Secret Falls

Day 175: "Secret Falls" is the name I gave it. On the map, it doesn't have one, and that's understandable because it's only about a yard wide and maybe 15' tall. I made its acquaintance some years ago while snowshoeing up Westside Road when the road was gated for winter. I could hear water flowing, and yes, there was a trickle flowing through a culvert beneath the road, but only a tiny wink of the falls was visible although it was only about fifty feet from me. Curious, I made my way into the forest and around a slight bend, and there it was, its cascade concealed by the angle of the cleft in the rock. These days, it gives me a goal to achieve when I want a short hike as I did on a warm day recently. Secret Falls was there waiting for me, as always.

Secret Falls

Day 213: A few days ago, I took a walk up to Secret Falls. That's my name for it, anyway. USGS doesn't feel it merits a designation. Why "Secret?" Even though it's less than 50 yards from Westside Road, its 20-foot cascade almost entirely hidden from view by virtue of being around a corner of rock, and anyone who hears it as they walk by raises their eyes to a more visible upper tier which they assume is its voice. The stream which feeds it originates in the Lake Allen basin, although not the lake itself which, incidentally, is only accessible by those committed to serious cross-country navigation. I have been to the lake once, and having found a fresh cougar-killed deer (the carcase still steaming), I decided once was sufficient. However, my sense of adventure is strong enough to sometimes make me forget my age, and Wednesday's excursion found me climbing a steep, mossy slope in an attempt to reach the upper tier of the falls. About halfway there, I had a "mortality moment" (rare for me) and as I looked back down that which I had climbed, the Common Sense Demon on my left shoulder advised, "You're getting yourself in over your head for not having told anyone you might be up here." I cast one last longing glance in the direction of the upper falls (no longer visible from my vantage point) and carefully inched my way back down the slope, trying to remember where I'd seen bare, slick rock showing through thin places in the moss. Perhaps another day and a different route will take me there, when I've filed a flight plan with a friend.

Snowshoe To Secret Falls

Day 80: It doesn't happen often enough that I can call it a tradition, but when conditions are right, I like to close out the year with a snowshoe hike. Although I had a haggis dinner planned (complete with neeps and tatties), I finally couldn't resist the pull of sunshine (albeit cold) and bare road. I pulled together a quick winter daypack, threw my snowshoes and poles in the back of the car and was on the trail by 11:30.

Westside Road is gated in winter and makes a lovely snowshoe walk with several turnaround-point options which leave you feeling as if you've achieved a goal. Sometimes, I'll just go as far as the Graphis Scripta Grove, a stand of Red Alder about a mile in, the only place in the Park where I've found the tiny lichen which gave the site its nickname. Other times when I'm feeling ambitious, I'll hit Dry Creek or Fish Creek, but at three miles from the car, the trip back feels like it takes forever. On this occasion, I figured I'd just tag Graphis Scripta and be home in time to cook the haggis, but I got a pleasant surprise.

The route is closed to motorized travel, but skiers and snowshoers both use it for winter recreation, as do boot-footed explorers who invariably discover that postholing isn't fun after the first half mile. Consequently, the track is usually chewed up and lumpy, skiers cutting deep, narrow swaths and snowshoers stumbling along, tripping on the raised edges of the ski ruts. Yesterday, however, it seemed that the skiers had stuck to one "lane" and snowshoers to another; in other words, travel was an utter breeze! I was at Graphis Scripta in no time at all and exulting in my good fortune, decided to continue on to Secret Falls.

That's not it's real name. In fact, it's too small to even have a name. A small cascade tumbles over rocks no more than 50 feet from the bed of Westside Road, but is deeply set in a niche which makes it invisible to anyone on the road. In summer, it can be heard, and thus a small social trail leads to it; in winter, it hides from anyone who does not know where to step into the forest. It is always festooned with icicles in winter, but photography is difficult because the site is so shaded. I kicked myself for not having thought to put the tripod in my pack, but then, I hadn't planned to hike any farther than the alder grove. Fortunately, the snow wasn't overly crusty, so I improvised by jamming the camera into the snow covering a fallen log, allowing me to get in the shot to give some size perspective to the icicles. My visit done, I was tempted to go further, but the thought of haggis pulled me homeward. It was delicious, if a little later to come to table than anticipated.

Secret Falls

Day 136: I thought I'd give my readership a break from lichens for today, although lichenizing was what carried me to this spot. I call this little cascade "Secret Falls" because once the brush grows up, you really have to know where to take a 50-foot detour from the road in order to find it. It's tucked away in a concealed niche just off the Park's Westside Road, and anyone driving by would miss it. Even if you are on foot, the whisper of its passage down the mossy slope is almost lost under the rushing tumult of nearby Tahoma Creek until you are standing close enough to feel its spray. Little sun penetrates here, only a ray or two at the height of the day, casting ephemeral rainbows where surely the wee folk come to bathe. It has no name on any map; it's far too small to be accorded any official dignity, but I for one am glad to have been invited into its confidence.

Secret Falls Rainbow

Day 135: "Secret Falls" doesn't really have a name, although its stream shows up on the topo map if you know where to look. You'll find it less than fifty feet from the road if you know where to stop, but otherwise you could drive right by without any clue to tell you where this ribbon of water is tucked away. It's at its best in the months of winter and spring, and variously may present the aspect of a freshet or of bizarre figures of ice. Light enters this niche in the forest for only a few minutes of the day. If you're lucky, you may even catch a rainbow.

A Visit To Secret Falls

Day 83: You won't find Secret Falls on the map. In fact, it's not named on the 7.5' topo for the area. It's only about thirty feet off the road, but it's set so deeply in a cleft that you'd never know it was there unless you got curious about its small stream. The creek is intermittent. It runs down to a trickle in the autumn, or sometimes dries up completely. It's only in the wintertime that it flows in full spate.

I've come here many times on snowshoes to find it iced up and glorious. Today, the snow was heavily crusted and snowshoes were unnecessary. For once, I thought to bring the tripod, but even so, the exposure was a nightmare. In hindsight, I wish I'd carried a graduated neutral-density filter. With bright sun streaming down on the upper portion of the falls and the lower portion in deep shadow, a few burned-out highlights were the trade-off for being able to see my face. Even so, I had to tone-map the image heavily and pull up the shadows substantially.

Yes, today Santa and his sack of goodies were upstaged by Ma Nature's gift of good weather. It was a chilly hike, but I put in seven miles as a warm-up to the winter Fitness Challenge between participating National Parks. I'm on the Interpretive team and am required to put in no less than 100 miles between January 7 and March 30. I hope to double that and then some! Too bad today doesn't count...