I drove with a friend to this well-loved spot. We headed out well before noon on a Friday and so we were able to beat the crowds. To enjoy a place like this it’s essential that you arrive before everyone else who has the same idea.
The trail is short and on private land. You drive as far as you dare on the deeply pocked gravel road before finding the unmarked trailhead and climbing down.
The waterfall is in the middle of an “amphitheater of columnar basalt.” The lichens and mosses are beautiful and we were there at just the right time of day to see the whole area filled with sunlight despite the lower and lower angle of the September sun.
The water was very cold but I was determined to swim out to where the falls meet the water. As I approached, the cold water, the loud beating of the water’s impact, the spray, and the current all made me want to turn away. I am not as strong a swimmer as I would like. I went as close as I dared and then swam back. My friend also went in the water and we managed to avoid drowning.
I caught a large garter snake and it peed on me a lot. We saw a baby one too.
I want to check out every nook and cranny like this in the Pacific Northwest. At the same time, I acknowledge the impacts that the press and fray of people have on these places. For my part I never leave trash. I poop at home instead of in the woods. I don’t burn things. I camp and hike on hard surfaces. I do all the recommended things to minimize my impact.
But there is inherent impact and ugliness in the crush of human visitors and their cars, trucks and SUVs. Interestingly, many of these popular spots are completely devoid of people during weekdays or during the off season. In those times the outdoors near the metro area seem more vast. The more you seek out remote spots, the more impact you have, in a way. It’s difficult. It’s definitely possible to “love a place to death.”
pseudoisaac 