The Grand Canyon's Mysterious Falls

As the pale waves of dawn creep westward into the Grand Canyon, photographer Gary Ladd and I start down the South Kaibab Trail toward Cheyava Falls, the Grand Canyon's largest and most mysterious waterfall. The falls are 20 foot-miles away. Much of the hike will be arduous; some of it through water. But with luck we should be there by noon tomorrow. It is late April. The season is crucial: Cheyava Falls is active only in spring. But luck also has intervened. Cheyava's brief springtime flow is modest unless it follows an unusually severe North Rim winter. Then Cheyava can be awesome. Such a winter is just now loosening its grip on the Kaibab. And Cheyava Falls has literally stormed to life. In May, 1903, William Beeson, a tour guide on the South Rim, spotted Cheyava Falls tumbling into Clear Creek Canyon. Emery and Ellsworth Kolb, brothers who devoted much of their lives to photographing and exploring the Grand Canyon, were immediately intrigued by Beeson's waterfall. Thus began a fascination that endured for decades.

Ladd and I neither hurry nor dawdle on the descent to the Colorado River. A swift downhill gait with full packs will torture the knees. A sluggish pace will mangle the schedule. Our first goal is Phantom Ranch, seven miles distant, just beyond the Colorado River. Ellsworth Kolb and Israel Chamberlain hiked to the foot of Cheyava Falls in 1908. They were the first to bring back photographs. In 1923 the U.S. Geological Survey placed the falls on the map by using a name suggested by the Kolb brothers. Cheyava is a Hopi word meaning "intermittent water."

When Kolb and Chamberlain made their pioneering hike, they followed a trail from the South Rim to Rust's Camp. But from the camp the way was unbroken; they labored eastward across the Tonto Plateau, worked their way into Clear Creek Canyon, and finally upstream to the falls. Today Rust's Camp is called Phantom Ranch. When Ladd and I arrive, it is midmorning. We head for the nearest lemonade. With elbows and hat resting on one of the long wooden tables of the canteen, Ladd consumes three full tumblers in rapid succession. "World's best," he says. The lemonade is essential for the real work that is about to begin. A mile beyond Phantom Ranch we turn onto the Clear Creek Trail.

TEXT BY BOB AUDRETSCH AND GARY LADD PHOTOGRAPHS BY GARY LADD BUSHWHACKING TO GRAND CANYON'S HIDDEN CHEYAVA FALLS

BUSHWHACKING

By midafternoon Ladd and I are plodding across a long series of mercifully flat but cruelly exposed south-facing slopes. Brilliant displays of brittlebush line portions of the trail, and the Colorado River, now a thousand feet below us, sweeps through the black-silver colored Upper Granite Gorge.

The Tonto Plateau stretches endlessly eastward. The morning's plentiful shade has evaporated into pitiful puddles hidden beneath each of 10,000 blackbrush clumps. The rich colors of the Canyon's cliffs have boiled away in the afternoon heat. The atmosphere is, quite honestly, punishing.

"Whose idea was this?" Ladd asks.

"Mine," I reply in annoyance.

"I thought so," he says.

Each Canyon trail has a distinctive personality. Clear Creek Trail has a penchant for deception: it always seems longer, much longer, than its 8.7 miles. Ladd gradually falls behind. He wishes, he says, to photograph at sunset from near Zoroaster Canyon. Perhaps he is deceptive, too.

I persevere and stumble along making camp three hours later. Cottonwood trees, swaying willows, and the frolicking of Clear Creek relieve my weary eyes. The boots come off, and the effect is heavenly.

Ladd comes in by flashlight. My stove has been stowed for the night, but an insulated cup preserves a share of hot water. He pours it into a foil pouch bulging with a granular freeze-dried aggregate. He mentions other traffic on the trail, specifically, an arrogant rattlesnake diddling along.

(LEFT) Cheyava cascades down the rugged cliffs beyond a daggerlike agave.

