Day 11: Reggae on the Rez or BBC Masterpiece for the Win

Day Eleven: Reggae on the Rez or BBC Masterpiece for the Win

6/17/11:

Yeah, we were only eating soup and (in my case) squished peanut butter and jelly sandwiches; yeah, we were only able to take pirate showers from the sinks in the elementary school’s bathroom; yeah, we were sleeping on a cafeteria floor and I had woken up with a fat spider inches away from my face, quite dead.

And yet, I really wasn’t ready to leave Havasu.

Of course, I had all of zero say in that decision, and so it was that we awoke June seventeenth and set our feet to walking. Not, however, until I was informed of that fact that Bob Marley had once been flown into Havasu, that he and the Wailers had performed reggae on the rez. Well, if Hopis liked Nicki Minaj, I guess it wasn’t too hard to understand why the Havasu had an affinity for one of the world’s favorite Rastas.

Spurred forth by this enlightening knowledge, Yelena and I hiked with relentless determination. It had taken us a bit under three hours to get to Havasu, and that was when we had walked down the switchbacks.

Among other things, we discussed Harry Potter, China, the French woman all resuscitation dolls were modeled after (but why? if I’m going to be immortalized, it isn’t in a form in which high school kids all over the world will end up drooling on my chin), and the two José Cuervo sipping hicks who were most definitely not going to make it.

Amidst this enthralling discourse (perhaps because of it), we missed the desert landmark we’d been looking for, and in a state of mild confusion, came upon the switchbacks far sooner than anticipated.

In a strong show of force, Yelena and I took the switchbacks at a steady gallop, overcoming men, both young and old, while loudly conferring on the intricacies of Elizabethan films and BBC masterpiece.  

They were not amused.

And then, like babes from the earth’s womb, out we popped.* The time it had taken us: just over three hours.

Cheering on the rest of our group (in retrospect, probably pretty obnoxious), we sipped on cold sodas and basked in the profound feeling of triumph.

In the end, it was Smokey and a box of rocks that held us down. Not mule-friendly in terms of transport, both had to be airlifted out of Havasu, which took an agonizingly long time.

Apparently, Smokey don’t fly. Or not well, anyway.

*Property of Yelena
Photos: 1. Trail down into the Grand Canyon 2. Trail switchbacks (and Sami's hat)