Havasupai Day 4: From Stars to Switchbacks and Everything in Between

5 a.m. Wake-Up Call: Is This Real Life?

The alarm blared at 5 a.m., yanking me from what felt like a solid minute of sleep. Thankfully, Past Me had the foresight to pack my gear the night before, knowing Future Me would need all the help she could get. Teeth brushed, warm clothes thrown on, and a cup of VitaCup coffee downed with the desperation of a shipwrecked sailor finding fresh water, I strapped on my headlamp. Two of the girls in my group joined me, their headlamps glowing like hopeful fireflies in the pitch-black abyss. The rest of our group stayed behind, fiddling with their bags and avoiding any surprise “presents” from the lodge dogs, as we’d been warned.

The air was the kind that made you wonder why you weren’t still snuggled in bed—32 degrees and nipping at my fingers like an icy gremlin. Gloves? Who needs those, right? (Spoiler: me. I needed them.) The darkness seemed to smother us, broken only by the crunch of our boots and the whispered drama of our gossip. But then there it was—Orion, my old celestial pal, twinkling like he was in on the joke.

The Glow of Unbothered Dogs and the Art of Headlamp Management

With headlamps blazing, we resembled an off-brand light show. Two beams down to catch every wayward rock and one pointed ahead to break up the void. About 20 minutes into our stumble out of the village, a gang of local dogs zipped across the trail, eyes glowing demonically in the lamplight. Heart skipped a beat? Check. Did they care? Not a chance. They were probably off to sniff out some five-star trash cans.

Hands still frozen, I kept chatting and joking with the girls to pretend that I wasn’t actually losing feeling in my extremities. Comforting, in a weird way, even if I did mentally wave goodbye to my fingertips.

Galloping Mules and Rocky Realities

Around mile 3 or 4, a noise like rolling thunder made us spin around. A troupe of mules came barreling down the trail, their breath visible in the frosty air as they left a cloud of dust in their wake. Their rider, cooler than we’d ever be, swung his lasso like he was in a Clint Eastwood flick. These mules were clearly on their way to pick up fresh hikers' luggage, and there we were, just trying not to fall apart. The sight was both exhilarating and a glaring reminder that even the animals here were better at this than us.

Finally, the sun decided to make an appearance, casting that golden-hour glow over the rugged terrain. It was beautiful, sure, but every rock and crevice seemed to mock me. We paused for water every two miles, peeling off layers as the cold turned into “sweaty but still cold.”

Catching Up and Splitting Off

Just when we found our pace, the rest of the group caught up, buzzing with energy and moving like they had a vendetta against gravity. We swapped snacks, shared some Advil like it was candy, and traded stories about our morning of woe. They sped off, aiming for a record time. The three of us stuck to our mantra: “no rush, more breaks.”

By mile 6.5, we took a long pause to acknowledge the final boss: a soul-crushing 1.5-mile ascent with 1,500 feet of elevation gain. One of the girls bolted ahead like she was late for a flight, while I committed to my “slow and steady (with a lot of breathers)” approach, armed with hiking poles and energy chews that tasted like sadness.

Rocks: My Arch-Nemesis

Every step up that hill only deepened my grudge against rocks. Loose, sharp, shifty little traitors. My hands were still half-frozen, adding an extra level of difficulty to my battle. The air was so thin, I wondered if breathing was a scam. My legs? Lead with a side of regret.

Enter Red Jacket Guy, a kindred spirit with a look that screamed “Whose idea was this?” It was his first hike ever. We exchanged the international nod of mutual suffering and silently decided that every stone wall would be our temporary salvation. Each glance said the same thing: We’ve made mistakes, haven’t we?

Unforgettable Trail Encounters

An elderly couple passed us, excitement undampened despite a fall on some sneaky rocks. The woman mentioned something about “secret, less rocky paths,” which at this point sounded like unicorn folklore. I gave her a supportive nod that said, Good luck with that.

Then came the local woman with the cane. Determined, eyes set ahead, she shared that she was stuck on this rocky nightmare because the Tuesday helicopter didn’t run. Her dog was waiting in the village, so turning back wasn’t an option. Boyfriend to the rescue with a horse, supposedly. We exchanged a few “You got this” comments before parting ways.

Final Push to Victory

Red Jacket Guy and I dragged ourselves up the last set of switchbacks. My right foot decided now was a good time for neuropathy pain—thanks, body. We paused at nearly every stone wall, catching our breath and mumbling words like “Almost there?” that were more hopeful than true.

And then, finally, the hilltop. Cue the heavenly chorus. Red Jacket Guy and I shared a triumphant high-five before he went his way and I mine. My group waited at the top with cold, damp hugs and a chorus of, “You did it!”

Cow Crossings and Diner Pit Stops

Clean clothes, a sigh of relief, and we were off. The desert rolled by as we swapped tales of victory and mild complaints. A cow crossing the road nearly made us need CPR, and eventually, we pulled into a Route 66 diner that looked like a Pinterest board threw up on it. The food? Let’s call it “memorable.”

Reflections and Resolutions

At the airport, my body was a sore mess, and my brain didn’t know which time zone it was in. But sitting there with a glass (or three) of Sauvignon Blanc? Pure bliss. By dinner, I was back with my daughter, and the entire day already felt like a fever dream.

Would I do it again? Not a chance. Am I glad I did it? Absolutely. My muscles will hold a grudge for days, and my pack will spit out dust for weeks, but those memories? Worth every step. Now, we’re plotting our next adventure: Denali, with a side of northern lights.

Stats of the Day:

Miles Hiked: 8.75 – Felt like 87.5.

Hiking Time: 4 hours 30 minutes

Elevation Gain: 2,055 ft – Because who doesn’t love leg day?

Weather: 32 degrees at dawn with a side of frostbite, warming up to “sweaty but still cold.” 

Highlight: Successfully hauling myself out of the canyon without needing a mule escort or a helicopter lift—10/10 would brag again.