(ABOVE) Hiking where there is no trail, Audretsch and writer-photographer Gary Ladd come upon remnants of an ancient civilization.

(RIGHT) Although the men spot more ruins at the base of the falls, they can't get to them.

BUSHWHACKING TO CHEYAVA FALLS NOW HERE'S THE FINAL IRONY OF CHEYAVA FALLS: IT IS IN PLAIN VIEW!

When 10 minutes have passed, Ladd begins excavating from the steaming food pouch.

"Simply divine!" he states with passion. "What are you having?" I ask.

By the light of the stars, Ladd feigns a reading of the label. "Turkey Tetrachloride," he says.

We go to sleep with 16 miles of trail behind us. Sweet and gentle stream voices whisper to us through the night.

At an hour past dawn, we are on our way again. But now there is no trail. Clear Creek emerges from a narrow canyon choked with angular blocks of ancient quartzite. We wade into the swift current, scramble around boulders, push through thickets of flooded willows, and probe with our hiking sticks, wary of chest-deep sucker holes.

Beyond the narrows the way is easier. Off to the left, Anasazi ruins catch our attention. The old walls are low and fragile. Two large metates rest near a doorway. We move on another half-mile and select a camp. From here on we will carry only our day packs.

Cheyava Falls springs into view beyond a series of mildly threatening stream crossings. The final mile follows the left bench. The pace quickens. It is difficult to keep our eyes off the waterfall and on our footing.

Near the base of the falls I spot another group of Anasazi ruins. They cling to a ragged cliff and are inaccessible. Several dark "window eyes" watch our progress.

The afternoon winds strip great plumes of water from Cheyava Falls and carry them up the canyon. Where the spray slaps the cliff faces, momentary waterfalls materialize then dissolve as the gusts relax. Occasional zephyrs pull veils of mist to-ward the sky then release them to fall in tatters. It is a scene of wild and stupendous power executed hundreds of feet above us.

This is the Kolb brothers' magnificent Cheyava Falls, the 800-foot waterfall that called to them again and again.

Back in camp just before dark, we make plans to return to Cheyava at dawn.

At first light, Ladd checks the creek. "It's up two inches," he says. The warm weather is sending floods of snowmelt into the Canyon. Breakfast is simple and fast.

The rising water does not deter us, but its frigid temperature is positively sinister. I can hardly endure the icy current. Each nick, scratch, and scrape earned in yesterday's bushwhack screams bloody murder at every stream crossing.

"Maybe Cheyava isn't worth a return trip," I suggest to Ladd. "It was extremely impressive yesterday afternoon, don't you think?" But he plunges on, muttering something about the morning light.

Two hours later, I'm seated in a balconylike location 300 feet above the Canyon bed on a monstrous limestone boulder. Ladd is a short distance away.

Here are the best seats in the theater. Cheyava is revealed in all its glory. The morning sun, reflected from the towering cliff behind and above us, caresses the great waterfall with soft light. The sound of falling water echoes between the Canyon's temples and reverberates through the still morning air.

Foaming water bursts from a high lip, cascades forever over limestone pagodas, freefalls more than 100 feet, and tumbles through a long tangle of willows to a final 75-foot plunge. More cascades take it to its union with Clear Creek.

The cave from which the falls is born is clearly visible from this high vantage. The Kolb brothers investigated the yawning opening in 1930, after an unusually snowy winter on the Kaibab Plateau. They approached from the North Rim.

Using wire and rope, they worked their way down toward the cave from the Rim above. At one cliff edge they lassoed the crown of a tall fir tree growing from below, crossed hand over hand 20 feet to the tree, then shimmied down to the ground. But just above the cave, they ran out of rope. With no alternative, the Kolbs climbed back to the Rim, made a quick trip to Kanab, Utah, and returned with more equipment.

BUSHWHACKING TO CHEYAVA FALLS

Finally, from the ledge above the falls, Ellsworth started down, aided by ropes, a pulley, and a boom. Emery did what he could from the edge. The waterfall gushed from the cavern more than 100 feet below; Clear Creek glinted through the cotton-wood trees 900 feet below.

