Chasing Waterfalls: The 73 Feet That Changed My Life
Soaking wet, hair whipping back and forth across my face, and shouts of joy muffled by the raging water soaring 70 feet over my head. I fell in love with Sahalie Falls the moment I met her.
As I walked into the overhung shelf behind the falls, following an unmaintained trail carved between the moss and vegetation, I felt the sheer power and triumph of the Mackenzie River. Standing alone, I experienced one of my favorite emotions that only nature can bring, the feeling of being small, at peace with one of the giants of the natural world, knowing every part of my life was entirely inconsequential when put into perspective.
Freshman year of high school I had big goals. While in good health and 65 years short of my statistically probable demise, I created a bucket list of one hundred experiences I wanted to have before I died. I started checking off items. Some were personal direct goals, like landing a backflip on a snowboard, or summiting Mount Hood. Others required more planning to complete.
Through a layer of fake confidence and well-written emails, I got connected with the building manager of Oregon’s tallest building, “Big Pink.” At sunset, accompanied by a team of security officers armed with safety waivers, I looked over the city in which I grew up, successfully checking off bucket list item #49: Stand On the Roof of a Skyscraper. Running off of this high, I found myself sitting in the thick air of a cigar club in the heart of Portland’s industrial district. After measurements, hair, makeup and three hours of last-minute coaching by a French man twice my height, I walked in all three nights of Portland Fashion Week, checking off the very first item on my bucket list: Model In a Runway Fashion Show. After graduating high school, I grew closer to the outdoors and took on goals beyond the city, and the bucket list – once at the forefront of my life – fell to the back of my mind.
Before I ever became a climber, I added Rappel Down a Waterfall as #35. I’m not exactly sure what inspired this. Perhaps it was a childhood spent watching the Discovery Channel or maybe the Indiana Jones movies, or an internal calling I just had to answer. To me, it seemed like the most thrilling and freeing experience I could imagine. I was determined to fulfill it.
Six years after I first wrote my bucket list, I found Sahalie Falls. My initial vision of checking off this item in Costa Rica or South America was immediately replaced. As a Eugene local, this place was practically in my backyard. Sahalie translates to “Heaven” in the indigenous Chinook language, a name the falls live up to with ease. With 560 cubic feet of water plunging over the 73-foot falls every second, it is the largest falls on the McKenzie River, one of the staples of the Oregon Southern Willamette Valley.
I invited three of my friends to fulfill this dream with me: Eli Watnick-Wizeman, Zack Saitow and Drew Lincoln. I walked the short trail down to the overlook of the falls with a rope slung over my shoulders, carabiners clanking together on my harness. As we got the first look of what we’d be rappelling, a moment of shared awe and fear swept over our group. Mist hit us forcefully in the face, even standing hundreds of feet from the base of the falls. Watching the wind twist and spin the mist, I couldn’t imagine how strong it would feel directly beside it. This would be by far the most intense and exciting rappel of our climbing career.
This experience would challenge my favorite aspect of roped rock climbing: the relationship you build with your partner. Putting the highest form of trust in them, allowing them the chance to save or endanger your life. This feeling goes both ways, and knowing that your partner’s life is under your control forces you to be confident in your ability and focused on the present. But in a rappel, the partner aspect is entirely removed, and your life is fully in your own hands. To have that kind of control is a rare feeling for a regular person. But with this power comes responsibility, and keeping calm in moments of fear is crucial.
All of us on this adventure had rappelled down an indoor rock wall or a short outdoor face to complete the base requirement of a climbing class. However, none of us had done a free rappel, entirely free hanging without the security of placing your feet on the wall in front of you. This fueled our nerves and fears as it makes it easier to lose control. Even further, none of us had experienced a rappel in wet conditions, adding an element that would change things more than we realized.
At the overlook atop the falls, I started flaking the rope out to ensure there would be no knots or twists on our descent. The four of us standing in our swimsuits and climbing harnesses drew the attention of the Oregon tourists visiting the falls. We shared a brief interaction with a couple from the East Coast, who were clearly intrigued when we told them what we were doing, but then moved along quite fast.
While scrolling my social media feed, I had seen videos of a highline at Sahalie Falls, and even someone cliff jumping the full 73 feet. But I had never seen anyone rappel it. This made finding the best spot to set up quite a bit trickier. After pacing back and forth, pushing on trees to check their stability, and looking over the lip to see how the rope would drop, we found a solid tree beside the falls to anchor the rope.
