Sublimity: the quality or state of something being sublime or exalted. That’s what the dictionary says about where we are—and it epitomizes our early spring hike to see Ten Falls.
We are standing under a rock shelf, thundering water reminding us of sheer power. Can you see the trees, once huge, towering, scattered like so many matchsticks in the creek below? Yes, it’s a creek and that will be apparent once August rolls around, but for today, the words “water shortage” seem impossible. That is one of the reasons we came, snow still caught in the uneven terrain of cliff sides, gradual melt swelling water’s rush.
So many greens here, and the uneven sky, gray blanket giving way to blue before blue beats a hasty retreat. We climb, surrounded by living walls. These are not the tame, manicured stuff of your DIY shows, oh no. These are what nature offers. Silver drops, snow surrenders, cascades from fern tips, drips, drips, drips. One can only look up in wonder.
As we hike out, now flanked by civilization, an asphalt road winding its way to the parking lot, our path running a meandering parallel, snow and hail begin to fall, white mixed with sting. But the sporadic swish of passing cars stops. We are in a silent forest once again, Doug firs proud, old, weathered yet sturdy, shelter us. Headed for home.