A Waterfall Hike, or That Time I Fell in a Creek

Published July 12, 2015

It was only 4:30pm, and despite the seven miles I’d already hiked today, I was feeling antsy. I decided to go on another short hike that I’d done a year ago with my friend Alyssa, to a waterfall. I have such fond memories of that hike last year, and I thought it would be great to go back, explore, and take some pictures.

Perhaps I should have been deterred when I got to the entrance and found the gate looking like a hurricane had just passed through, large tree branches everywhere. We’ve had a windy week, though, I rationalized. A tree had even come down, just a ways up the road. No reason to cancel my plan, right?

Branches easily dispatched, I started down the trail. It was even more overgrown than I remember. There are these ropes along the way to help keep hikers upright, and unlike last year, I found myself grasping for every one of them. It was incredibly slippery, and even in my hiking boots, it was hard to get purchase at some points. The trail descends for a while, and then turns into a small mudflat. I slowly made my way across, boots sinking down and sucking up out of the mud, to this little wooden bridge made mostly out of branches. It was a bit wobbly, but it held.

I could hear the rush of the waterfall in the distance, and I finally rounded the last bend and it came into view. I started to make my way toward it, but no! (I think I actually said it aloud). The last wooden bridge was broken, snapped in two. The creek was about a foot deep here–not crossable with what I was wearing.

I stood there for a minute, disappointed. I remember being awed by the waterfall up close, and I wanted to get near it again. I started to turn around, but then I thought, this is not a fitting end to the adventure. There were a few rocks peeking out of the water, and that rope still hung across–surely I could make it. With a new sense of purpose, I grabbed onto the rope and stepped out onto the first rock. I had two immediate realizations: the rope was way too slack to be helpful, and the next rock was a bit too far without rope support. I looked at the broken bridge. Maybe it would be steady enough to get me to the next rock.

That was a mistake. With my right foot, I started to shift weight onto the bridge, and it was much more unstable than I’d anticipated. I lost my balance and my left foot slid into the water as I tried to step back to the rock. I now had one completely soaked foot. I managed to get back up onto the rock (which was, like everything else on this hike, ridiculously slippery), and decided I should probably go back. As I was carefully turning around, I discovered that in my flailing, I’d dislodged my water bottle from it’s pocket and it had fallen into the creek! It was floating, caught on a piece of the broken bridge. I crouched down carefully, arm outstretched. If I could just reach a little further…

And then I was on my butt in the water.

I’d never hiked with completely wet feet before. It’s amazing how quickly the water in your shoes goes from freezing cold to body temperature. After that, the only uncomfortable part is the squishing.