I’m in an arboretum, in a riparian zone, in the heart of the Sonoran Desert, in the nation’s fifth largest national forest, an hour from downtown Phoenix. And as I watch butterflies flit between stalks of lavender and the fiery blooms of caesalpinia pulcherrima, I’m smirking. It’s the face I get whenever I think of outsiders eschewing my desert as just hot sand and dirt.

Boyce Thompson Arboretum, the state’s oldest botanical garden, was founded as an arid plant preserve and a global collection of the trees that thrive best in the climate. You’ll find a healthy representation of natives
— agaves, aloes, barrel cacti and saguaros—along with some transplants like the eucalyptus and boojum.

Nine scenic paths cross the state park and arboretum, including the 1.5 mile Main Trail that winds past the founder’s Picket Post Mansion and beside cottonwoods drinking from Queen Creek. We started at the short Sonoran Desert Exhibit loop and continued on the Main Trail toward the greenhouses.

The nearby Children’s Horticulture Garden dazzled with orange Queen butterflies and the smells of herbs.

Father down the path, the Cactus and Succulents Garden offered some up-close investigation of barrel cacti and other forms that look like the spinier cousins of a coral reef.

Rushes line the lips of Ayer Lake, a reservoir created for irrigation. From here, you’ll get your first glimpse of Boyce Thompson’s Picket Post House perched on the hill beyond. The historic mansion is closed except for special occasions, but the trail takes you up close to its crenelations in a volcanic cliffside.

At the easternmost edge of the park, you’ll have an option for your loop back along Queen Creek. The High Trail hits the views, but we opted to stick to the Main Trail so we’d trek through the Eucalyptus Forest. After standing on the suspension bridge, of course. Keep an eye out for hummingbirds.

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My adventure of a lifetime happened 2,000 feet into the wilderness of the Grand Canyon, at Havasupai.

I’d clambered through rock tunnels and down chains wet with mist from a 200-foot waterfall. I’d trekked through a lost canyon, overgrown with wild grape. I’d scrambled up ladders, and plunged into cold water, milky-blue from limestone.

I’d done it after carrying a quarter of my weight on my back for 10 miles, and surviving for three days off my careful packing. And I’d do it all again to have just another day of true adventure.

Here’s what I learned about hiking to Havasupai and its dramatic waterfalls, in case it helps you get there yourself one day.

Getting the Permits

The falls and campgrounds occupy land belonging to the Havasupai Indian Reservation. Supai, the main village is home to a few hundred tribal members; the fees and camp expenses you pay to obtain a permit are tourism dollars for the tribe. At the time of this post, I paid around $200 per person for two nights. A minimum stay of one night is required to visit.

Securing permits is an adventure in itself. After the photogenic falls first popped up on social media, visitation spiked, along with competition for coveted campsites. A local Arizona news outlet doomed the process as “nearly impossible.” I was thwarted my first year of getting a permit back in the days before the reservation system moved online, and calling the tourism office ad nauseam until someone picked up was the norm.

The next year, we came armed with a larger group and a plan to be on www.havasupaireservations.com as it went live for the year on February 1 at 8 am. The chaos started promptly after—browsers failing to load and rejections for dates that were no longer available. I was fielding Facebook messages from one friend, texting from others, a phone call, and my co-worker shouting down the hallway. And then, somehow, we got it: nine people, two nights, one “impossible” experience. Permits for all of 2018 were sold out within 20 minutes.

Packing

Here’s what I brought for a two-night, three-day campground stay in late October. If you are new to backpacking, check out my packing list and tips for beginners.

Camp gear

• Backpack
• Hydration bladder
• Tent
• Sleeping bag
• Sleeping pad
• Trekking poles
• Headlamp
• Solar-powered collapsible lantern
• Jetboil and fuel
• Utensils
• Knife
• Travel towels
• Sunscreen and bug repellant
• Stuff sacks
• Water bottle for around camp
• First aid kit with leukotape for blister prevention
• Water filter (we did not end up using this for the water at Fern Spring, but handy to have)
• Day pack
• Hammock
• Shower wipes
• Rope
• Rat sack/critter bag and rope if going in summer to protect food from aggressive squirrels
• Cash

Food

• Freeze-dried dinners and breakfast
• Lunch to eat on the trails (we made peanut butter and jelly)
• Snacks and energy bars
• Energy chews

Clothes

• Pair of pants
• Pair of shorts
• Fleece layer
• Long-sleeve layer
• Jacket
• T-shirts
• Hiking socks
• Swimsuit
• Sports bra
• Hat
• Hiking boots
• Water shoes (and neoprene socks if the water will be cold)
• Grip gloves for Mooney Falls

Hiking Down

We opted for a night’s rest in Peach Springs, AZ before tackling the trail early the next morning. But an early turn-in became a midnight affair after my car engine seized on the highway outside of Ash Fork. Friends came from the hotel to rescue us, and after tinkering with a tow we were all settled at the Grand Canyon Caverns Inn.