I was going first. With my belay system properly attached, I shuffled my feet, moving my body around the tree, and onto the cliffside. The moment of putting your weight onto the rope always comes with a split second of terror, immediately followed by relief that you’re still at the top of the cliff. We were using an extended rappel system, this means feeding the rope through a slot of metal called an ATC, that’s connected to your harness. With both hands firmly gripping the rope below the ATC you wont move at all, however by opening your grip you can lower yourself at a self controlled rate. Hanging, feet on the tree and back facing the open air, I begin to loosen my grip on the rope and slowly descend. As I passed the exposed roots of the tree, I moved by a section of dirt cliffside. The rope, taut with my weight, shifted back and forth on the dirt above me. Loosening the rocks and dirt, I pushed my head in towards the cliff side, feeling the debris bounce off my helmet. My friends yelled out a word of warning when they saw large rocks come loose: “roockkk!” I felt fearful and full of doubt. As the first person to do this rappel, I was afraid that this mystical vision I had thought so much about would stay a fantasy in my head. Shuffling my feet back as I continued my path downward, I looked up briefly, only to be temporarily blinded by loose dirt falling into my eyes.
This moment of unease was met with bliss, as my feet left the wall and I entered the free rappel. The unique experience of seeing the waterfall while suspended in the air brought me an intense feeling of amazement. In a moment of triumph, I touched the ground. Then I signaled to the guys up top, who shared this moment of stoked screams and excitement.
Walking up to the top with my equipment, I was overjoyed that the idea worked. It’s not every time that we succeed at our ambitious goals. Having scouted out the falls three months earlier, I felt a sense of achievement. The question that burned in my mind of whether this would work had been answered.
As I watched the others rappel, I wondered if the location we chose to hang our rope was truly the best. I was overjoyed with the experience I had just had, but having rocks on the head and my feet touching the wall for the majority of the way did not complete the whimsical vision I had in mind. I meandered through the forest atop the falls while others followed each other inline rappelling. There I found a tree, 50 feet from the cliff’s edge. I wondered if we could string a rope the whole distance.
After everyone made the descent, we moved the rope to test if it would be possible. Laying over the edge of the cliff, I dropped the rope down. As I watched it touch the ground, I got a burst of excitement knowing this just might work. Saitow and I pulled on the rope as if we were in a game of tug-a-war. With just the top branches shaking on the tree, we geared up for the second rappel of the day.
As I got into position, I realized how sharp of a cliff’s edge this was. Made up of solid rock, my feet rested horizontally as I learned backwards. Below me there was empty air as the cliff opened up to create an overhung cavern. Mere feet away from the falls, I was getting blasted by the water and mist, leaving the soaked rope feeling slippery in my hands. Slowly, I loosened my grip and began to drop over the edge. Once past the lip, I again felt both terrified and unbelievably exhilarated. The water next to me roared unbelievably loud, leaving every other noise muted. The sun, low in the sky, shined through the water with a warm yellow glow. Even when free hanging in open space, I couldn’t fathom the scale of this waterfall. Something that looked so gigantic from the viewing platform felt exponentially bigger from this perspective. The wet rope moved through my ATC and sprayed out muddy water. By the time I was halfway down, I was completely covered in it. My hair was scattered with the chunks of mud that made their way through the slits in my helmet, clothing wet with the brown water, and yet in that moment, I felt so incredibly fulfilled and alive. It was all I had hoped for and more. The moment was everything I had ever dreamed of.
It was then that I felt the weight of the moment. The water that passes through Sahalie Fall is fed by Clear Lake, a product of snow melt of the Cascades. The water that pounded me in the face and soaked its way through my clothes while rappelling Sahalie Fall’s is the same water I was gliding over on a snowboard a few months before. The same water I shrugged off in the form of rain on my November hike to Salt Creek Falls, and the same water I swung my ice axe into while climbing Mount Hood last year. This consistent force of natural energy that expressed itself through my favorite activities was always present, even when I wasn’t aware of its existence. Working alongside me, bringing me joy and inspiration.
I have spent my whole life trying to understand how to make my life matter, planning out my future and how I would spend it. And yet, hanging 50 feet in the air next to a massive waterfall, it felt as though that nothing mattered more than the unwavering power of nature. My experience with Sahalie Falls gave me that feeling of smallness I had been so desperately chasing, mixed with the comfort of knowing that I was no longer in control. I vowed to never stop chasing that feeling. To fill my future with waking up in the mountains, chasing waterfalls, climbing rock faces, and forever spending time among trees.