You plan your vacation to the beautiful Havasupai Falls in Arizona but among the beauty of the Havasupai Falls is something so dark and evil that you must be aware of in the planning of your trip. In the Havasupai land, there is a secret horror that lives in the corners of the Supai village that makes its way up and down the canyon every day. This secret is hidden under the saddles of far too many emaciated, beaten, and abused horses and mules used to pack gear and carry tourists both up and down the canyon. While some of the horses and mules used to carry people and gear are in moderate to good condition, about one-half of them are grossly underweight, some with open sores and bleeding wounds.
WHEN VISITING THE HAVASUPAI FALLS PLEASE TAKE THE HELICOPTER TO GET TO CAMPSITE DO NOT HAVE HORSES CARRY YOUR GEAR PLEASE!!!
THIS IS THE SPINE THAT IS UNDER THE SADDLE OF ONE OF THE HORSES THAT IS TORTURED BY THE HAVASUPAI TRIBE
(Photos of the horses are at the end of this post)
For more than a year, Brownie was deprived of food and water. An infection clouded his right eye, and his spine and hips were torn open from saddles placed on his back to carry gear for tourists on the Havasupai reservation, which is known for its towering blue-green waterfalls.
The nearly 20-year-old gelding is improving, but he won’t be completely healed for up to a year.
His owner, Leland Joe, forfeited Brownie and three other horses this week after pleading guilty to two misdemeanor charges in a federal animal cruelty case. The Supai resident was sentenced to time served, which was less than a week. He also cannot own or control pack animals for the three years he’s on probation. Prosecutors dismissed two felony counts against Joe.
The horses — Brownie, Lit, Red and Blue — now are in the care of the Coconino Humane Association in Flagstaff, which hopes to eventually place them up for adoption. Joe must pay $1,200 in restitution to help care for the animals.
Joe’s guilty pleas to animal neglect and failing to provide medical attention apply only to Brownie, but the other horses were in bad enough condition that they also were seized, association director Michelle Ryan said Friday. Lit lost one eye and has open sores from where the saddle was cinched underneath her.
“It takes a long time for horses to get in conditions like this, and it takes a long time for them to heal as well,” Ryan said.
The staff spends more than four hours a day with the horses, giving them antibiotics for their wounds, alfalfa mash for extra calories and spraying them with insect repellent.
Brownie is kept separate from the other horses so that he doesn’t have to compete for food. He is about half the size he should be, or 500 pounds underweight.
He’s grown particularly fond of operations manager Catherine Meeks who along with other staff members had to soak and remove his scabs to release puss from underneath and cut off pieces of dead skin.
“He’s my favorite because he’s been through so much and he needs the love,” she said, cradling his head in her hands.
Federal authorities say the seizure of animals from tribal reservations is rare. An FBI special agent who visited Joe’s property in northern Arizona on April 5 found no food or vegetation for a handful of horses and noted that one was extremely thin and had open sores and wounds.
The tribe generally works with veterinarians off the reservation who make visits to the isolated community deep in a gorge off the Grand Canyon. The village of Supai is accessible only by helicopter or an 8-mile trail.
The humane association has received calls over the years about the condition of horses on the reservation, but Ryan said she’s not aware of any others that have been taken by federal authorities.
“To us, we’re really looking at this as a landmark case,” she said.
Joe’s federal public defender, Richard Juarez, did not return messages left at the close of business Friday. A telephone listing for him could not be found.
Joe wrote in court documents that he owned Brownie for about a year before his arrest April 14 on the reservation. The horse hasn’t gained much weight since; [and gee that is what happens when you don’t feed them, dumbass]
“I admit that it was my responsibility to care for Brownie, including providing him with adequate food, water, and medical care,” Joe wrote.
Most of the 600 tribal members on the reservation work in the tourism industry. Losing pack animals can deal a significant blow to a person’s livelihood. But Animals should not be a property for people to make money off of; horses are just like us, they hurt, feel pain, don’t feel good, suffer, want to live free and happy. they love, show affection, they feel happiness, joy, sadness, excitement etc.