The hour-long drive out to Hualapai Hilltop wasn’t as early as I planned, but we joined the ranks of precariously parked vehicles along the canyon road and got started downhill by 9:30 am. In October, it was sunny but cool, and we made good time.

The first mile and half wound 1,000 feet down the canyon wall. Then, we filed through a dry river bed as sandstone canyon walls rose around us. This 6.5-mile section of the hike ended in a leafy jaunt along Havasu Creek. After crossing between pastures on the outskirts of Supai, we finally made it to the main village.

We checked in with the tourism office, got our wristbands and tent tag, and started off through the town of Supai. The constant roar of a helicopter lifting hiker’s bags out of the canyon followed us through the narrow streets. We got some high-fives from a little villager hanging around outside his school. Onward!

By the time we’d reached the site of Navajo Falls and Fifty Foot Falls, I could muster only a little interest. 8.5 miles of packing wore on my shoulders and spirit. We kept on another 1.5 miles through sand, the idea of camp spurring us on, until we reached majestic Havasu Falls. After a few pictures from the vantage point at the top of the trail, we finished up the last half-mile push through the campsites.

Camping

Welcome to Havasupai! Enjoy the pit toilets, picnic tables, fresh spring water and proximity to a cold gatorade. While remote, it’s not rugged. The half-mile campground stretch is filled with a lot of coolers, pop-up tarps and propane stoves dragged down by mules or hauled in a chopper.

It was with a pinch of judgment (and sure, maybe some jealousy) that I eyed people navigating wheelbarrows of their stuff from the drop point inside the mule’s pen.  But for my stalwart group and other backpackers we crossed, I commend you. For the tough hike in, the reliance on freeze-dried fineries and the hike out to come.

The campgrounds are stunning. We skipped to the back, where stretches of flimsy boards and a crooked bridge over the creek were the required passage for a camp spot. I set up a tent with a view of the blue water cascading over limestone-lipped dams. Campers before us had already strung a knotted line for carabiners, but I’d recommend packing some rope or twine to hang food and dry clothes just in case.

Havasu Falls

The short half-mile to Havasu Falls made it a popular return journey from camp. It’s gorgeous. The iconic tail of white water plummeting into a perfect blue pool below has apparently changed since a decades-old flood, but Havasu Falls is still magnificent. We were just happy it was blue; some early fall storms had turned it chocolate brown just the week before!

In late October, it was too cold to swim. We enjoyed from a distance, and even got down for a yoga session led by our group’s newly minted instructor.

Make sure to bring some cash to try fresh frybread!

Mooney Falls

If Havasu was the serene—a sight for sore eyes after a 10-mile trek, a gentle yoga backdrop—then Mooney was the audacious. Flanked with jagged travertine outcroppings, Mooney plunges almost 200 feet, roaring and spitting mist onto descending hikers.

The cliffside climb to bow at Mooney’s feet requires crunching through natural rock tunnels and clinging to wet chains. We had to wait a while for another group to encourage their last hiker through the end, but sitting on the cliffside watching the waterfall wasn’t the worst fate.

Twisting around to press my chest to the rock and gripping the chains with both hands, I managed an effective descent, trusting my upper body strength over a steep gap in footing. All of us wore grip gloves to hold onto the chains. The last obstacle before touching ground is a wooden ladder.

Fueled with adrenaline, I soaked in the power of the waterfall for a while before we continued on.

If you are hiking up or down to Mooney, you won’t want to do it against traffic! Everyone was headed down in the morning, and up again by 3:30 in the afternoon.

There are also great views from the top of Mooney.

Beaver Falls

Without swimming on the schedule, we had plenty of daylight to head out to explore Beaver Falls. The 3-mile hike in itself was worthwhile. I was surprised to learn less than half of visitors make it out here.

From the cliffside at Mooney, we struck out along the creek and followed a trail up into the canyon. Up on the western wall, we saw a staggeringly high ladder network I’d read was a historic burial ground for the Havasupai tribe.

Our first creek crossings were soon after. Directions online had noted there should be bridges around, but we guessed everything had been swept away by storms. The water near the lips of the limestone dams offered shallow and safe footing for crossing, or sometimes you’ll just need to go in knee-deep.

