Day 2: The Confluence Out And Back

Our second day began early. Though not quite an alpine start. The sun had already risen when we departed. We left most of our gear behind at the campsite and lightened our load for this 16-mile round trip to the Confluence, where Havasu Creek meets the Colorado River. With some online pictures spoiling ahead, I was expecting to see the green belt merging into the muddy yellow Colorado River.

Our first stop was Mooney Falls, the tallest waterfall in the area. In some ways, it was even more impressive than Havasu Falls! The descent to Mooney Falls was definitely an adventure in itself — part of the trail led through narrow rock tunnels, and the final stretch was climbing down steep, and extremely slippery cliffs using iron chains and ladders. Mist from the falls coated the entire face of the cliff, making the climb thrilling and treacherous.

At each end of the dangerous sections, piles of gloves were left on the ground for travelers to use, offering a grip on the chains to help pass this challenging portion. Once made through, we arrived at the base of the falls. Knowing that we would return later that afternoon, we pressed on, following the trail as it wound through the valley alongside the shimmering waters of Havasu Creek.

The creek water was icy cold and refreshing. We had to cross the creek many times along the route. Cairns were set up here and there marking the way. The cliffs grew higher as we went deeper into the canyon - awe and isolation.

Around noon, we reached the Confluence. Schools of fish - rainbow trout (looked appetizing) swam against the current in the translucent creek, their shimmering bodies almost hypnotic. The Havasu Creek, with its vibrant turquoise water, merged to the Colorado River, creating a striking color contrast. Though it wasn’t the rainy season, so the Colorado River wasn’t yellow enough, nor was the Havasu Creek running high, so the contrast wasn’t as dramatic as it could be. But the sight was still incredible.

On the banks of the Colorado, we saw several rafts moored, and a group of older travelers disembarked. They told us they were on a multi-day rafting and hiking trip — a combination that sounded like the perfect adventure. We also met people making the opposite trip as we did - overnight at the Confluence and a day trip from here to the Havasu village. This seemed like a solid plan to avoid the Havasu lottery and high entrance fees.

The hike back to the campsite was exhausting but still rewarding. We encountered several groups of bighorn sheep and had some pretty close interactions with them.

We detoured to a cluster of smaller waterfalls along the way, and though the climb back up Mooney Falls was daunting as before, we managed it just before sunset. That evening, the nearly full moon lit up the valley, creating a magical atmosphere. After dinner, we returned to Havasu Falls to take photos and enjoy the solitude.

Day 3: The Climb Back

The next morning, we tested our luck at the helicopter pad, hoping for a ride back to the trailhead. Unfortunately, the schedule was fully booked, so we resigned ourselves to the hike out.

The climb back up was grueling. Conversation dwindled as we focused on each step. Our boots crunched on the loose gravel. Dust clouds rose as horse packs passed us, making the scene feel like something out of an old Western.

When we finally reached the top, the sun was setting, casting a golden glow over the canyon. Driving away, the landscape was bathed in red light, a stunning farewell to an unforgettable trip.

These are animals we came across while driving back to Phoenix.

Final Thoughts

Before this trip, I imagined the village as a place frozen in time, untouched by modern conveniences. However, seeing satellite dishes, air conditioners, and pickup trucks reminded me that such expectations can be unfair. The residents of Supai Village have every right to embrace modernity while maintaining their unique way (and location) of life. I feel a bit embarrassed now by my unrealistic assumptions. People — no matter where they live — have the right to modern life and to choose how they want to live. Outsiders shouldn’t impose their ideals and force others to live as if it was centuries ago just to satisfy a romanticized imagination. The presence of dishes, appliances, and phones — even the content on those phones like social media posts or short-form videos — all belong here. They SHOULD belong here. It reminded me of a little boy I once saw playing mobile games on his mom’s phone in a remote village situated on an island in the center of Lake Titicaca, southern Peru.

One thing that stood out to me was the abundance of signs asking visitors not to take photos of the village, its people, or their animals. While I understand the importance of respecting privacy, the signs felt somewhat unwelcoming. It’s clear that tourism plays a vital — perhaps even the most important — role in the village’s economy. A more balanced approach might help visitors feel like guests rather than intruders. After paying such a high entrance fee into what feels like a Native American theme park, it’s difficult to fully support the idea of separating locals from visitors. Not only would we benefit from meaningful cultural exchange, but so would the residents. Cultures can be preserved in museums — people should not be. Protecting culture doesn’t mean creating barriers; it means tearing down distrust. I can understand why some Native Americans might view ‘Americans’ as intruders or even invaders. But as a foreigner, I hope I won’t be treated the same way.

This was hands-down one of the best backpacking trips I’ve ever done. From the awe-inspiring waterfalls to the actual physical challenge of the hikes, every moment was worth it. I’ll never forget the beauty of Havasu Falls, the turquoise waters of the Confluence, and the village that I visited.

Next time, I’ll be sure to plan a more relaxing trip instead of a whirlwind one. And who knows? Maybe I’ll even write about my previous adventure on the Juan de Fuca trail soon!