I am following behind my husband on a trail that will soon become my favorite hike. Many people start on this trail, but most don't go far enough to ever find The Falls. They stop short, satisfied with high bridges and smaller waterfalls as their destinations. But we are, as they say, in the know. In fact, this place has its own story in Rob's family lore.

When his family took a trip out west nearly a decade ago, his grandfather told his mother, "Oh, you must go to this one place. It's my favorite hike of all time." He told her the name and explained its general whereabouts. On the vacation, she had nearly forgotten it, but when they were in the area she remembered the hike. But, she couldn't remember its name. "Eagle something...?" she said. She searched the map. There were many Eagle somethings, but one trail seemed like it might be right. "And if not, oh well. It'll still be a nice hike." So they started on the trail, not at all sure it was the right one. They hiked and hiked, past the tall bridges, past the smaller falls. Many times they began doubting themselves, but they continued on. And finally they arrived at The Falls, and they knew. Without a doubt this was the place.

Since then, Rob's sister has brought her husband back to this spot. And now Rob was bringing me. He has been talking about bringing me, in fact, ever since his first trip.

It is an all day hike. We begin in the morning, our backpack loaded with lunch, snacks, and lots of water. We pass people on the trail with no supplies, and we know immediately that they don't know. Because if they knew, they'd be going, too. I wonder if we should tell them, but I find myself reluctant to reveal the secret. This place feels sacred and I haven't even seen it yet.

The hike itself, even without the destination, is incredible. The trail meanders hundreds of feet above the river gorge, a mere ledge chiseled out of the side of a mountain. As we walk along, I almost forget just how high we are, just how steep this mountain is. Until I cast a quick glance over my right shoulder. A glance straight down. I think it's a gorgeous view. But then, I'm not afraid of heights.

Across the gorge, all along the way, is a stunning collection of waterfalls. Each one falls down the steep mountainside, tumbling to the river below. Each one is worth stopping to admire, worth pulling the camera out. Each one raises my expectation of what the final falls will be.

We hear them before we see them. Our pace quickens. There is a draw to waterfalls, even small ones. What is it that makes them seem magical? Why, when we gaze upon one, would we not be the least bit surprised to see a mermaid swimming in the pool below?

I'm pondering this as we close in. At first, we see only movement through the trees, white rushing water. We hurry along the trail, closer. As the falls finally come into view, I'm surprised to see a middle-aged couple heading toward us on the trail.

"What a place, huh?" the man exclaims, over the roar of the water gushing down the precipice.

I just smile in response. I'm speechless.

The waterfall is a torrent of water that drops 120 feet, nestled in a horseshoe-shaped cliff. The water has, of course, created the horseshoe, pouring over the bend, gradually wearing away at the ridge. At some point, a tunnel was blasted through the slab of rock directly behind the falls, and we walk through it now, coming out the other side very close to the falls. The mist from the gushing water is like rain. The trail continues along, and we follow it, clutching a wire rope railing that has been drilled into the side of the rock face. We walk carefully because the path is narrow and wet, and it's a 50-foot drop to the ground below. But we can't resist leaning out for a look at the rocky pool of water below, where the waterfall lands in a raging splash. The sound is so loud; we have to yell to speak to each other. But there isn't much we need to say. All we can do is stand in awe of the falls.

That's me in red, to the right of the falls, for scale.

Rob at the tunnel.

As I stand on the sidewalk at an intersection, waiting to cross, a guy whooshes by on a bike, then pedals harder up the hill - his right hand gripping the handlebar and his left hand clutching a dozen red roses.

discovering sea anemones and starfish in tidal pools while exploring the rocky shore

Look who I got to meet! Truly, two of the most fantastic people on the planet. Rob and I are considering moving here, just so we can hang out with them again.

(Also, I don't know why people complain about the weather in Seattle. It's gorgeous here!)