The hike opened up into a valley that just needed roaming dinosaurs to complete the atmosphere. Swathed entirely with waist-high wild grape and shadowed by red canyon walls, we’d felt like we had entered the land of the lost. The blue creek rumbled through the foliage alongside us as we ducked under arbors of grape vines and crossed a wooden plank.

After the hidden valley, the trail led us past a scenic point in the creek to a sprawling date palm tree, a signpost for a choice in paths. But—what was the choice? Allegedly, a path continued to the left across the creek to the top of Beaver Falls, but the water rushing over fronds looked intimidatingly deep. We chalked it up for another storm alteration and climbed up the ladder to our right.

After some more climbing over rock remnants of ancient falls, we made it to a signpost that indicated we’d made it. I’d somehow walked right past the most iconic shot of Beaver Falls that capture the terraces of blue water.

A picnic table marked a downhill turn to play at the falls at the bottom. It was shady and the water was freezing, but we jumped in for a quick picture. A rope on the opposite wall led to the upper falls, but I opted to hang around on the inside a cave of ferns where a waterfall gushed overhead. Be careful of the undertow!

Hiking Out

I got by with a little help from my friends. Seriously. The Beatles’ hits actually serenaded me up the last two miles of this challenging canyon climb. And I have my friends to thank, too, for the strong willpower and companionship.

10 miles with a heavy pack in the 80-degree heat is tough. I knew it would be. And I knew I wanted to do it—to take my experience, on my back, and challenge myself to accomplish it. The first 7 miles went by quickly, passing back through the village, over the creek, through the dry river canyon. When we got into the full sun and started climbing the scrubby hills, it got hard.

The last mile and a half up the switchbacks were punctuated by quick stops in the shade while my calves burned. But we all did it! I climbed out of the Grand Canyon and lived to tell the tale. Our post-hike beer and burger in Williams, AZ was a phenomenal treat.

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Babad Doʼag.

The native O’odham word for Mount Lemmon, the tallest peak in the Santa Catalinas, sounds straight out of Lord of the Rings. It’s modern day moniker isn’t bad either; “Lemmon” isn’t a misspelled citrus, but a botanist who was the first white woman to ascend the mountain. She hiked it on her honeymoon—a girl after my own heart. It’s one of the few mountains actually named for a woman.

The whole existence of the Catalinas is magical to me. Tucson, the nearest city, sits below at an elevation of 2,600 feet. In an hour up the Catalina Highway, on the scenic Sky Island Byway, you’re suddenly at 7,700. You can even continue on to reach the true top at 9,000 feet.

The temperature drops 20+ degrees. Pine trees line camp sites and hiking paths. There’s a tiny town with a population of 40 called Summerhaven where summer campers pop in for general store refuels and skiiers launch onto slopes at Mount Lemmon Ski Valley.

You are 77 miles as the crow flies (Tolkien words are just in my head now) from the border of Mexico in the heart of the Sonoran Desert. And yet somehow, you’re wrapped in this high-desert wonderland of songbirds, foliage and panoramic views.

As you’re driving up, keep an eye out for hard-working bicyclists puffing their way to the top, and pull over for a look at Windy Point. There’s a cool outcropping to hike out onto, or just take a peek over the edge toward the city.

Camping

We like our camping primitive, so we met up with friends along General Hitchcock Highway where they’d secured an open spot in the woods. If you’d rather have a bathroom like a civilized person, there are plenty of options for designated campgrounds. Just make sure to drive farther up the mountain in the summer where the temperatures are best.

Hiking

Two years ago, I’d come up the mountain for a condensed version of the Lemmon Loop: Start at Mount Lemmon Trailhead at the top (9,000 feet), connect with Lemmon Rock Lookout Trail, wind through Wilderness of Rocks trail, then head up the Aspen Trail (6 miles total).

This time, we started lower at Butterfly Trailhead, intending an out-and-back of about 10 miles toward Crystal Spring. But when you start at only 7,700 feet, and descend all the way down to 6,500, and it hasn’t rained in a while, you remember why you don’t mess around with summer in Arizona—no matter how high up the mountain you think you are.

The temperature was already creeping into the 80s by our halfway point. Upper Butterfly led to a junction with Crystal Spring Trail. We walked past amazing views on our way down, wading through waist-high ferns, and stopped for a break by a massive oak tree. There was no water in the canyons and creeks when we passed, which would have been a happy reprieve for our footsore dogs. I loved the foliage and views, but I wouldn’t recommend this trail in summer simply for the last mile stretch, where fires have scarred the hillside and burned up foliage. The result was a very, very hot path.

