The Waterfall That Broke the Poets: Snoqualmie’s Majestic Leap

SPECIAL CORRESPONDENCE.

Of all the noble rivers which find their source in the Cascade mountains, none is more notable for natural beauties in the Dominion than its beginning at the depths of the great range midway between the northern and southern limits of Washington Territory. For many miles it winds among the higher peaks, a river amid the woods. In its earlier career its general course lies near the summit flat to the north. It turns first to the east and then to the west, as if undecided which inviting route to choose for the journey to the sea—whether to the east, through the treeless uplands to join the great Columbia, or to the west, through the funereal forests to Puget Sound. It turns finally to the west, through the pass which has taken its name, and after leaving the mountains behind, flows in a deep, swift stream to the northwest until encountering the Snohomish it joins that river and sweeps in company with it to the Sound.

All the fascinations that have made The Rhine a favorite symbol of sacred and poetic expression, have fullest illustration in the swift-flowing and beautiful Snoqualmie. The purity of its waters, their coolness and depth of color, the alternation in its banks of frowning precipice and smiling plain, the depths of the forest shades, the fragrance of its bordering meadows, the gayety of light and color in their play along its winding course—these with, at intervals, the swift rush of its broken waters and the roar of its mighty cataract, make it a stream with all the charms that nature and literature have bestowed upon traditional river.

But it is of the Snoqualmie Falls of which I write—not indeed with the hope of describing it. The poverty of language is too severe for that. Westward from the Cascade Range the country falls in a succession of "benches" to the level of the Sound, and at least two of the benches break off in abrupt precipices. At the first of these sudden breaks in the surface level there is in the Snoqualmie river a cascade and a fall which is described as very fine, but these, as yet, I have not seen. At the second or larger break of the country, in descending from a higher to a lower level, the river pours its whole volume massed in a single deep and narrow stream over a steep precipice 250 feet high.

In this descent there is no interruption—the whole river rushes in a mighty leap into a wide chasm which opens to receive it. It has not been given to man to portray in words the majestic scenes of nature. Mere words and certainly pen and paper have no power to express color, light and proportion. Of what use is it to attempt to describe that which must be seen to be understood? Of what use is it to say that a river 125 feet wide and 30 feet deep rushes in a swift stream over a precipice 250 feet high? Of what use to say that the basin into which this plunges is made is six hundred feet across, and that its rim is upon the upper level of the stream? Of what use to describe the swaying pillar of white and broken water, the clouds of spray and the bright rainbow which spans the gorge?

What use to tell of the forests above and below with the multitude of circumstances which unite the picturesque with the majestic? As well might one attempt to describe the charms of a beautiful woman by giving the figures of her height, weight, the length of her mouth, and the number of her shoes. As well attempt to impress a man born blind with the splendors of the rainbow, as to describe this wonderful waterfall to one who has never seen it.

I had heard of the Snoqualmie Falls; read what assumed to be descriptions of it; had seen its pictorial representation in numberless forms, but I was no more prepared for the reality than if I had never heard of the scene before—indeed less, for it belittled by every attempt thus made to portray it. There is nothing on the continent like it. It is higher by nearly a hundred feet than Niagara and while lacking by comparison in volume and power, more than makes up in the charms of picturesque form and surroundings. It is certainly the most noble and striking natural wonder of the Pacific Coast.

Through the centuries that this stream has poured its flood over the precipice, it has eaten its way back from the brink many hundreds of feet, leaving on either side abrupt bluffs which overlook the seething whirlpool in the basin below. The visitor may walk along the brink of these bluffs and look from the higher level of the river into the face of the fall or he may by a steep path into the basin and view the noble scene from the lower level. This is the finer view but it involves toil which only persons of sound endurance should attempt.

The fascination of the Fall is irresistible. It claims the attention by a charm which never wearies. The more familiar the scene becomes in memory, the more it attracts. Those who come to stay an hour find it difficult to tear themselves away at the end of half a day, and almost turns from his last look without a sigh of regret.