Cathedral of the blue green water
I’ve been inside this body of mine for a while now and it’s changing on me. It’s always doing that. So I took it to the Grand Canyon to hike to Havasu Falls. I did so as a guest of the Havasupai people, the people of the blue green water. As I walked through their canyon I was also accompanied by my God, my nephew and a thin stream of hikers trying to get to Supai village. There are no roads to Supai. It’s an eight mile hike to the village, but horse trains do pack in and out, and the village is served by a helicopter on certain afternoons. Some hikers stay in the village; others sleep at the campground, and you need a permit from the tribe for both. They don’t want strangers straying all over their dangerous canyon, nor do they want to be overrun. The falls begin two miles past the village and they are spectacular. But the hike to Supai through the canyon was the holiest hike I’ve ever undertaken. The sky was very blue, the rocks richly brown, the cacti blooming yellow, red, melon-color. The lizards scurried below and the ravens soared lazily above. With each passing mile I became more thankful. Thankful for water, such an underappreciated luxury in our world. For sight, for shade, for each foot fall. For rest, the simple pleasure of sitting down. I hadn’t done everything right in preparation. I could have lost ten more pounds and my backpack could have been five pounds lighter. Should’ve taped my toe. But I didn't have to tape my knee. I made it. I walked on the floor of the Grand Canyon through a cathedral of brown rock and turquoise water. If only for a few days, I demanded that my body stop changing and do exactly what I willed it to do, before I lowered it into the blue green pool of Havasu Falls like a baptism. I call this photograph The Cathedral of Blue Green Water. I shall never forget it.
Copyright RC 2017