We reached Crystal Spring Trailhead, mulling over our options for return, as the doggies were done for the day. It was then, on the slopes of Babad Doʼag with our tired steeds, we were offered safe passage by wood elves returning to their home.

And by elves, I mean two incredibly kind women with a truck who 1) had just finished the same hike and 2) were driving to the trailhead where we parked our car, as one owned a cabin nearby. I couldn’t believe our fortune. It was a bumpy return up the hillside where we chatted about life on the mountain and wildfires.

Summerhaven

Back at camp, thunder cracked overhead and we bundled up our belongings before heading into Summerhaven for a well-deserved beer. Well, the one restaurant joint in town wasn’t wild about dogs on the patio. So we dashed under sheets of rain with dogs in tow toward the Cookie Cabin & pizzeria, and dashed back after learning they had never served beer and the pizza kitchen was closed for the day. We were able to stock up at the general store (if you’re into fudge, it’s a claim to fame). My favorite takeaway: A sign selling “lemmonade.”

LIFE’S A TRAIL…

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What if I forget something?

How much water do I bring?

How many times do I need to re-pack before I look like an outdoorsy Instagram babe instead of a overwhelmed weirdo strapped to a giant lumpy pillow?

It’s running through your mind, and it ran through mine. Anyone who’s headed the call of the wild and decided to take a relationship with camping to the next level has pondered over this.

Car camping is beautiful in its abundance: Boom box? Backseat. Seven changes of clothes? Backseat. Way too much beer? In the giant cooler, obviously in the backseat. But backpacking is an entirely different love song to nature, an overture of dependence, toil and simplicity. And the startling realization of how much crap you need to spend a night outside.

Back in the spring, I gleefully accepted an invitation to traverse six miles into Aravaipa Canyon, a creek-crossing adventure in Arizona’s southern wilderness. Here are the takeaways from my first trip to reassure any of you backpacking beginners.

Get the right gear for you

Welcome to the inverted world of backpacking gear, where less is more. Lightweight packs, sleeping bags and tents rack up astronomical prices compared to their car-camping variations that boast twice as much room and fabric. But hey, you know the saying. You get what you pay for, right?

My advice to you, as a beginner: You don’t need to pay for top-tier gear.

If you’re the kind of hobbyist that comes at new endeavors with fist-fulls of cash to buy the best and newest, more power to you. But this section contains shaming of full-price outdoor retail and alternatives for comfort and functionality on a budget.

Your process for purchasing gear might go something like this. Head to your local REI. Pick up a svelte sleeping pad that self inflates and reduces down to the size of a $100 bill. See price tag indicating it will take two of those types of bills to walk out with it, place back on shelf, and mutter to yourself.

Now, find stuff on sale or used. You can even go on Amazon and buy it for a quarter of the price. There are some awesome outdoor retailers there that put effort into designing lightweight products for those of us not committed to forking over a tax return’s worth of tiny tents and little chairs made of a swath of fabric pulled over collapsible poles.

Here’s what I got before my trip:

• Pack: Osprey Aura AG 65. I shelled out for this brand new for $190, but only because I got a discount. It’s a really great pack.
• Tent: Marmot 2 person Tungsten. Bought for $100, half of its retail price, from a guy on OfferUp that it lugged it out only once.
• Sleeping bag: OutdoorsmanLab Mummy Sleeping Bag. 3 seasons, 3 pounds, $35. Time spent putting back into compression sack: Priceless.
• Sleeping pad: OutdoorsmanLab Ultralight Sleeping Pad. 40 bucks for a fluorescent tongue of padding that inflates in a few breaths, and didn’t suck for comfort. REI prices for these run up to $200.
• Chairs: Marchway Ultralight folding chairs. $30 instead of REI’s $80, and only 6 ounces heavier.
• Hydration bladder: WACOOL 3-liter reservoir, $17. Your pack doesn’t come with this, and you need it so you can drink water and not die.
• Trekking poles: Snowy Mountain Traders aluminum poles. What’s better than two legs? Four. And you can stick these extra two legs wantonly in rocks and mud, and use them to prevent getting smacked by a tree branch by the people walking in front of you. Buy them for $40 instead of $100.
• Water filter: Survivor Filter PRO. We ended up using this extensively, although the pump process is a little slow-going.
• Jetboil: Ok, popular brand-name things can be nice. I got this as a gift and it worked great.
• Utensils: Sea to Summit Delta Cutlery Set for $10.
• Food: Backpacker’s Pantry Dinners. For plant-based eaters like myself, the selection of freeze-dried vegan dinner picks is outstanding. I eschewed plating of any kind and ate directly out of the bag, hunched over in my seat and grunting like a caveman.
• Potty trowel: The Deuce Ultralight. For reasons.