Email sent to CNN [from a person who visited Havasupai]
Havasu Havasupai Falls Trip Havasupai
November 6, 2006
Thank you for taking the time to read my letter.
I am writing to you to tell you about the disturbing treatment of the mules and horses we witnessed at the hands of the Havasupai Tribe.
Recently, my family took a trip to Havasupai.
My husband and son hiked down with 19 other friends, while my daughter (age 9) and I reserved horses to ride into the canyon (since I had recently suffered a stress fracture in my foot, and could not hike.)
When we arrived, the man checking us in had no record of our reservation (even though I had called to make one the week before and confirmed by phone the day before). The Supervisor wanted to put us on the (more expensive) helicopter immediately, but we really wanted to ride the horses down so we would arrive about the same time as the 21 hikers. (My daughter and I had taken riding lessons to prepare for the trip. We planned, we prepared, and we made every effort to ensure our trip on horses.) Of course we were disappointed, but that turned out to be only one of our many concerns. We waited an hour and a half to see if, as the Supervisor had said, “Maybe some horses will show up–I don’t think so.” My husband, nervous to begin hiking so he’d make it to the campground with daylight to spare, tipped the man, $10.00. At that moment, the Supervisor radioed “down the trail” and said another mule train was coming up “with two horses.” My husband, assured we would “find” some horses, or take the helicopter down, handing me a walkie-talkie and prepared to finally hike into the canyon. From this point, my daughter, Chloe, and I waited another two hours while seeing several mule trains arrive on the hilltop, but no horses. During our wait, before the Indians took the pack mules into the canyon, the Indians smoked some drug–I don’t know if it was Crack or Meth…. My daughter asked, “what are they doing, Mom?” My husband walkie-talkied that he saw horses heading up the trail. Another mule train later, one of the wranglers signaled to us that he had two horses. We mounted and I inquired about our guide. He said that the Guide would “catch up with us in a few minutes” with a mule train. He began to lead our horses down the trail.
Before I knew it, my daughter’s horse was way ahead of mine and I lost sight of her. Horrified, I called my husband on the walkie-talkie and told him to turn around and save our daughter. We were separated for more than an hour as I tried desperately to catch up with her. Finally, a hiker was able to stop her horse and lead her back up the trail to meet me. She was very scared being all alone. I can’t even imagine what might have happened. It was almost two hours into the ride, and still no guide had appeared. I radioed my husband telling him that he should head back down the trail, we were fine, and catch up with our group (which included our 12-year old son.)
I tied our horses together and started to continue down the trail. My daughter’s horse was moving much faster than mine and kept butting my horse, but at least we were tied. We stopped to switch leads and my daughter’s horse bolted. She screamed and went galloping down the rough and rocky trail. Thank goodness she held on tight and didn’t fall off. As a mother, I was beside myself as my daughter disappeared AGAIN behind huge boulders on a runaway horse. Chloe was able to rein-him-in, and the same hiker came to her aid and got control of her horse and led her back to me. At this point, my daughter was very shook up. I put her on MY horse and I rode HER’S the rest of the way into the village as I led her horse. Our “guide” eventually passed us up but never helped us or even acknowledged us. At the tourist office, I was going to complain about our experience, but it was closed.
For our return trip out of the canyon, I had decided to get us on the helicopter, but had to hike the 2.2 miles from the campground to the village on my fragile foot. Surely, they wouldn’t miss us on the horses, since they didn’t even show our reservations at the hilltop. But no. When we arrived at the trailhead with all of our gear, there was a guide and two horses, calling out we had to leave now! Apparently, they had my reservation for the return trip. My daughter was petrified to get back on a horse. My husband spoke to the lady, explained our situation, and she pointed to our (new) Guide. My Husband, Rick, spoke with him and he was assured the man would care for us fully. He apologized for the inappropriate treatment on the way down and assured Rick all would be well. Rick suggested Chloe sit on the SAME horse, and that we just ride the 2.2 miles to the village to see how things went, particularly because he was concerned about my foot if I walked to the Helicopter. Our guide stayed close to us as we had told him about our ride down. He was very nice, and calmed Chloe to the point she was ready to get back on her own horse. We proceeded to the hilltop with our guide close at hand.
