Splashing in Havasupai Waterfalls

havasupai The Price of Paradise A hobbit and an elf pay the toll to see the waterfalls of Havasu Canyon

Ron Paradis steps grace-fully to the cliff edge of paradise and unleashes a lopsided grin of pure joy. Balanced between curiosity and anxiety, I hesitate before stepping forward for a view of where D.W. James Mooney died, proof of the sometimeshigh price of dreams. with the herds of people who come down all agog into their canyon, on the southwestern end of the Grand Canyon.

But he beckons me now to the edge of the 198-foot drop of Mooney Falls, the tallest of the four major waterfalls I have dreamed of seeing most my life. Tinted travertine blue-green, Havasu Creek gathers itself at the top of the cliff before hurtling into the air in a hypnotic unfurling of spray and foam. The water falls with stop-action grace into the ethereal blue-green pool it has created, unleashing mists of spray to drift across the surface.

The Havasupai people say that once upon a time the walls of the canyon regularly closed together, killing anyone who went down into it. An old woman who lived up on top had two beautiful sons, who longed to hunt deer and antelope, but had nothing from which to make arrows. Their mother warned them against venturing into the chasm to gather reeds that grew there, but they were foolish and full of hope. They cut two juniper logs and went down into the canyon, each balancing a log atop his head. When the walls began to close, the boys held them apart with the logs. Then they went on down to the waterfall to gather up the reeds for their arrows.

The Havasupai Indians have a name for this waterfall, but they do not share it Ron is tall, with a tousle of Greek-god dark hair, perfect features and the long, sculptural muscles of a rock climber. He is quick and smart and funny and graceful as a Tolkien elf. I run more towards Hobbit. He dances, I scurry-the antelope and the woodchuck.

On our maps, the waterfall is named for Mooney, a prospector who came down into the canyon seeking gold, but found the way blocked by the travertine encrusted waterfall.Mooney fearlessly lowered himself over the side on a rope, driven by dreams of wealth. Some say his companions cut the rope, but it probably just frayed on the rasp of travertine. Mooney plunged to his death in the pool below. His companions hiked out and returned some months later and found a tunnel to the bottom where they encountered Mooney's body, already encased in travertine.

Swaying at the top of the precipice, I ponder the price of dreams as I watch the dizzying fall of water. I can follow individual droplets or let them blur into a single entity.

"Stay back from the edge," says Ron. "These travertine overhangs can just collapse."

I step back, Ron grins.

Ron Paradis. My guide to paradise. Am I reading too much into a name?

I have always envied his ilk, for I have spent my life as the observer, making notes about people like Ron. He has spent several years as a guide for Outback Adventures, introducing tourists to this land of waterfalls, whippoorwills, cottonwoods and constellations. In high school, guys as charming and confident as Ron filled me with a sick longing from behind my screen of books. When he graduated college, he sought adventure and waterfalls, giving up a house, regular income, even plausible relationships by refusing the compromises of career that have encrusted the rest of us, like a layer of travertine.

But I cannot resent him today, for he has wrapped the canyon and set it under the Christmas tree of my day. He stands on the cliff edge to watch my face as I unwrap the view.

We are on a mission. I started this day with sunrise on the South Rim, then avoided the long drive and a steep, 8-mile hike into Havasupai by catching a ride on a Papillon helicopter so I could cover as much ground as possible on this singular October 1. When I got my breath back from the swoop of scenery into the canyon, I met Ron at the village and hiked a sandy mile down to the first of four major falls. I swam across that first pool and slipped back under the falls, hidden in an exuberance of bubbles and froth.Then we hoofed it down to Havasu Falls and dropped our packs at the nearby campgrounds. We did not linger long, as we hoped to make it another 4 miles down canyon to Beaver Falls.

But first we must scramble down the tunnel to the bottom of Mooney Falls, clinging to the chains that provide handholds on the travertine slick rock.

At the bottom, I wade out into the pool where Mooney died. The Havasupai have worked waterfalls into the story of how human beings began. They say that two gods were at war with one another and the evil god drowned the whole world.

Only one person survived this great flood-the daughter of the benevolent god, who hid in a log that floated for a long while until it came to rest on the top of Humphreys Peak. Crawling out of the log, she found herself alone in the world. She wandered, despondent, until one day she lay down and opened herself up to the rays of the sun and conceived a son. As time went on, she longed for another child and wandered into Havasu Canyon, where she encountered its beautiful waterfalls. Here, with the waterfall, she conceived a daughter. Her two children grew, married and gave birth to all of humanity.

I stare at Mooney Falls until Ron gently nudges me into motion. He can jog to the rim and back twice in a day, but knows he must move at Hobbit pace on the 8-mile round-trip to Beaver Falls. I have already noticed how he slows to an amble so as to not embarrass me, one

Fatal Falls Guide Ron Paradis

I ponders Mooney Falls in Havasu Canyon, which are named for D.W. James Mooney, a prospector who fell to his death when the rope broke as he was climbing down alongside the falls.

more reason to love and resent-elves. So we head downstream, where the wonders grow more intimate; turquoise pools, a sea of wild grapes, the sound of running water, the scarlet flash of summertanagers, white-boled sycamores, sculpted limestone boulders, a shower of cool water from a cleft.

We reach Beaver Falls late in the day. Two couples, collected like driftwood on the bank-savor the multilayered waterfall. Turns out, they live in California and North Carolina, but all subscribe to Arizona Highways. I feel absurdly triumphant to have found beloved readers here.

We sit for a long while, watching the water spill over the falls. Ron swims across the pool, scales the waterfall and leaps out into the luminous blue pool with perfect grace.

I am content to memorize the arch of his descent, for, finally, I understand. I understand how Mooney came to be at the wrong end of that rope. I understand why the last woman opened herself to the waterfall and why the two brothers risked the canyon with logs on their heads.

I understand why Ron lives on spare change and tips.

For paradise lies close at hand, if you but pay the price.

when you go

Location: Havasu Canyon, Village of Supai. Getting There: From Flagstaff, drive west on Interstate 40 for 75 miles to Seligman and Historic Route 66, Exit 123. Take Route 66 north for approximately 30 miles to Indian Route 18. Take Indian 18 north approximately 60 miles to Hualapai Hilltop and the Hualapai Trail. Hike or ride horseback 8 miles to the Village of Supai in Havasu Canyon.

Lodging: Havasupai Lodge, (928) 448-2111; Camping reservations, (928) 448-2141.

Additional Information: Havasu Canyon and the Village of Supai are accessible by foot, horseback or helicopter. You may reserve a horse through the Havasupai Tourist Enterprise, (928) 448-2121. For helicopter tours, contact Papillon Helicopters, toll-free (800) 528-2418; www.papillon.com. The canyon and village are the home of the Havasupi Indians and while landscape photography is permitted, please do not take photographs of the people or their homes. The canyon is sacred to the Havasupai Tribe, so please be respectful of the people and the surroundings.