Along the Trail to Ramona Falls

Along the Trail to Ramona Falls

Want to be frightened on All Hallows Eve? Move to Western Oregon. That's when it starts. October begins well enough. The gentle warmth of summer still lingers in the air over most of the state.The sun lulls us into believing it will always, or at least almost always, continue to shine down on us. Then, in the blink of an eye, the darkness descends. Rain starts falling. The brothers Wet, Cold, and Damp play a long and chilly game in the Northwest. When it begins, it's spectre is downright scary.

That's why it's important to seize the sun while it's here. Oregonians know that. They get out and soak in as much of it as they can while they can. Its what helps most of us make it through the long wet season.This last Wednesday was my last day of summer.

The sun cast its warmth across a cloudless blue sky. Reds and golds of autumn along with the ever-present greens that paint this region stood in dramatic contrast. I knew this was my chance. Quite possibly my last chance before the chilling rains of winter diluted the season into a distant memory. I wanted to hike back to a spot I'd only been once before. The first time, it captured my imagination. This time, I wanted to see if I could capture just a bit of its essence with my camera.

Tucked into a small canyon at the foot of Mt Hood, the Ramona Falls Trail starts wide and bold along the Sandy River. After crossing the rocky, colorless flood plain roiling with murky water, the path quickly gives way to thickets of tall firs, pines, and maples. They burst skyward, piercing the moss and lichen that carpet the forest floor. Except for the gentle gurgle of the brook hugging the trail, the woods are silent. Rust colored needles dust the path. Mushrooms of all sizes and shapes poke up next to the trees and roots that nourish them. This day, it ways as if this tiny canyon was waging a war; a final rage of color before the inevitable monochrome of winter drains it all away.

Color is everywhere. Gray rocks cliff provide a backdrop for autumnal golds and greens. The tiny stream mixes a watery palette of sky blue with other hues of the forest. All at once, there are the falls. Ramona is a sloping pear-shaped basalt face about 80 feet high. At this time of year, water dances down the rocks more than flows. The stream above cascades into a wide watery gossamer as it sprays and bounces down the slippery rock jutting outward in all directions. It's beautiful. Unusual. And getting there was just as magical as the destination.

I discovered that capturing its beauty is above my pay grade. That's not to say that I don't like the images I got; I do...very much so. I did capture a bit, just a tiny bit of its essence, and for that I'm grateful. But, pleased as I am, they also serve as a reminder that no photographer, no painter, and no writer is capable of fully conveying the experience of immersion in this special place, on such a glorious day. The smell of evergreens and fresh clear water; the sounds of the stream as it tumbled gently over rocks and logs that line its path cannot be captured by a lens or a pen. And yet somehow, I know that's as it should be. The memory, jogged by my images and this journal, will stay with me all winter long, and that is more than a small comfort to me.