfall, and sometimes it means saying, “Nah, I’m good” and finding your own path.