or as it was called in 1903 by Stewart Edward White, “Big Falls”.
I could borrow his para-phrasing when he wrote, 'I'm not going to tell you how far...or exactly where it is'. Suffice to say that the round trip hike exceeds five hours with only a quarter-hour allowed in full view of the mighty eighty-five foot drop. Still, no words can fully scribe it, no film will show its deep mystery. Only an artist's sketch and a reel or two might reveal what lies beneath the veil.
In SEW's “The Forest”, speculation centred on what lay above the cataract, whether the pools were placid, or the trout prodigious. Nearly in sight of the falls, White and Towab's fishing party of a hundred plus years ago veered off towards Howling Wolf & Black Beaver Lakes. Breaching the upper canyon, they descended to “Big Falls” from its northern reaches, thus completing a great ellipse of the territory.
Today, I solo into that steep valley after a night of intense rain. The Towab trail is soaked through, each rock and root has the capacity to hurl the hiker. On one occasion, it did just that as I crossed above a smaller falls, recovering after a few lost steps. If I can't find my way, it will be days before I'm discovered. Perish the thought. The thunder blood pounds before the view as I clamber from the Towab, out onto a precipice where doubtless others have stood before.
The lore of the Agawa says that in 1916 members of the Prairie Club made this trek all the way from the mouth of the river. I see the ladies in their parasols and long dresses, the men with bowlers and their smokes.
Today's result is the same.
Upon arrival it takes your breath away,
then doubles back,
flooding in with emotional drama.
Spray lifts up in chorus.
Healing ions permeate.
There is this now only...
and Agawa spills away~
Jeffrey Riordan Hinich
copyright 2010
I could borrow his para-phrasing when he wrote, 'I'm not going to tell you how far...or exactly where it is'. Suffice to say that the round trip hike exceeds five hours with only a quarter-hour allowed in full view of the mighty eighty-five foot drop. Still, no words can fully scribe it, no film will show its deep mystery. Only an artist's sketch and a reel or two might reveal what lies beneath the veil.
In SEW's “The Forest”, speculation centred on what lay above the cataract, whether the pools were placid, or the trout prodigious. Nearly in sight of the falls, White and Towab's fishing party of a hundred plus years ago veered off towards Howling Wolf & Black Beaver Lakes. Breaching the upper canyon, they descended to “Big Falls” from its northern reaches, thus completing a great ellipse of the territory.
Today, I solo into that steep valley after a night of intense rain. The Towab trail is soaked through, each rock and root has the capacity to hurl the hiker. On one occasion, it did just that as I crossed above a smaller falls, recovering after a few lost steps. If I can't find my way, it will be days before I'm discovered. Perish the thought. The thunder blood pounds before the view as I clamber from the Towab, out onto a precipice where doubtless others have stood before.
The lore of the Agawa says that in 1916 members of the Prairie Club made this trek all the way from the mouth of the river. I see the ladies in their parasols and long dresses, the men with bowlers and their smokes.
Today's result is the same.
Upon arrival it takes your breath away,
then doubles back,
flooding in with emotional drama.
Spray lifts up in chorus.
Healing ions permeate.
There is this now only...
and Agawa spills away~
Jeffrey Riordan Hinich
copyright 2010