On the last third of our ride, a mule train went past us with about a dozen mules. I watched as one wrangler picked up fist-sized rocks and threw them at the mule’s heads, hitting them, apparently to herd them back onto the trail! I could not believe the blatant abuse.As we approached the last half mile of the trail on the steep switchbacks, the mule train that had passed us earlier, at a fast trot, was ahead of us. One of the mules had tripped and fallen. It was tied to another mule, which was pulled down with the first. They both tumbled down the trail. Hikers ahead of us saw the whole thing and thought for sure the mule had broken its leg. As we came around the corner, we saw a mule laying on its side with its head over the edge, heaving. The wranglers were laughing and joking as they looked at the mule. We had to dismount (so our horses would remain calm) and wait to see what would happen.The wranglers took off all of the gear from the mule and began to whip it to get it to stand up. The poor animal finally rose and it’s whole right flank was covered in blood, it’s flesh ripped. Then they proceeded to put all the gear BACK ONTO THE INJURED MULE and proceeded up the trail! As we passed by the spot where the animal had fallen, there was a large pool of blood. At this point, I was ready to get off my horse and walk the rest of the way.
At the top of the trail we saw the poor creature standing (in shock) at the tie-up post, not able to lower his foot. They had taken the bags off of it but had done nothing else for the animal. Many of the hikers and I could not believe the wranglers were not caring in any way for this mule. The wranglers were sitting on our bags and smoking pot and laughing. I went over to them and told them that the mule needed some help and one of them said he “would give it aromatherapy” later. They all laughed. I was disgusted, saddened, and angry.
I spoke to our guide and asked where the water troughs were for the mules. He told me that they don’t have water at Hilltop. It has to be trucked in and they don’t have the equipment to do that. So these mules and horses run from the village to Hilltop which is 8 miles, get no water and sometimes no feed at the top, get packed up with heavy gear and head back down the trail another 8 miles. I know that mules are beasts of burden, but they deserve adequate care and nourishment. What I saw was flat out abuse. No wonder the horses run down to the village (as was our experience on day 1)–they are thirsty and hungry. The mules were eating dirt and licking trailer hitches in the parking lot.
When the rest of our group made it out of the canyon and we were heading out, we passed the injured mule wandering the parking lot. It made me sick to see this animal continuing to suffer.
Hikers in our group witnessed another mule being mishandled on the trail that day. The mule had gotten wedged between two rocks, and fallen sideways when the Indians attempted to yank him out. Since they couldn’t roll him over against the cliff face, they tied its front and back legs with ropes and rolled it over on it’s back–PACKS and ALL, crushing the poor hiker’s bags atop the mule. It turns out it was ours! I was told the wranglers were laughing the whole time.
There were dead mules in crevasses, stinking up the upper switchback trail, and blood on the trail at multiple locations. Many of the mules had open sores and were severely thin.
The Havasupai Tribe needs to be held accountable for their cruel abuse of these mules. Had I known that this is how they treat their animals, I would NEVER have scheduled this trip. I am so disgusted by what I saw that I doubt I will ever return to Havasupai. That my money funded such animal abuse and drug use is a source of great guilt. It’s frankly appalling.
The people of Arizona need to know that this is happening and stop supporting this particular tourist industry until humane corrections are made. It’s ironic that Havasu Falls appears on the cover of this month’s Arizona Highways Magazine. While the falls are beautiful, the experience is an embarrassment to the state, the Havasupai tribe, and to me as a parent before my children.
I pray other families are spared our experience: to have planned a wonderful memory to Havasupai and come home traumatized as we did. Please help me find a way to stop this animal abuse on the Havasupai Reservation.
