A Waterfall Season

When the last frost is drawing near, Mr. Pettit and I pull out the Book.

Not the Good Book. We study it throughout the year, although not as much as we should.

No, I’m talking about the KOA Campground Directory.

We own a Goldilocks travel trailer, just right for the two of us. Not so tiny that you have to step outside to exhale, but not so vast that we need whistles to find each other. We usually begin camping in April and camp about once a month through September or October.

Although we’ve visited all 50 states, we haven’t camped in all of them. (Hawaii would prove to be a bit of a challenge.) So our current plan is to fill in the U.S. map on the side of our trailer as best we can, a sticker for each state.

We added three new stickers this season: New York, West Virginia and Kentucky. We also camped in Pennsylvania and our home state of Virginia.

Mr. Pettit and I love to wander, but we don’t do it to check places off a list.

We travel to see what’s around the corner.

And this year we saw water.

Watkins Glen, New York:

Mr. Pettit is the Finder of Places. Sometimes I’ll mention that I’d like to see something and he’ll look it up. Other times he wanders through the KOA directory, a travel book or website and asks, “How about going here?”

I always say, “Sure.”

This spring he set out to find a campground in the Finger Lakes region of New York, since I’ve always wanted to visit that area. We decided on Watkins Glen, located on Seneca Lake. I knew the town hosted a NASCAR race each year, but that was the extent of my knowledge.

I did not know about the waterfalls.

Waterfalls are supposed to be hard-earned, something you drive or hike miles and miles to see. Just when you’re about to give up you hear a distant roar, followed by a glimpse of mist rising up into the sunlight, then it’s “Eureka!” at last.

During our stay in Watkins Glen we saw over thirty in two days.

A nice lady at the town’s Visitor Center suggested we get an early start at Watkins Glen State Park in order to avoid the crowds stopping by on their way to Niagara Falls. When we hit the trail around 8 we had the place pretty much to ourselves.

I’d read the brochures she’d shared with us so I knew the park was known for its waterfalls.

But, still.

One after another after another—not little trickles running down a rock like tears, but gushing torrents flowing above and below and before us. The rushing water charged the air and refreshed my spirit. I wanted to linger at each waterfall, but I pressed on, greedy for the next display.

This embarrassment of riches continued after we left the park. We saw waterfalls alongside highways and even at the end of a small town’s Main Street (Shequaga Falls in Montour Falls, New York). We were alone on the trail to Eagle Cliff Falls (also in Montour Falls) and felt like we had discovered it. We also visited Taughannock Falls, which is even taller than Niagara.

When I reflect on this trip one word comes to mind: abundance.

Cumberland Falls State Park, Kentucky

“Somewhere over the moonbow…”

We chose this destination after Mr. Pettit read about the Cumberland Falls moonbow. The moonbow is created when the light of the full moon is caught in the spray of a waterfall, creating an arch of white light.

We did our due diligence. We planned our trip so that we’d be in the area on the night of the full moon, as well as the nights before and after. We visited the park during the day, not only to see its beauty clearly but also to scout out a good vantage point. On the night before the full moon we went to our selected viewpoint and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

We fretted as one cloud after another skidded across the sky. The cliffs across the Cumberland River would glow in the moonlight, then fade to gray as the moon played peek-a-boo. We chatted with our fellow watchers like dedicated sports fans who can sense imminent defeat. We stared at the base of the falls, wondering if the moonbow was so pale that we had missed it.

Finally, we left.

Mr. Pettit and I do not give up easily. (Some might call us stubborn.) So we trudged back out to the park the next night. The sky was clear—”clear in a million,” as pilots would say—so we were cautiously optimistic. We returned to our previous viewpoint and waited, surrounded by a new group of hopefuls.

No moonbow.

We trudged back to the park’s entrance, our disappointment as dark as the trail. When we emerged from the forest we decided to stop by the main overlook at the falls before heading back to the campground. We had visited there the previous night and quickly fled, overwhelmed by the crowd.

The overlook was no less congested than our first visit, perhaps more so. It was like a multi-generational cocktail party, people laughing and talking loudly as they jockeyed for position at the overlook’s edge. Mr. Pettit and I squeezed in and there it was.

A rainbow’s ghostly cousin.

I almost expected to see angels sliding down the beam of soft white light to dip their toes in the water. If a rainbow shouts its presence to its admirers, a moonbow whispers, mindful of the late hour.

And we almost missed it.

The next time I’m tempted to surrender hope I pray that God will remind me that my moonbow might be only steps away.

“Happy trails to you…”

On the first day of our visit to Cumberland Falls State Park we decided to take the Eagle Falls Trail. The cashier in the gift shop said it was a bit of hike but we weren’t worried. We’ve done a few hikes in recent years and know our limitations and capabilities.

You can see it coming, can’t you?

The hike wasn’t long, only two miles, but it was quite steep at times with a rock scramble as you neared Eagle Falls down by the river’s edge.

And it was hot.

My eyeballs were sweating.

Eagle Falls was beautiful, but I had been spoiled by the Finger Lakes region, where you can pick up a scone and a cup of coffee and walk a block to a waterfall. I plopped down on a rock, opened my granola bar and stared longingly at the pool at the base of the falls. Mr. Pettit and I were alone, and he wouldn’t blink if I jumped in fully clothed, hiking boots and all. He knows I’m peculiar.

I was working up a pretty decent case of misery when a handsome young couple walked up.

I’d say they were in their mid- to upper-20s, young enough that even exercise didn’t mar their looks. After a couple of minutes the guy walked toward me and I assumed he was going to check out the river.

Instead, he had a request.

Would I record his proposal to his girlfriend?

Uh, yes.

Well, not exactly. I always pass the camera/phone to Mr. Pettit when fellow travelers ask us to take their pictures. I worry about cutting someone’s head off.

And so it was that we were part of this sweet couple’s engagement. (The young lady gave an enthusiastic “Yes.”) She cried and he grinned and I “ooohed” and “ahhed” over the ring.

I looked back at the rocky path we’d taken—the one we’d have to navigate on the return trip—and suddenly the trail didn’t seem so daunting.

The right companion makes all the difference.

“Happy Trails to You” by Dale Evans

“Somewhere Over the Rainbow” by Harold Arlen

Shequaga Falls, Montour Falls, New York

Cumberland Falls, Cumberland Falls State Park, Kentucky; as seen from Eagle Falls Trail

Watkins Glen State Park, New York