A Tale of Two Waterfalls

A Tale of Two Waterfalls

9/13/23

?????????????? The signs warned “rugged trail” and “dangerous overlooks.” One online reviewer cautioned that the steep trail was not worth the view at the end. Even so, I decided to make a try at getting a glimpse of Smalley Falls.

????????????? The path started out innocuously enough – muddy from last night’s rain, sloping slightly up, surrounded by maples, oaks, aspens and large granite outcroppings on both sides. When I came to a fork, I took the route that led me more gently downhill instead of the narrow, stone-filled option that rose steep and edgeless with a sheer downslope on one side. In this case, I was happy to choose “the road most traveled by.” The understory in the woods at the top of the trail was a healthy mix of grass and ground plants, but even this easier path became a sheer rockface and I could hear the sound of water pounding over stone long before I saw its cascading flow.

????????????? The overlooks were dangerous, but caution and awe sometimes make good companions. I joined the cedars and hemlocks that anchored themselves in the precipitous, soil-thin banks, signature trees often found at edges where rock and water meet. I came here because I wished to pay homage to this imposing granite presence, exposed over millennia as the river washed away the younger sediment left first by the sea and then the glacier that covered this place. The power and ancient beauty of the short-lived PemeBonWon River (coursing east only six miles before it joins the Menominee River on its way to Lake Michigan) and this apparently less spectacular waterfall than Long Slide Falls just down the road, had carved these monuments to a time when earth and fire ruled this land.

????????????? I was glad I stopped here before I visited the more popular falls. I came for ancient stone, and I went away complete.

????????????? It’s true that Long Slide Falls was much more dignified and domesticated than her wild stepsister Smalley Falls upstream. The parking area was right next to the top and a wide, newly graveled trail led down to the bottom.

????????????? Oaks, maples and aspens also lined this trail on the side that sloped down to the river and an imposing rockface rose on the uphill side. The limp, contracting blossoms and seedheads of summer wildflowers decorated the ground beneath the trees. By the time I got to the bottom, the trail ran parallel to the river with an imposing stone outcropping on the other side of the path, silently testifying that the river had at times flooded more deeply and forcefully over its banks. Next to the water stood a majestic cedar about two feet in diameter and thirty feet tall, witness to the water’s passage. This waterfall was indeed longer and more accessible, but I confess a fondness for the less glorious Smalley Falls.

????????????? As I was heading back up the hill I saw a small, muddy trail continue past the gravel to the east along the river, so I followed it until the woods took over. Behind the trees I could get glimpses of the water flowing alongside. There were huge boulders scattered in this more calm water and, as I strained to see as far as I could downstream, it seemed to me as if it was falling off the edge of the Earth. Such promise of adventure…but no passage for the likes of me.

????????????? There is a recent fad that I refer to as “waterfall hopping.” It involves people who buy one of the current popular books listing all of the waterfalls in the state and then set out to visit them. When I see these people on my travels, they walk deliberately to the chosen waterfall, look around, take a photo or two, then move on to the next site. These are the people who write reviews on the internet, expressing their opinion for other waterfall hoppers to consider in their own missions. It seems a bit disrespectful to me but, in the end, I think the rivers and the stones are hardly bothered by these insignificant creatures who move so quickly in and out. ?Personally, I will be grateful when this mania passes.