Just after 8 o'clock One spring morning, 2,000 feet below the edge of the Grand Canyon, Nate Chamberlain wore Chaps and cowboy boots and appeared from the post office in Supai, Arizona, and in the last email of the morning. He stuffed the priority mail envelope into a plastic U.S. Postal Service crate and lashed out at one of the six mules. Then he climbed onto the saddle of the lead, kicked the spurs, and walked along the dirt road that had walked out of the village.
This is the beginning of the country's most unusual USPS route, and it's the last email from Mule. The Ule sub-train will travel eight miles along a stream lined with poplar trees through a narrow canyon and follow a fold back trail carved by the cliff edge to the hitchhike at the top of the canyon, where there is a sign US Mail Delivery Area. There, Chamberlain would drop out the mail with the driver - the next post office in Peach Springs would take another 68 miles, and the pick-up email would be sent back to the village.
Supai is the only village that retains the Havasupai tribe and is one of the most remote communities in the country. It is only accessible on foot and is helicoptered when weather allows. The Mule train is 16 miles up and down the canyon for six hours five days a week, which is probably the most extreme performance of the USPS mission to “provide postal services to all communities.” Supai's mail delivery involves logistics, equestrianism and carefully placed hooves. It's slow and difficult work - as it opens, Chamberlain rises to feed the rope and continues to sunset as the fence is fixed, an era of instant delivery, optimizing everything and "government efficiency". It also gives a glimpse into what the Postal Service means for rural America, and at the moment when the future of the agency is uncertain.
Elliot Ross Atlantic
top: Nate Chamberlain and his mules dropped 2,000 feet to reach Supai. bottom: In addition to letters and parcels, the muzi also provides laboratory work and even provides mini fridges for Supai's tourist cottage.
For centuries, The Havasupai tribes are within the southern edge of the Grand Canyon, hunting and foraging along the plateau in the fall and winter, and descending into the canyon in the spring and summer to grow corn, beans, melon seeds and sunflowers along the Havasupai River. But as the United States pushes westward, things have changed. In 1882, President Chester A. Arthur signed an executive order to limit tribes to 518 acres of land at the bottom of the canyon.
More than a decade later, the federal government established a school in the village, and like everyone else of that era, it smelled when absorbing indigenous children. With its demands, people have a better connection to the outside world. Rufus Bauer, the first teacher to Supai, wrote in a 1896 report to the Commissioner of India, that he received an email asking Havasupai to "ride on a 60-mile horse riding on a stone, grassless desert where there was no drop of water." He added, perhaps unnecessary, "They didn't like the trip very much."
The Supai Post Office was established later that year. At that time, rural postal delivery nationwide was expanding. The postal system is older than the Declaration of Independence. It was founded in 1775 to allow for ongoing communication throughout the colony - even before there was a federal government in the United States. As the country grew, Congress made a monopoly letter to the organization to ensure affordable mail is provided to all Americans, not just those who live along profitable urban routes.
As time goes by, Supai will rely on the post office. With the loss of the tribe's hunting grounds and most of its farmland, the traditional Havasupai lifestyle began to disappear, and almost everything needed in all villages (grocery stores, household goods, medicines) appeared there behind the USPS mule.
“That sentence, Have you seen that? "Charlie Chamberlain asked me when we met at a cafe near the post office in Peach Springs. He pulled out his cell phone to search for it: Snow, rain, heat, and night did not quickly complete the designated round. “It’s not what we do.”
Chamberlain moved to Supai in 1973 with his wife, members of the Havasupai Tribe.
This route involves risks not listed in the unofficial USPS motto. In winter, ice can accumulate on narrow rewinds, and in the first two miles, ice can be reduced by 1,000 feet. The temperature in summer may exceed 110 degrees. Muzi (the horses sometimes used in the packing string) can be frightened by blowing pieces and the occasional rattlesnake. During the monsoon season, rain rushes along the canyon’s walls into the canyon’s walls to turn the desert floor into a flood of river in a few minutes.
Chamberlain recalls the 11 animal shelter that once lived on the high point above the trail as floods rose below them. He could hear the boulders colliding with each other in the water. The next day when he rode, the traces of water left higher than his head, even on the horse's back. He told me that avoiding trouble means learning to look at the sky, and besides that, “having a true strong faith in God.”
