The old saying about horses (and bicycles) urges that when you fall, you get back up on them immediately. The same should apply to waterfall walks. After the aborted one Jan. 24, I admit I was hesitant about the next one on Jan. 31. However, the spirit was again willing to try to overcome the weaknesses of the flesh.
This walk was laid out in such a way that it worked from its highest spot to its lowest; I didn't realize until trudging uphill via the paved road how difficult this could have been. Most of it was on well-travelled trails with only the occasional 'soft' and/or slippery spot. Encouragement to assist the spirit and helping hands (or shoulder!) to assist the flesh surrounded me at all times. Any minor miseries became inconsequential.

And the waterfalls! Mine is a memory of water falling in three different modes. There was the Sisters of Mary falls (and Little Canterbury) hiding and teasing with the smallest of glimpses of still-running water under a cover of ice and snow. And then there was Canterbury falls, its complete face hidden under a solid mask of ice while underneath hidden waters still burbled audibly on the stone heart. And the majesty of Sherman falls. Towering, undaunted by winter's limitations and the magnificent encroachments of ice, it remained one of the most impressive of our waterfalls, whatever the season.
The reception awaiting at the Old Mill restaurant was a comfort of drinks, food, conversation, laughter, and fellowship. The warmth of the hearts overcame the chill of cheeks and noses, the ache of backs and hamstrings.
Then for myself, on the way back to the car, a quick appreciative stop to watch the controlled flow of the Upper Old Mill falls: ice and falling water in an almost equal balance. Waiting at home? Hot water, soft cushions, good music.
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