Waterfalls and Parking

Waterfalls: a window to the divine.

By the way, Oregonians pronounce their state as ‘orkin’. Don’t ask me why. Like ‘pair’ of Pierre, North Dakota. Des Moines is ‘da moin’ but Des Plaines is ‘des planes’. ‘Lou-a-vul’ for Louisville, although no one pronounces the ‘s’. Anyway, you are forewarned.

What is so fascinating about waterfalls? The sense of abandon as water dives into a misty pool, sometimes catapulting among rock structures? The unbridled sound? The visual display of natural power? It may be that the recent trip to Iceland spoiled us, a land of amazing topography and geography, waterfalls surprising us at every turn. In comparison, the waterfalls of California and Oregon disappointed.

Driving up the California coast, we pulled off at the designated viewpoint to catch McWay Falls. Our eyes scanned the steep cliffs rising above the water and finally caught a simple curved line in the distance, as if a giant were hiding behind the trees at the top of the mount, peeing onto the beach below. Any magnificence of the falls was diminished by the strength of its surroundings. That said, the panorama with the clean sandy beach, dark cliffs, deep green forests, and the white foam of the waves outlining vibrant blues and greens of the water was worth the stop.

In Big Sur State Park, compelled to hike a trail including my maiden name, we strolled to Pfeiffer Falls. The easy hike along the well-kept track through the forest culminated at a rest stop filled with young day-campers enjoying their morning snack. The water of the fall plunged in one long stream from far above, the constant splash of water soothing. Afraid of risking injury, I resisted the temptation to climb closer. The falls were beautiful in a quiet way, not awe-inspiring, but sacred. I highly recommend the hike.

We held to the promise of the magnificent falls of Oregon. Outside Portland, we searched for Coffee Creek Falls in Oregon City, across the river from my nephew’s residence. The GPS lady patiently and repeatedly insisted we had arrived as we retraced the route several times before spotting the simple sign for Coffee Creek at the side of the highway. Another car pulled in, and we shared information. Yes, this is the spot. If you look through the trees, you can spy a trickle of water over rocks. Nothing like the promised majestic fall from on high. My nephew and his wife had never heard of Coffee Creek.

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What you are promised vs what you get.

On we went to Willamette Falls, purportedly the largest waterfall in the Pacific Northwest and the second-largest by volume in the United States, trailing only Niagara Falls. This is the place to go if you marvel at acres of abandoned industrial buildings and heavy construction equipment rusting in a drying river bed. The falls were difficult to see, even when we ascended in the sad city elevator in Oregon City for a ‘better view’ from above, better per the lonely guide perched at a desk at the entrance. He informed us that the falls were relatively dry now; spring would be the best time to view them.

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What you are promised vs what you get.

Unfortunately, drought has diminished many of the natural sights. During the trip, forest fire smoke affected our views slightly but enough to remind us of the fragility of our natural resources. These problems are not unique to the US; we saw the same conditions in the Canadian Maritime Provinces last year.

Locals informed us that the best falls outside Portland are on the impressive Columbia River along the Historic Columbia River Highway. Yes, the drive is winding, narrow, and occasionally harrowing, but set along the king of a river on one side and lush forest on the other, it is perfect for a Sunday afternoon.

But first. . .

The waterfalls of Portland and car parking are inextricably linked in my memory. Bear with me as I expound on Oregon parking laws. Granted, I didn’t do due diligence prior to entering Oregon, unaware that I needed to. And now I am home and too lazy to research the actual rules. It appears that the state owns much of the parking, probably because many of the lots are in state parks. You can buy a yearly pass, which I recommend if you are spending much time in Oregon. Or you can pay per lot, using, of course, a QR scan code, which my phone balks at. I tried, really I did, to pay in Oceanside, Oregon. After several attempts and still unsure whether we had registered, we crossed the street for lunch at a local cafe, sitting next to a window for a quick rescue if we spotted a security guard checking license numbers.

One clear Sunday afternoon, we drove out to Multnomah Falls, the crown jewel according to Oregonians. Being a weekend, the parking lot was busy, but we found a spot with little problem. Gathering our goods for the walk to the falls, we joined the cluster of tourists tinkering on their phones next to two sandwich boards at the entrance to the path. The boards offered several QR codes, of course, and confusing descriptors. After a discussion determining which code we were to use, I proceeded to pay with my phone. Unfortunately, it dinged as soon as it spied a fraction of a code. Finally, keeping my hands around the phone like blinders, I ran the camera along the ground, jerking it to the correct code to access the parking app.

It took another few minutes for me to interpret what the app was telling me: parking spots must be reserved; the next available reservation is 4:00, two hours later. Wait. I am parked. We spent 20 minutes learning that we can’t park? During that time, Mike had viewed the falls and taken the required number of photos. After he watered the lilies of the field, we left, realizing that in the time we had parked illegally, we could have walked to the falls and back. Oregon, get your parking act together.

Because my hiking shoes which I keep in the back of the car were not in the back of the car, we were unable to walk the trails to get close to the falls. We satisfied our thirst for the waterfalls at several points along the route, taking photos from safe spots. At each point, vying for a parking spot, we envied those who had the foresight to book the Waterfall Hop-on Hop-off Trolley. Highly recommended.

A cousin encouraged us to seek out the Twin Falls in Twin Falls, Idaho, on our way home. She literally meant ‘seek.’ They are difficult to find, and there was only one fall, its twin dammed as part of the work of the hydroelectric plant. Three young men pulled into the parking lot behind us in a red sports car and proceeded to unload sophisticated camera equipment.

How is it?

Disappointing. We are going to check out Shoshone Falls.

It makes one bemoan our dependence on electrical power.

Shoshone Falls were our last hope. They were on the route and a chance for a refreshing pause before enduring hours in the car to get home. We were pleased. The falls are beautiful, full and thundering, even in their state of drought. One can imagine the cooling mist if only one could get close enough.

As we left, the red sports pulled in. I gave the young men a thumbs-up.

We detoured slightly to view Dierks Lake, a man-made reservoir just upriver. Mike confessed to a strong sense of déjà vu as we entered the lush park inviting us to throw down a blanket and take a nap. Families were braving the cold water off the sandy beach. Walking trails intersected the grassy grounds, picnic tables and benches were well-placed in the shade of large trees, all backed by a serene view of the lake nestled among the cliffs. It would have been a great place for our lunch if we had been prepared.

In our hotel room that night, Mike pulled up pictures of Dierks Lake and Shoshone Falls. From 2022. Yes, we had been there. I retrieved old travel journals to jog my memory. I found the notation but absolutely no recollection.

“Why do I travel,” I moaned, “when I can’t even remember what I have seen?”

But I did recall the pleasure of this day: marveling at the natural sights, the friendly people, the joy of traveling with a man I love who loves me. So what if I don’t remember the sights? I would enjoy the experience even if I repeated it every day.