A Veterinarians account:
While I was in the village helping with some animals (I am a veterinarian), we saw a very large man attempting to mount a smaller statured horse from the ground. Each time he tried to heave himself up into the saddle, the horse would step aside, not in a naughty way but more in a “counterbalance his bulk” way. The man’s response was to grab the horse’s halter/bridle and punch it round the head/neck. This went on for what felt like forever, as we stopped the gator and all sat and watched in stunned silence. At one point someone in our party asked if they could at least go help, to hold the horse so that he could mount and would stop hitting the horse. We were advised by the natives with us that this was a very bad idea since he … would probably attack whomever offered assistance. Before he was mounted, we drove away.About an hour later, individually, members of our party witnessed this man riding his horse throughout the village… I think it was about 2-2.5 hours between when we saw him attempting to mount to when he came to the vet clinic to have his horse seen. Someone (not me) had talked him into bringing the horse for veterinary crisis care. So, in other words, he just rode this horse around the village, wandering aimlessly, for 2.5 hours, no purpose or destination that anyone could tell.
When the horse was brought to me, it was clear that his eye was chronically damaged, as well as extremely painful… It was honestly one of the most traumatic things I’ve ever seen in my entire life. It took about 9 months or so before I could speak about it without breaking down.
borrowed from http://drjoanne.blogspot.com/2015/05/two-souls-that-come-together-as-one-in.html
Two souls that come together as one in destiny: Chemakoh
“Until he extends the circle of his compassion to all living things, man will not himself find peace.”-Albert Schweitzer
Two weekends ago, I went to the one place on earth- a seriously remote place- I’d always wanted to visit. Because I’m not ready, yet, to speak of this specific location, I’m going to forego details about the area… it’s not a significant factor in this most amazing story.
To make a very long story short, with my camping gear in tow, and after months of preparation for the 10 mile hike that would take me to this long-awaited location, with 120 ounces of water, food, a few garments, my sleeping bag, and band-aids, I (and friends) began our journey. This is important: I waited decades for this trip.
Within five minutes on the trail, I came upon a scene I will not soon forget.
This particular trail uses mules and horses to help humans carry their packs. I knew this was not something any of us would do, but I also knew many others would opt for this. But, as we turned the very first corner, I witnessed a scene that will remain ensconced in my mind and my heart, probably, for many years to come. A horse – carrying many packs tied to a frame on its back- had fallen to the ground. A young man was treating him very poorly, trying to get him back on his feet. I yelled. Loudly. He stopped. I started to cry, and my heart was pounding. He took his other four or five horses back up to the top of the trail. Our group stayed with this horse as he lay helplessly on the ground. He was bleeding from his head and legs, as they buckled under him. I saw this majestic creature, limp and terrified I bent down slowly, reaching out to caress the horse. He flinched. I wept. Openly. Loudly as others hiked past us. This horse looked in my eyes, and I looked in his. He finally allowed me to stroke him, and I felt like he knew: I was that horse many years ago. I, too, had suffered as he was suffering. As people passed us, some asked if I was ok. I said, “This horse, this horse is hurt! He’s been abused!” But there was no one to call – no cell service – no police – no one because of the remoteness of the location.We removed the heavy packs from his weary, sweat-drenched back. I can only imagine the relief. Then, we removed the saddle and the wooden frame used to tied the packs.
Underneath, revealed open and bleeding wounds that covered his back, his knees and legs were bleeding, he had lacerations on his belly and around his trunk, and he was horrifically emaciated. I stood up and my head spun in circles… it was one of the most terrible things I have ever seen. Only one of the injured areas revealed beneath the saddle We didn’t know what to do. So we sat with him for about an hour as he rested on the ground, and as people passed by, looking up and looking down but few looking at the horror of the scene, and I plucked scarce grass from the mountainside to offer him. I held his head and he rested in my lap. We could not leave without him, could we? This precious life, my brother horse, child of earth, just like me… how could I leave him? How does a person see this and not do something? What would Jesus do? Or Gandhi? Or Mother Teresa? Or Siddhartha? Or Chief Seattle? My heart literally hurt. Sobbing uncontrollably, I told him how sorry I was, over and over again, that humans did this to him. I vowed: “I’m going to help you, I promise. We offered to buy him from his owner, twice and vociferously. He declined. Abruptly.
