![]() Like Mist Falls, Dalton Falls is a two-tiered waterfall with a total height of 350 feet - not as tall as nearby Mist Falls at 520 feet, but quite tall compared to other waterfalls in the Gorge. The photo below is from state aerial surveys taken after the Eagle Creek Fire in 2018, and shows both the familiar Mist Falls and nearby “Dalton Falls”, just to the west. This is where the confusion begins, as the stream in this canyon does have several small cascades, but nothing that could have been easily seen from below, along the old Columbia River Highway, which seems to argue against this falls being the real “Dalton Falls” Meanwhile, one of the lesser-known waterfalls in what I am calling the “Heaven and Hell” section of the Gorge is quite prominent, and to many waterfall admirers is the rightful “Dalton Falls”. But tucked between Coopey Falls and Mist Falls on this old map is “Dalton Falls”, shown to be flowing from a prominent canyon on the east flank of Angels Rest (then “Fort Rock”). Multnomah, Mist Falls and Coopey Falls are also shown, and still carry their original names (Mist Falls is one of the few landmarks in the Gorge that still carries a name given by the Lewis and Clark expedition). But nobody seems to agree which waterfall is the real “Dalton”.Ī closer look at a 1916 touring map (below) published when the original scenic highway opened in the Gorge shows this area in detail, including a few name changes: “Fort Rock” is now Angels Rest and the domed butte at the top center-right edge is Devils Rest, which forms the headwaters of well-known Wahkeena Falls - then known as “Gordon Falls”. At least one of them, Dalton Falls, is named. Already new plants are thriving and old trees are rotting, while insects, animals and fungi are all playing their parts in the cycle of life.Hidden in plain sight near the west entrance to the Columbia River Gorge are a string of waterfalls that flow from the slopes of Devils Rest and Angels Rest, yet are virtually unknown. Our hearts might still ache in the wake of the fire, but the forest has long since moved on. Nature doesn't mourn what was lost – it's our memories of that loss that linger. At the bottom of the trail, soft and squishy with mud, moss still clings to rocky hills and ferns still spring forth from the depths of the earth. Watching it explode into flames last year was devastating, and since then many of us have been itching to get back, to see what became of our holy land.Īngel's Rest is a disheartening reminder of the destructive power of fire, but also a reminder of the resilience of nature.Īs you head back down the trail through the forest of snags, past newly revealed views of the gorge, you quickly return to a familiar green landscape. Where you expect to see a comforting blanket of green, you'll find nothing but a patchwork of black and brown – the gray of naked deciduous trees offering the lone sense of natural order.įor many of us in the Pacific Northwest, the Columbia River Gorge is indeed a temple, a place we go to worship and connect with something bigger than us. Standing in communion with the nature that surrounds, swallows, holds you in place, you can truly feel the power of the land.īut glancing down to the forest below, the heart can't help but sink just a little at the site of burned trunks and barren land. It remains a place where you can soak in the majesty of the natural setting, where you can sit and rest in awe. This view, at least, is the same as it was before the fire. Here, hikers disperse along the wide bluff, rocky and covered in scrubby brush, where a jaunt to any edge offers an incredible view of the Columbia River rolling serenely underfoot through the gorge. Some light clambering is required to reach the very top, but it's worth the extra effort. The hike up to Angel's Rest feels something like a pilgrimage to the ruins of a temple, the land still sacred but indelibly scarred. The terrain toward the top is rock and mud, and can be hard on your feet as you walk. Small deciduous trees, now bare after fall, fill gaps alongside patches of woody brush.Īs you follow the switchbacks to the top, look down and you can spy fellow hikers as they climb, exposed through branches that barely offer cover. It's as if they were placed there by hand – or rather, as if the flames should have set them at odd angles, not left their remains so rooted in place. Here, at the edge of the cliff overlooking the gorge, blackened snags stick up unnervingly straight.
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