When the sun went down, the village went dark except for kerosene lamps here and there, a few open fires, and a number of lightning bugs or fireflies which drifted aimlessly up and down Main Street, looking for trouble. One by one I brought the others and made a shaky little pile and about two feet high leaning against the chute. Through the tears, I noticed my old walking stick lying nearby. It was one of the happiest nights of my life. There's something in the prospect southwest from Barstow which makes one hesitate. The people of Supai or at least a majority of them voted to reject the proposal. I went for walks, and on one of these, the last, I took in Havasu, regained everything that seemed to be ebbing away.
I caught a few rainbow trout, which grew big if not numerous in Havasu Creek. I took it and stood it on the most solid stone in the pile, behind the two topmost stones. I stayed the first night in the lodge the people keep for tourists, a rambling, old bungalow with high ceilings, a screened veranda, and large, comfortable rooms. But this, I was told, happened every year. Not only clever, but shrewd. I had no rope with me only my walking stick. It was one of the happiest nights of my life. There was nothing that had to be done. From a distance came the softened roar of the waterfall, that "white noise" as soothing as hypnosis. Not a chance of weaving such a wardrobe into a rope 80 feet long, or even 20 feet long. My sun-bleached bones, dramatically sprawled at the bottom of the chasm, would provide the diversion of the picturesque for future wanderers if any man ever came this way again. How about a signal fire? Beyond this point, there could hardly be any returning, yet the main canyon was still not visible below. Near the brink of it, 6 feet from the drop-off and the plunge, I found a sandy cove just big enough for my bed. Will come to all of us, as it must they say to all men. The door of the cabin, unlatched, creaked slowly open, although there was no perceptible movement of the air. Furthermore, without clothes, the sun would soon bake me to death. For a while, everything went well. So, I went down into Havasu 14 miles by trail and looked things over. I had a tiny notebook in my hip pocket and a stub of a pencil. The days became wild, strange, ambiguous a sinister element pervaded the flow of time. There were also a few long gray pieces of scat with a curious twist at one tip cougar? And up above the clouds replied thunder. The floor of the little canyon began as a bed of dry sand, scattered with rocks. I rolled up my sleeping bag and in the filtered light of the stars followed the trail that wound through thickets of cactus and up around ledges to the terrace above the mining camp. When I had regained some measure of nerve and steadiness I got up off my back and tried the wall beside the pond, clinging to the rock with bare toes and fingertips and inching my way crabwise toward the corner.
Video about girls of havasu:
Havasu Girls Pt. 3
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