Our trip was over. We could not hike and camp now. We had to leave, and my heart broke as I stared at the horse, walking away, fearing I’d not be able to help. I cannot describe this feeling.
It would be nearly two hours before I could get cell service to make calls. And I made many calls. I called the forest service, the sheriff, the FBI, local police, animal control, legislators, Congress leaders, horse rescues, animal protection groups, superintendents, police chiefs, lawyers, an animal activist colleague, friends, neighbors, strangers, this specific community’s police, and their governmental leaders. For two days, I stayed in my pajamas, made nearly 100 phone calls and sent more than 100 emails. I felt hopeless but I had to keep trying. This animal’s life mattered. I had to exhaust every possible means to rescue him and get him the medical care he so desperately needed. I was told repeatedly that there was “nothing (anyone) could do.” Repeatedly.
But, I was not going to stop. I couldn’t. I saw into this animal’s soul, and I loved him. Then, my holy grail… I am unable to give specifics as to who helped me right now, but one person heard my plea and a team of governmental leaders got behind this effort. Seven phone calls with him and six emails… and finally, three days later… I got the call.
“Dr. Cacciatore,” he said, “how soon can you get here?” he asked. “What?” I asked. “What, really, really? Seriously?” “Yes ma’am…” Around 4pm last week on a Tuesday we got that call, and by 10pm we had a trailer and a truck with the help of a bereaved father, JJ’s dad, and his amazing friend, Eddie. And, at 2am in the morning, three heroic men headed for the long five-hour drive – then descended by foot many miles to rescue and rehome this horse. I prayed from 2am until 5am and waited.
I knew it would be a very long day so I (tried) to work on my writing and research… but I knew there was something big happening and every part of me anticipated the moment: Four hours later, I would receive a text that said, “Trail Rider reports that they made it out…”
Three deeply compassionate men drove ten hours, and two of them hiked 16 miles, to bring this horse home. As they hiked out with the horse- very very slowly toward the rescue – members of the community nodded at them, as if to say, “Yes.” Tourists, shocked by his appearance, thanked them for saving him. Step by step, they came close to his liberation.
Three heroes, thank you all!
Most of you know I cry easily, usually for grief and trauma-related reasons. This time was different. My heart… overflowed with gratitude and relief. I named him Chemakoh, Pima meaning ‘two souls who came together as one in destiny.’
All my life, I’ve wanted to hike in this place. I waited and waited and waited for the right time.
As fate would have it, I never did hike in this place where I’d always wanted to visit… but I now know why my heart always longed to go there… because I was in that place at just at the right moment to meet – and rescue – Chemakoh. Two souls that came together as one in destiny. All these years for just this moment in time and so well worth the wait.
It’s been five days since we brought Chemakoh home. The first day was rough. We didn’t know if he’d make it. He moved very slowly and was badly dehydrated in addition to the emaciation. His wounds were deep and some infected
To our surprise, in the first 48 hours, we witnessed a dramatic improvement in his health with the help of a wonderful neighbor who agreed to allow us to board him there until we are able to stabilize him and bring him home.
And by yesterday, we knew he was going to make it. I knew I’d made good on my promise to him on the trail… I was going to help him. We have a very long road toward the rehabilitation of body, mind, and spirit. But with the love and support of many, we are well on our way.
In an effort to reduce animal abuse and neglect there, the officers told me that the local government decided to institute “a scoring system for animal control to use, to determine whether or not an animal is fit to pack.” Many people had to come together to make this happen. Many. And for every single contact, every nuance, every point of a finger, every small effort, I am grateful, grateful, grateful.
And now, my heart is at peace. I think Chemakoh’s heart is too… he is home.
Written by Dr. Joanne Cacciatore