I had to stop here and take these shots. No matter the heavy overcast light and the fact that it was raining and soaking my camera. No matter that there are only a few well worn picture points that might as well have a Kodak picture point sign next to them.

It's like a pilgrimage really. As a child I rode through the gorge dozens of times as a captive in a Ford station wagon on the way to somewhere else that demanded great haste from my Father. It called to me then and it called to me now decades later, so we stopped briefly again to stand in reach of the pounding mist to soak up the grandeur that is this waterfall. The log is still there at the base of the falls and the bridge is as elegant a counterpoint as ever. This place is timeless but familiar like an echo of déjà vu.

But this time it is spring and the trees still have a vibrancy of color in their new leaves and the moss hangs heavy on many of the trees in thick shaggy masses. Smaller waterfalls spray off of the high cliffs only to dissipate into the great heights. The crowds have retreated to the warmth of the lodge and I stood there once again finding it hard to focus on the technical tasks of my gear, but could not pause here too long as the long road and other responsibilities beckon…