Here is what I already owned and brought along:

• Headlamp.
• Solar-powered collapsible lantern.
• Knife.
• Daypack. Carry this around when you explore after setting up camp.
• Pillowcase. I stuff this with my clothes.
• Camp sandals. We hiked in through a creek, so it was nice to change into different dry shoes.
• Snacks. Snacks on snacks on snacks.
• Toothbrush and toiletries.
• Hat.
• First aid kit.
• Camera.
• Bag for garbage.

What I wish I had brought:

• Booze. Can someone figure out how to freeze-dry beer?
• Stuff sacks. As I got everything laid out, I discovered my need for sacks to combine and organize a lot of the little stuff I mentioned above.
• Bear cannister/rope. Luckily someone else had this and new how to use it.
• Water filter as a squeezable pouch. This is way faster and easier than a pump for filtration.

I didn’t need:

• So many clothes. I brought way too many for one night, and prepared for it to be much colder than it was. Limit yourself—clothes are bulky and you’re going to be smelly anyway, so just pack essentials.
• So much food. I guess it’s better to come over-prepared in this department, but remember that I brought snacks on snacks on snacks? I just probably needed ‘snacks.’

Pack and re-pack in advance

My husband wanted to dig right into stuffing in the goods. I wanted to prepare with videos and pictures of neatly arranged piles of things going in the bag. Turns out a combination of using your resources and trail-and-error works best.

I got a great tip from a gal on Youtube: For bags with a sleeping bag compartment at the bottom, there are pockets of space created on the sides for items like your Jetboil propane. We also learned about using the “brain” or top zip on your pack to hold necessities you need to access more quickly.

But it really comes down to your pack and your gear. It’s a puzzle of stuffing and swearing. Try it several times the night before you head out to get comfortable.

Settle in for the haul

The first time you swing your pack on and are embraced lovingly by the waist straps, don’t panic about the weight. Get situated, cinch everything tightly, and trust in the balance and weight distribution. My big realization was that after hiking with 25 extra pounds, you adjust after the first hour, or couple of miles.

This is your life now. You are a fearless packer, face set in grim determination with maybe a hint of a smile. You inspire awe into the families with little kids playing in the creek as you pass by (“so adventurous,” mutters mom). You swing your trekking poles to the rhythm coming from your group’s bluetooth speaker.

And, inexplicably, it’s almost harder to stop than it is to just keep hiking. We paused for a snack break and chance to soak in the cool creek, and hefting the bag off and on was worse than the actual trek. When we reached a potential camp spot and deliberated moving on to see what else was down the canyon, I just wanted to keep hiking. I was fueled with purpose, like how you give high-energy working dogs a pack to wear or something to pull.

But when you do finally stop for camp and dry out the back sweat, it feels oh so rewarding.

Keep it neat

Don’t play into the temptation to let things go while you’re at camp. You know what I mean. Clothes strewn everywhere inside the tent. A bag of toiletries dumped hastily to find your toothpaste. Compression sacks discarded into corners. How did a KIND bar wrapper get in here?

The more you stay on top of keeping your gear organized, the easier it will be to inevitably repack the beast on your back when you leave. This is why stuff sacks are so important.

Enjoy yourself

Open skies, plentiful stars, a full moon, friendly faces lit with fire, the constant shhhh of the distant creek. It’s camping, but you also just walked all your own stuff in here. That’s pretty awesome. Enjoy it, even without the cooler of beer or the Spikeball set.

Expect to be sore

Soreness sneaks up on you. You won’t even totally feel it the morning after your hike in. Your body accepts the now familiar weight of the pack and steps up for the challenge of returning. My greatest struggle was an exposed uphill climb in creeping afternoon temperatures, right before we hit the parking lot.

At this point I thought, “I did it.” When I emerged from my seat in the car after the three-hour drive back into civilization, my entire muscular system said, “Yeahhh, you did!” Our carload stumbled out with groans and pains in places previously unbeknownst to us. The weirdest bodily meltdown was the soreness in the crook of my arm from planting and plucking the trekking poles.

So don’t plan to do anything serious in the hours after you get back. Unless it’s sitting on your phone planning on where you want to go backpacking next.

Ha ha, you’re hooked.

LIFE’S A TRAIL…

So, every week I send out a fun & inspiring story to my subscribers in my newsletter, Trail Ratings. Get it!

The post Backpacking for Beginners: Takeaways from My First Trip appeared first on Roaming Hills.