[Trevor]

In all honesty, Wallace falls isn’t the most beautiful place ; it may not even keep the camera in the hand of the photographer very consistently, but it has something. There is something that one just can’t pinpoint about a certain area ; something that isn’t described through ubiquitous aesthetics; something that seeps into someone and imbeds itself like a nicotine addiction. Whatever this something is, the owner of the something continually retraces a former-mud-laden path in hopes of finding the answer to the riddle-- the key to the area’s allure. In slight boredom, she sways back and forth, both hands clench themselves together to form a triangle in front of her abdomen. “ Are you finding everything today, sir?” I answer yes, but in actuality , the aisle I need is three down. I need portable nourishment for my hike. I turn down the aisle and see and elderly gentleman with kyphosis. He is frozen in place. He stares at me as if to suggest something. Suddenly, after moments of deliberation, he decides to admit his weakness, and asks me if I am tall enough to reach the top shelf. The top shelf appears vacant ; I reach my hand a few inches beyond the edge and grasp a box of oyster crackers, then place them on top of another box already in the cart. He says “thank you”; the kind of thank you that does not display extreme gratitude-- but minor appreciation. The kind of thank you that is not strong, but significant enough to allow the helper to feel reimbursed for the minor effort. By emphasizing words and adding intonations to your speech, you can dictate the connotation of your message. The lady at the check stand tells me to “ have a great day”, while emphasizing “great.” The ground is moving beneath me in my vehicle. I still question why I am going to Wallace Falls. I always question why I am doing the things that I do when everything around me is an option for my leisure. A ribbon of gold lines the horizon on an otherwise overcast day. An eagle perches itself on a barren tree along the highway, as if it wants attention ; I think “majestic.” The aroma of a thousand-cow defecations filling the vehicle. A middle-aged-balding man dressed in taco bell attire walks parallel to the sidewalk ; he studies his palm and proceeds in licking it; he mutters something to himself. Add five cups mud and three cups snow, and you get the contents below my feet. An overweight man darts by me in basketball shorts. When a trail is placed in a metro area, you find it being worked in to a variety of lifestyles in obscure fashions. Beneath a small falls, a family asks me if a particular trail leads anywhere; I say, “ I believe it doesn’t.” I shamefully hope more for the families prompt return to the falls than them finding the trail does continue and having a nice-family hike. Along the trail I see the aftermath of storms. Year after year the forest is gradually getting less and less uniform. Like a loved one with a parasite, when a place you like is being subjected to windstorm, you sit in your home hoping that your faith will prevent destruction. My favorite tree remains standing. I take out the camera briefly, then mentally declare the particular area as too “busy” ; a lady walks up and quickly snaps a photo. I am heading up the trail with zest. For boosting confidence, I ascribe the lack of fatigue to recent fitness undertakings. Surely the pain I embrace elsewhere will equate to more enjoyment on the trail. The lower falls comes into view. An Asian lady dressed in nun attire--amid the chaotic movements of the water-- is frozen in place. .Perhaps this is her religious sanctuary--her cathedral. Another Asian lady--not releasing herself from her smiling expression--looks up at me. The smiling lady had that sort of glow that accompanies a lifetime of smiling--a lifetime of joy in simplicity; that sort of glow that can lighten-- if only for a brief extent--the darkest of hearts. I see a man on the trail who is opting to go at a slow pace. He asks me if I would like to pass. I try to politely reply, “if that’s possible” but it doesn’t come out politely. He fumbles around for his perception of the connotation, and replies--in a miffed fashion-- “ it certainly is possible.” I see the middle falls come into view, and with exuberance I head off trail to attempt to find a clear vantage point. The water seems somewhat brown and unattractive, but its volume steps in as if to compensate for its lack of appearance. I get to the edge of a cliff, and disappointedly realize that an image nor novel view would be worth an additional step. I see a group of people on the trail, and offer words to avert awkwardness. A lady smiles at me, and I wonder if she smiles like that to everyone. I head back down the trail, questioning to myself, if this is better in mid spring. I leave still having that something within me, only being inches closer to knowing what it is. A ribbon of gold lines the sky. Somebody asks me how my day was, I emphasize the word fun. The trail had some mud. It also had snow which may be gone by now. Somebody cleared out blowdowns nicely. Really nothing to note that should hinder visitation, other than lack of ubiquitous aesthetics. I shot only a few images over a few compositions.

[Slugman]

What day were you there? Your post was made Tuesday evening (yesterday), but I was there yesterday, and there was zero snow on the trail and very little mud, either. Beautiful day, too.

[Trevor]

I was there monday. Probably should have clarified. Yesterday was one of the more comfortable days of the year I reckon.

[captain jack]

[Slugman]

GBT?

[captain jack]

Ya, what she said.

[Slugman]

Maybe next time. I hadn't been to Wallace falls in the five-plus years I've had a camera, partly due to the $5 thing, and partly due to having been there several times pre-camera. And Tuesday, the falls were roaring, plus there was a fabulous rainbow, but of course I forgot the camera.

[boot up]

Wallace Falls/Lake is a good winter "training" loop when everything else is snowed in and you feel like hiking. The Grag Ball trail is a nicer option than the logging roads when doing the full loop. It does have some interesting water alongside it.

Greg Ball trail waterfall

[captain jack]

My antisocial behavior, and my fear of hello-verload always keeps me from wandering up the Woody trail, the GBT is peaceful, with nice private knolls, like Pickens knoll, about halfway up, named for the local ranger. I met him up there a couple of months ago, I used to call it my knoll, thinking I was the only one who wandered up it, then after talking to Ranger Pickens , who also thought he was the only one who ventured up to it, I conceded the name to him. Regardless, its still a wonderful walk along the north fork Wallace, Slug. At the second signed junction that connects the Woody trail to the RR grade, hang a loogie. Its only about 500', or 5 minutes up to the RR grade, then a quick right takes you to the GBT trailhead kiosk in about 50'. If you get to the upper end, and still got spunk, walk the short section of road to the lake. I gotta get up Stickney this year, anybody got pics of Rose lake ?

[puzzlr]

What kind of trip was this? But please, please post more often. Choosing the right trail makes the weekend, whether you've been there once or a hundred times.

[Trevor]

It was more of a means to fulfill my desire to write at the time. There would have been a greater focus on the trail conditions, had they not been already noted in other threads. Welcome to the site, Mvanderbilt.