The Fates had conspired against me for more than a decade. Looking back, it started in August, 1992 when Hurricane Andrew swept Dade County, Florida, in what was the costliest natural disaster in U.S. history... causing $25 Billion in damage. It also wrecked a much anticipated SCUBA diving trip with my dad to the Florida keys — to celebrate my moving to New York for grad school.

Over the next few years we hatched a variety of other schemes... canoeing in the Adirondacks... hiking in Maine... visiting the Havasupai Indian Reservation down in the Grand Canyon... I liked the Grand Canyon idea best, because it would also be taking a trip down memory lane. Our family — mom, dad, my sister and me — had gone down to Havasupai when I was five years old, back in the late 60's. I'd kept several specific memories from that visit: the waterfalls, the blue-green waters, the tunnels in the cliffs. I wanted to go back to make some grown-up memories. And I wanted to return with my dad. Fast forward to the current millennium, and my old battle with the Fates. I booked rooms at the reservation's lodge for April 2002. But a month before the trip Dad had a medical emergency and we had to cancel. The next year I called in December to book rooms for the next April, but they'd started taking reservations in August and the lodge was full. Foiled again. But at long last the planets fell into alignment, and in April 2005 we took our long delayed father-son trip (with son’s pal Theo included). Destination: Havasupai.

There's a lot of information about Havasupai on the internet, so I won't repeat too many of the stats. But some things bear emphasis. First, the Havasupai reservation is located in a side canyon to the Grand Canyon proper — some 100 miles or so west of the South Rim. To get there, one must drive west from Flagstaff, and at Seligman turn off onto old Route 66. At Peach Springs it's another 60 miles to the top of the trail at Hualapai Hilltop; and if you haven't stocked up on water, trail food by now, or gas, it's too late. There are no services on this last stretch. None. Second, from the trailhead it's an 8-mile hike down to the village. Well, you can ride a horse if you so choose. And if you're a weenie you could fly down on a helicopter. We split the difference by hiking in on foot, but sending our bags down separately by mule. Third, this is a moderately difficult hike, but it involves an uneven trail with a mile of switchbacks at the top before winding down through a side canyon, around boulders, through small streams, and between high canyon walls in a gentle descent toward the village. From the village, it's another mile and a half to Havasu Falls and the campground. Beyond that, it's another mile and a half to more impressive Mooney Falls with it's treacherous tunnels and ladders. Remember: you have to hike back out. What may seem like a gentle sloping trail on the way down looks a lot steeper — and is a lot harder — on the way back. The complete experience will involve nearly 25 miles of hiking. It takes roughly twice as long to hike out as to hike down. Dad wisely rode a horse, and his old knees thank him. Let me also mention the guy we witnessed die of a heart attack smack during supper one evening at the café, after he'd returned from a vigorous hike (with his wife and two kids) down to the base Mooney Falls. It was a brutal reminder of the brevity of life... No man knows when his hour will come, indeed. Fourth, there is no decent food anywhere down there. Please, for the love of all that's holy, stock up in Flagstaff. The Cafe in Supai village will never, ever, get a Zagat's rating. And the village store is worse than pathetic. Why? All food has to be packed in by mule, so the pickings are rather meager. Don't count on finding even granola bars in that place. Fifth, accommodations at the lodge are obscenely overpriced, and since the campground situated along the blue-green river is so close to perfection, I wouldn't bother with the lodge. Sixth, this trip is utterly beyond description, and worth the effort of getting there. The verdant canyon in springtime, its blue-green rivers and 100-foot waterfalls with their travertine terraces have been called "Shangri-La" for a reason... but you'll never understand why until you've been there yourself. Seventh, the best time to go is April-May and October-November. Summers are boiling; winters unpleasant.

Day 1: The three of us had spent the night before in Peach Springs, at the Hualapai Lodge, leaving just after dawn to drive out to the trailhead. Theo and I started hiking immediately, and Dad waited for the horse train. He passed us about an hour into the hike... but we were taking our time. Pictures of the spring flowers, the cacti, the canyon walls and odd-shaped rocks. We stopped for anything and everything, since every bend in the trail — every time the canyon turned a corner — a new vista of wonders opened up in front of us. We got to the village in time for a late lunch, and we decided to take it easy for the rest of the day and hike down to the falls next morning.