WHEN YOU GO

But Ellsworth never reached the cave. A mean-spirited storm, boiling with black clouds, hurled hailstones and lightning bolts at the brothers and whirled Ellsworth around like a twig caught in a spider web. Emery backed away from the edge and took shelter. When the storm subsided, Ellsworth was exhausted. He returned to the ledge in the dark.

It was a daunting experience. The brothers decided to abandon the exploration. The next morning they headed back to the South Rim, frustrated and disappointed.

Yet Ellsworth was still not finished with Cheyava Falls. A few years later, he and a friend scrambled down to the ledge again. This time the cave opening was attained and the limestone passageway entered. Unfortunately a lake extended hundreds of feet back into the dim depths of the cavern. The flooded interior prohibited further exploration, and again Cheyava held fast to its remaining secrets.

Ladd and I occupy our first-class seats until the sun pokes above the Rim and chases us down into the shade of the cottonwoods.

"That has got to be one of the most peace-ful and inspiring sights in the Canyon," I say to Ladd.

He turns and gazes again at the spectacle above us. "Yes, and certainly one of the most infrequently observed, especially at such a high flow."

We begin our sprint back to the South Rim. Our time is running out. The stream crossings are much easier in the sun-warmed water. We retrieve our backpacks and hike until dark, reaching Bright Angel Creek after a brief walk early the next morning. It is muddy and menacing, transformed from the pleasant stream we walked along three days ago. We can hear boulders banging and knocking in the rushing water, last winter's snows finally released, muscling their way to the Colorado.

Satiated with lemonade and with the air temperature rising steadily, we cross the Colorado on the Kaibab Suspension Bridge and begin the trudge to the Rim. It takes five hours.

When we top out, we make an orange juice stop at a grocery store then drive to Mather Point.

From behind the railing, we look across the Grand Canyon to a cliff below the North Rim. Now here's the final irony of Cheyava Falls: it is in plain view! Scores of other visitors peer into the Canyon from Mather Point. Dozens more view the Canyon from Yaki Point. But not a single one of them sees the 800-foot waterfall.

Cheyava Falls shimmers in the afternoon sunlight, 10 miles away. But for most, the great and ghostly waterfall goes unnoticed, lost in the immensity of cliffs and gorges of the Grand Canyon.

Cheyava Falls may be observed from Mather or Yaki points on the South Rim. Because Cheyava Falls generally flows only in spring, late March and April are recommended for visits. After a mild winter, Cheyava Falls may not be running at all. Binoculars are essential. The waterfall is four miles up Clear Creek from the Clear Creek Trail. Access to the Clear Creek Trail is from the South Rim's Bright Angel or South Kaibab trails and the North Rim's North Kaibab Trail (seasonal access only). Because of the long approach and significant elevation changes, allow at least five days.

Only the most experienced canyon hikers should attempt these lengthy routes. Solo backpacks are discouraged. Wading Clear Creek in flood stage dictates a sturdy walking stick or ski pole. Dry camp shoes are desirable.

All overnight hikes in Grand Canyon require a permit from the Backcountry Office, P.O. Box 129, Grand Canyon, AZ 86023; phone, (602) 638-7888. Hikers should check with backcountry rangers while en route regarding the latest information about high-water problems in Clear Creek Canyon.

Less experienced hikers wishing to see Grand Canyon waterfalls should consider the hike to Havasu Falls on the Havasupai Indian Reservation; Havasupai Tourist Office, (602) 448-2121. A campground and lodge, (602) 448-2201, are available in Havasu Canyon. Advance reservations are essential.

Like Cheyava Falls, Thunder Falls, below the North Rim and west of the main tourist facilities, issues from a cavern, but its drop is not as great. (See Arizona Highways, May '93.) Thunder Falls access trails are only for experienced desert hikers. A backcountry permit is required. Consult A Guide to Hiking the Inner Canyon by Scott Thybony.