The day I nearly killed myself

June 28, 2007--Today we had planned to take a helicopter down into the Grand Canyon to a village called Supai, where you can then hike into some of the most gorgeous waterfalls imaginable. This was probably the part of our travels in Utah and Arizona that I was looking forward to the most. Hence my disappointment and frustration when I woke that morning feeling nauseous and faint. I pushed through, and after vomiting in the parking lot I felt better, so we hopped in the car and headed toward the canyon.

At the rim of the canyon, we hitched a ride on the helicopter. I was directed into the front seat, next to the pilot. As we lifted up, he told me, "Hang on, the first one's the big one!" and we tilted sideways over the rim. I'm sure I let out a bit of a squeal, and we zoomed down along an arm of the canyon toward the little Indian village of Supai.





























We hopped out, paid our money, and headed down the 2 mile trail toward the first falls. It was 115 degrees and I still hadn't been able to eat anything, but I figured a little stomach ache wouldn't stop me (yeah, so I'm stubborn).

We got down to the first two falls, Navajo and Havasu, the water glowing a beautiful blue-green due to the mineral travertine. The famous Havasu Falls were especially impressive, dropping 100 feet into a big blue-green pool, then dropping down through several more pools created by the travertine depositing on the lip of each small fall. It was seriously like a miniature water park (with almost as many people).




















We decided to skip the third waterfall as it required a steeper, slipperier descent, and headed back up toward the village instead. Though there was only water in my stomach, I vomited twice as I trudged slowly back up the trail, and then once more waiting for the helicopter ride back to the car. My poor father was imagining having to carry me the two miles in 115 degree heat. I made it, though, and we headed back to civilization and air conditioning in Kingman, AZ that night. It didn't make me feel any better, though, when the helicopter pilot as we were lifting up out of the canyon (and following the 10-mile trail you can alternately take to the village instead of the helicopter flight) was jokingly pointing out various rock shapes he had noticed through the years that looked like Joe Camel, a mama bear and cub, and two big macs, and then noted that it's especially cool when he "gets to see a dead body on the trail," which apparently happens a couple times a year when dumbasses like me get dehydrated and overheated.