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Scott of Arabia
Scott was elated when we reached the canyon floor. Connie's Darlings
By all accounts Connie Darling was a character out of a Carlos Castaneda book—warrior, shaman, maybe part con man. He "downloaded" Six Animal Kung Fu from ancient masters encountered in his dreams, then passed this knowledge on to his group of young disciples, including my sifu, Steven. Connie died five years ago, leaving his followers scattered and leaderless. The annual Grand Canyon trip was a regular feature of Connie's teaching. This year Sifu Steven decided to revive the tradition and reconvene the tribe. There were 16 of us— five post-Connie students, and the rest veteran members of the Darling Tribe.
We met at 4 AM at the top of Havasu Canyon, a branch of the Grand Canyon that has been occupied by the Havasupai people for the last 800 years. We loaded our supplies on mules and in darkness headed into the canyon along a twisting steep path. Six long, hot hours later we arrived at the Havasupai campground. Immediately, hidden fault lines in the tribe's political fabric ruptured into a nasty dispute over choosing a campsite. Sifu Steven's attempt to assert his authority was met with stiff resistance. A group meeting was called and each
Steven Skywalker
Steven following the wash through the canyon during our hike to the campground. participant got to make an argument about which campsite should be chosen. The speeches were long and covered much ground unrelated to campsites. I got the impression of egos bumping around like breaking billiard balls searching for pockets in the tribe's spiritual pool table.
Hoof and Bone-- We follow the Lizard King into Hades
Havasupai campground stretches along a section of Havasu Creek and is blessed by the shade of trees growing along the banks. The water is famously turquoise in color, which beautifully contrasts with the red canyon walls that rise up thousands of feet on either side of the creek. The water rushes over and around boulders leaving lime deposits that echo the water's flow. There are deep pools surrounded by ferns, perfect for escaping the 110+ degree heat. A half-mile upstream is the 100-foot Havasu Falls. We spent our first full day at the base of the falls swimming, diving, and practicing our kung fu forms.
Near the end of the day Destino,the tribe's pirate, agreed to lead us down a nearby mineshaft. I reluctantly followed. We hiked to the end of a side canyon and gathered at the opening of the shaft. Each
Bridge work
The trail crossed the creek in many places over crude bridges like this one. person took turns saying what they thought our states of mind should be upon entering the mine. After an overly prescriptive list was drawn up, we entered. Those with flashlights quickly ran ahead, leaving the rest of us in the dark. I finally called a halt to the procession when we reached the first chamber. In the dark we formed a circle. A digeridoo began playing. Someone began singing and an impromptu memorial for Connie began. In the pitch dark each person thanked Connie for his guidance and forgave him for sleeping with their girlfriends. Never having met Connie, I had nothing to say. The ceremony dragged on far too long and my legs began to ache. The ceremony ended with the singing of an ancient Celtic death chant called
Hoof and Bone. Everyone knew the words but me. I wondered if there was any ancient culture this group had not appropriated.
Lingua Franca
I'm impressed with anyone who can make a decent, healthy dinner for 16 people on a two-burner camping stove and without a refrigerator or running water. To make matters worse, many crucial ingredients had been jettisoned at the last minute in order to fit
A sleepy Tusken Raider
Not sure who this is, one of us, though. everything into the mule bins. (I begged for the lives of my two pineapples. Like Sophie, I had to choose one. I offered the other to the old native presiding over the mule packing. He was silent for a long moment, then asked in a slow quiet voice, "Is it drug-free?") We divided into two-person teams, each responsible for one dinner, and each dinner was great—vegetarian (except mine), gluten-free, non-corporate (except mine), non-GMO, non-dairy, etc.
We sat at three picnic tables placed end to end. By the glow of candles the conversations centered on astrology, herbal remedies, energetics, and obstinate parents eager to have loans repaid. Everyone but me was a believer if not an expert. Mercifully, no one asked for my Chinese zodiac animal. I don't think I contributed to a single conversation.
Sparkle Day
There was an excitement in the camp after breakfast on Wednesday. It was "Sparkle Day". We sat in a circle around a makeshift Connie alter that followed us wherever we went. (I often saw people reverently pausing in front of it, perhaps praying for his second coming.) Destino produced a vile of sacred tincture (LSD, I guess). We went around the
Connie Altar
This altar followed us on every excursion. circle making speeches about vision quests and the sanctity of the tincture. Native American spirits were invoked. Chants were made. Again the whole thing went on far too long. Mara, our female guide to the spirit realm, placed a drop of tincture on the back of each person's hand to be licked. At my request, she placed a specially diluted drop on my hand, which turned out to have only a minor effect.
We made our way to the 200 foot Mooney Falls, a half-mile downstream. To get to the pool at the base of the falls it was necessary to climb down a vertical cliff. There were strategically placed chains and carved footholds along the "path". In places the path passed through narrow, damp tunnels. Several times each day a camper would freeze up on the trail, unable to go up or down, like a hairball stuck in a drain.
By the time we reached the base of the falls everyone was sparkling. They stood waist deep at the base of the falls and began doing the kung fu forms Steven had been teaching us. Several young girls at the pool thought it was funny and began
yogi bare
Lori meditating mocking them. Sensing danger, their adult chaperones shepherded them away.
Now the tribe began to move down the river wading, diving, and swimming. They formed a flotilla of wolf howls and exotic bird calls. The men were caked in mud as if they had walked out of the pages of National Geographic. The women communicated with each other by making Ewok-like coos and purrs. I tried to keep up. At one point I followed a crude bridge instead of climbing trees like everyone else. The bridge put me on a path to Beaver Falls, which I guessed was to be our goal. I followed the path on my own for some distance, enjoying the beautiful scenery, the warm day, and the self-congratulatory voice that murmured in my head.
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mike conniff
non-member comment
great story
You are my best example of a guy who can't kick the thrill of adventure and travel. Can't wait to see the next. Anne and I retire for good in Dec. Maybe buy you a beer one of these days!