Day 2: Started off the day with a jolt: a 20 oz cup of instant coffee from the cafe. Thus energized, we hiked out of the village and down the canyon, following the aquamarine river until we reached the Navajo Falls, the first of three falls. It's the most secluded, and least spectacular. And you've got to cross the river to get to it. But to me it was the sweetest of the three, and the best for taking a dip. From there it's a short and easy walk to Havasu Falls, and a startling panorama from the top of the falls, where the water flows to the edge of a cliff and cascades down some 100 feet into a flat basin surrounded by whispering cottonwoods and ochre canyon walls. The travertine terraces here were devastated a few years ago by a flash flood, but you can see they're slowly rebuilding themselves. From Havasu Falls, it's another mile and a half down to Mooney Falls — the piece de resistance of the reservation. The falls are probably 200 feet high, once again tumbling over a vertical precipice into a blue-green pool. Getting to the bottom is not an adventure for the timid. The 200-foot descent starts with the trail following a harrowing ledge cut into the cliff, leading through a tunnel that opens out to another ledge... and then to a series of steps down through a second tunnel. The stretch after the second tunnel is the most treacherous, with steps roughly hewn out of the near-vertical cliff and a few mud-coated and slippery chains dangling from bolts in the canyon walls to serve as handrails. But you're not at the bottom yet: the last hurdle is a 20-foot ladder made from tree trunks, damp with water spray, for the hiker to CLIMB DOWN BACKWARDS to the bottom, hanging on to the ladder rails for dear life. After this point, the Havasu River runs another six miles to join the Colorado River. But few people bother since the scenery isn't all that interesting and trail in poor condition.

Day 3: We decided to explore the river source, so headed back through Supai village and up the trail, veering off to a side canyon to the riverhead. At this point the river was pretty strong, but it quickly weakened as we got close to the source: a marshy swampy area seeping out of a dry canyon floor populated by mesquite trees, cottonwoods and cacti. Not all that scenic. We returned to the village, where dad decided to take it easy after lunch. Theo and I decided to return down to Navajo Falls — the one closest to the village — with our swimsuits for a swim in the heavy water. Just above this falls the river splits: half of it is diverted down a forested slope in a series of lovely cascades partly visible through the trees. This waterfall is less dramatic than the other two, but the pool at the bottom is deep and green. The river flows out over a series of travertine terraces to rejoin the other half of the river heading down to Havasu Falls.

Day 4: Theo and I started hiking out around 6 a.m., without the benefit of a cuppa joe since the cafe would not be open for another hour. We left our bags at the lodge, to be carried up by mule. And Dad came along on a riding horse a couple of hours later. We'd been hiking along to the sounds of breeze in the cottonwoods and the songs of canyon wrens for two or three hours half before the sun's rays finally lighted on the trail. We met the occasional hiker getting an early start on the hike down from the trailhead, but only packhorses (no hikers) passed us from behind. We reached the last wash where the canyon flattened out and the final ascent began, up along a ridge to the base of the last three-quarters mile of switchbacks. We had barely reached the top when Dad's horse and guide, and a scruffy dog, came loping into view around the final bend. After pausing for one last glance into the gaping canyon that four days earlier had seemed inscrutable but now we knew was the gateway to hidden wonders, we hopped into the car and headed south, 60 miles back to Peach Springs, where Dad would return on his own and Theo and I would continue our vacation.

The rest of the trip was somewhat anticlimactic. After seeing Dad safely off, we made some quick decisions about where to head next. As usual, it was an exercise in improvisation. First, we drove west to Kingman on Route 66, just to see what it was all about. There's not much to see in this area, although the pass through the vitreous Black Mountains and the quaintly preserved mining town of Oatman (with its marauding wild donkeys) was pleasant enough. Next day we headed east through Flagstaff with an eye for visiting the Four Corners area and Monument Valley. But a winter snowstorm scared us off, so we opted for a great triangular route with Holbrook, Ariz., Silver City, N.M., and Santa Fe, N.M. making up the three corners. Attractions include (but are not limited to) the Petrified Forest; Gila Cliff Dwellings; City of Rocks state park; the Gila Mountains; the Continental Divide; the town of Truth or Consequences; Albuquerque's Old Town; the Governor's Palace in Santa Fe; Madrid — an almost-ghost-town; the Wigwam Motel in Holbrook; and the Phoenix Desert Botanical Garden.

When we turned the car in, we'd clocked some 2,600 miles in about two weeks. Three cheers for unlimited mileage!