Chamberlain still signed a contract with USPS to deliver to Supai, but no longer rode the route. After 25 years of traces, he and his wife fell ill and left Supai, closer to the hospital. Now, he hires Nate (his nephew) and other locals to handle the delivery.
Nate Chamberlain told me that he had broken his bones and leaked the spill that required hundreds of needles. Last summer, when severe mountain flooding lifted the creek about 7 feet in 15 minutes, he had to spend the night under the rock hanging rocks and washed away the trail. In the worst case, the animal has died. (Charlie and the packers who worked for him regularly spin the animals to prevent them from wearing out.)
According to the latest census, Supai is home to about 200 people, although some estimates are much higher. (The Havasupai Tribal Council, which tracks the number of tribe enrollment, refuses to participate in the story.) For residents of the small village, Mule Train helps set the pace of daily life. Lynanne and Scott Palmer told me that when they moved to Supai, in the late 1970s, the afternoon mail arrival was a social event: Residents would gather outside the post office as their letters and parcels were unloaded, as well as food and other supplies and other supplies for the small country shop to rest.
Over the years, with the development of tourism, the situation has changed. Nowadays, thousands of tourists pass by Supai every year and see the waterfall landing along Havasu Creek to its confluence with the Colorado River. The helicopter runs a few days a week during the high season, bringing visitors from the edge of the canyon to the village. The helicopter also brought some supplies and took residents out of the canyon, hours from the edge during weekend shopping trips in Kingman and Flagstaff cities.
However, the helicopter schedule is seasonal and depends on the weather: strong winds can easily blow the plane towards the sandstone cliff. Moores is still the most reliable form of transportation, and, as Charlie describes, cultivated with them: “Everything you can stamp it.” In addition to letters and parcels to community members, including many Amazon orders, the USPS mule train works for medicine and labs in rural clinics. Supai has no traditional banks, so the post office supports an informal financial system, bringing cash for tribal use and allowing residents to send and receive bills of exchange. Tourism is now the tribe's main source of income, and also relies on Mule trains: Nate told me that the supply of cottages left by tourists (lineens, even mini fridges) is attracted by email.
As Lynanne Palmer said, even in Supai, “lives run around the post office.”
Elliot Ross Atlantic
Thousands of tourists pass by Supai every year to visit the waterfalls of the canyon.
In late March, While mules continued to work at Supai, protesters gathered in 150 cities across the United States to oppose the expected "hostile takeover" postal service.
President Donald Trump has mused a major restructuring of the USPS in recent months, which he described as "a huge loser in this country." He said he is considering a merger of independent agencies with the Ministry of Commerce. Trump suggests that the move will help the postal service (due to a decline in mail volume and rising operating costs) lose billions of dollars a year around its fate. But many see the proposal as the prelude to privatization, with Trump proposing an idea in his first semester and raising it again before taking office for the second time.
Experts believe that even partial outsourcing delivery of companies such as Amazon and FedEx will disproportionately affect rural U.S. areas, in which case, longer distances and fewer consumers mean that many postal routes operate at a loss. Brian Renfroe, president of the National Association of Letters Airlines, told me that without the general obligation of USPS, consumers in rural areas might expect higher prices or even lose service altogether. "I can assure you that a private delivery company will not have any interest in sending mail to Muzi," he said.
Charlie Chamberlain told me that the M-sub train has lasted for over a century, and it is the most cost-effective way to deliver emails to Supai. "We can be cheaper than on helicopters," he said. "When I'm going to bid for a new contract, I'll probably surpass them." As a contractor, he didn't charge benefits. “I’ve never had a holiday in all the years I’ve done this,” Chamberlain said. “Nothing like this.” The route seems to be the opposite of government efficiency. But this is true only if you don't accept the premise that the post office should be suitable for everyone.
The Post Office reflects the founding vision of the country: to build a country that is both broad and unified. Supai saw the worst vision. But when driving up and down the canyon, Mules are not influenced by politics, but still carry their promises is the American promise.
This article appears in June 2025 Printed version titled "Mail by Mule".