We hiked the 10 miles down to the Indian Reservation and slowly entered the visitors office. I was sweating profusely after the desert hike, but now I began to sweat out of nervousness. We were supposed to have a reservation but we didn't and we didn't know what would happen to us. As we entered I heard the man behind the counter having a similar phone conversation to the one I had with them the day before, "Sorry, we're booked solid, try again next year...early." Tobi and I looked at each other and took a deep breath. I was thinking about telling them that Tobi had a terminal disease and his last wish was to see these waterfalls before he died. I was also considering going through with the "We don't speak English" plan. There were a few options for us, but one I would not except was getting turned around now.
So what happened? Nothing. The woman behind the counter just assumed we had a reservation, took our names, our money, and gave us the camping permit. It was great. The only bad part was that there were 2 more miles of hiking left. The rest of the story will be told through the pictures we took. The pictures don't do this place justice, but my writing wouldn't either. I loved this place. Take a gander: