Cascading
water has always fascinated me. Maybe it is because I grew up in a
region with very little water, or perhaps it is the roaring sound and
misty feel that I experience when I happen upon it. Most of the
waterfalls that I have seen are those that are advertised with signs
or a map. Once in a while, when out hiking on my own, I will by
chance come across a small fall. Sometimes these are more
exhilarating than the ones you plan to find. I remember once hiking
up a canyon near my house that held a small stream. To my surprise,
I found four decent falls, ranging from ten to twenty feet tall.
With that hike in the back of my mind, I thought I would set out
again in search of those unadvertised waterfalls. I had a place in
mind where I knew that the river tumbled down the mountain at a good
pace and I calculated from studying the topographical map that there
must be at least a few cascades for me to find.
It is
five in the morning when I leave my house. The drive to mountain
will last a little over an hour and I intend to get there well before
the sun creeps over the mountain ledges and into the canyon. Right
now I don't want to have direct sunlight because I want to photograph
the torrential water with a slower shutter speed so that I can
capture that silky appearance that creates such a surreal picture. I
drive up the canyon for several miles and then the road begins to
ascend steeply up the mountain. It is here that I pull over and
begin my hike. The river is just just a stone's throw down -hill
from the road. It is clear, swollen from spring run-off, and very
cold. I have another pair of shoes in case I want to wade through
the water, but right now, that doesn't sound like a very fun idea.
I hike
upriver along the steep sloping ground, making my way over rotting
logs and through prickly bushes. Everything is very green. Below
me I hear a doe spring to her feet and bound out of the trees. She
stops for only a second before continuing out of sight. The river is
traveling at a very fast speed. White water abounds everywhere and I
wonder to myself, what exactly constitutes a waterfall. Does it have
to be three feet in height, ten feet, or just anything that drops?
Does it have to fall directly down at a vertical angle, or can it
gently roll down a slope? These answers I will have to determine
myself, as I feel that they are more subjective in nature.
Soon, the river makes a wide
bend, and on the other side I see what I consider to be my first
waterfall. It is only about twelve feet high, but it plunges
powerfully into the water below a small foot bridge that spans the
river. The bridge is connected to a large pipe that serves as an
aqueduct for other water that has already been captured inside the
pipe. I stop for several minutes and take pictures of the crashing
water, searching for just the right angle.
Once
on the other side of the river, I climb up the steep hill and soon
find an old logging road that winds me back into the forest and into
thick timber. I take this path because it seems to lead into the
direction of the east fork of the river, which is the tributary that
I am looking for. The road snakes back and forth and then becomes
very narrow and leads downhill. I follow it and soon come upon the
tributary that I am looking for. The river is far smaller than it
was before, in fact so much smaller that I will call it a stream now.
It is wide enough that if I wish, I could jump from one side to the
other without getting my foot wet. I follow the water up-stream and
quickly find what appears to me to be a transfer station of some
sort; a large cement enclosure that can be used to divert some of the
water to a one-foot diameter pipe.
It is
here that I find my second waterfall. A short distance upstream
from the transfer station, a rush of water appears to be gushing from
the rocks and plunging strait down into pool. I don't even attempt
to get close to this fall as there are briers and boulders and a
steep drop to get down to it. I admire it and move on.
I
side-scale a steep slide of boulders and within a few minutes hear
the rumbling of another fall. I can't see it, so I descend to the
stream and walk inside an open cavern. I feel like I have just
entered an underground cave, but instead, this is a spot in the
canyon where huge boulders have dropped into the water's path. It
is dark. It is damp. The stones at my feet are slick and water
seeps into my boots. From dark points above the level of my head,
water trickles downward all around me. I am in another world. In a
nearby section of the small cavern, higher volumes of water crash
down onto the rocks and mist my glasses as I attempt to approach. It
is tempting to take off my hat and let the clear fluid shower my
head. This is the highlight of my little excursion as I feel that I
have entered another realm that no one else has ever discovered.
Reluctantly
I move on, but am quickly rewarded with another waterfall. This one
is more picturesque, with the water pouring out from both sides of
two moss-covered boulders. As if placed there to make a picture more
appealing, a log rests nonchalantly against one of the boulders.
As I
continue hiking, the canyon becomes more gentle, although filled with
the same steep slopes, thick timbers and many smaller cascades.
Issuing from the hill, a small spring falls from a mossy enclosure at
just the right height for me to refill my water bottle. It tastes
cold and cleaner than any water I can find at home. Nearby I find
an open, grassy spot along-side the stream. I take off my backpack,
drink some more water, then cut an avocado in half and scoop it from
its shell and into my mouth. Then I roll my jacket into a pillow,
lay down on my back and close my eyes. The wind softly moves through
the trees and I hear the quaken aspen creek back and forth. Unseen
birds squawk in the distance. The steam gurgles in its path. Now,
this is what I enjoy.
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