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Tuesday 31 March 2020

A celebration of waterfalls


Lower Belmore Falls, Morton National Park, NSW

“Of all the waterfalls we’ve ever visited, do you have a favourite?” I ask Caz.
He repeats the question back to me, then takes a sip of coffee. There is a long silence.
“Let me think about it.”
“You need to think quickly. I want the answer now, for the blog.”
“Oh.”

Lower Ebor Falls, Guy Fawkes River National Park, NSW



Upper Hastings Falls, Werrikimbe National Park, NSW

Minnamurra Falls, NSW

For a long time we have discussed writing a blog post that explores and celebrates the beauty and charm of waterfalls. They are such a central part of our adventuring - sometimes they are our destination, sometimes we come across them unexpectedly. We study maps to find them. Sometimes they aren’t the most scenic of things - drought makes them nothing more than a trickle over a darkened cliff edge. Sometimes they are roaring, flooded things full of power and voice.

Caz takes another sip of coffee and says: “Well, Glennifer Falls has to be up there.”
“I was thinking it didn’t have to be the big one.”
“Or the hardest to get to.”
“It might be the hardest to get to.”
“It might be the prettiest.”
“Or one that had some of kind of special resonance,” I say. “Like Upper Hastings Falls for me.”
“That was a beauty.”




Then Caz reaches back in time for some really memorable stuff. 

“I’d say some of the canyon trips. Glennifer River with Dick and Corky. Doing Danae Brook with Uncle Reg. And Five Day Creek, that Jeff and I did ourselves. That was out there. Massive day. Waterfall after waterfall. We knew nothing about it or what to expect. We didn’t have enough rope for one of the waterfalls and had to rig it off so we could get out on the side. There are always those special moments. There was just two of us. You’re doing it raw and in wild areas.”

Canyoning is, in fact, all about being the waterfall. Caz’s choice of ‘favourite’ is testament to the immediate and intimate relationship that canyoning has with waterfalls. Canyoners move with waterfalls; they launch themselves off edges, see the whole waterfall from its own angle. They are in amongst it; feeling it, touching it, smelling it. Taking the path of a water droplet. It is an exhilarating, wild bit of fun. 

Danae Brook, Kanangra-Boyd National Park, NSW

Waterfalls are an ancient part of human outdoor experience, adventure, imagination, literature and art. Tracks and trails lead to them, lookout platforms offer views of them, monks and philosophers muse over them. They enchant the mind but are also a sensory feast - just take the simple stairway (641 steps) to the base of Ellenborough Falls in NSW. The river drops 200m, making it the tallest single drop waterfall in New South Wales and amongst the tallest in the southern hemisphere. At the base of the falls the rocks are black with slick lichen. The physical power of a river falling and smashing against them from 200m up, is auditory. There is a loamy, fresh smell and the feel of being drenched by spray in the damp, whipped air.


Double Falls (above and below), Barrington Tops National Park, NSW

“At this spot, the country seems cleft in twain, and divided to its very foundation: a ledge of rocks, two or three feet higher than the level on either side, divides the waters in two, which, falling over a perpendicular rock two hundred and thirty-five feet in height, forms this grand cascade. At a distance of three hundred yards, and an elevation of as many feet, we were wetted with the spray which arose like small rain from the bottom: the noise was deafening; and if the river had been full, so as to cover its entire bed, it would have been perhaps more awfully grand, but certainly not so beautiful.”

- John Oxley, Sept 15, 1819, Apsley Falls, NSW


There is not a standard way to classify waterfalls, which is refreshing to know. Sometimes we can over-classify, over-science the natural world. Water experts grade the volume of water flowing over a waterfall; there is width, there is height classifications. A more popular, if less scientific, way to classify waterfalls is by giving a name or descriptor to how the water descends its fall. Its a bit like searching the thesaurus - a series of nouns, verbs and adjectives. There are block waterfalls, cascades where water descends over a series of rock steps. There are cataracts, chute waterfalls, fan waterfalls, plunge waterfalls, punchbowl waterfalls. A horsetail waterfall is one that maintains contact with the hard rock that underlies it. There is a waterfall at Waterfall Bay in Tasmania. It is an ephemeral waterfall, requiring heavy, local rainfall to flow. Since the end of February it has been running - beautifully, consistently and uniquely, because it crashes from the top of 100m high sea cliffs into the vivid blue of the Tasman Sea. Is there anywhere else in Australia where a waterfall crashes into the ocean like that?

Ebor Falls, Guy Fawkes River National Park, NSW

Then there are waterfalls I have met, Williams Falls in the Barrington Tops comes to mind, where I stared in wonder, for many hours, at the unceasing flow of water. We camped the night at its base, tucked in an impossible spot where large boulders, leaning against each other at wild angles, formed a type of cave. There was just enough flat ground for us to lay out bivy bags and sleep. From my bed I could see Williams Falls crashing into a deep green pool, surrounded by rock terraces and hanging rainforest foliage. Coloured leaves massed in the far corner of the pool, caught in an eddy, as I watched the ceaseless falling of water from above. How is it, that even though it hadn’t rained for months, water kept falling? The river keeps coming. It fills the deep pool then flows out and over again, forever on its way. We now know that in times of extreme drought, even some of our most reliable waterfalls stop, and rivers can run out of flow. But at the time, I sat there in my green glowing cave of moss, a waterfall beside my head, watching infinity moving but slowed to the rhythm of gravity. Despite the aesthetic beauty of waterfalls (Caz’s photos are testament to this) they are redolent with challenging symbolism. No moment of flow is the same as any other. Watching that waterfall, was a lesson in impermanence; a masterclass in the constancy of change.


Oh, the new-chum went to the back block run,
But he should have gone there last week.
He tramped ten miles with a loaded gun,
But of turkey or duck he saw never a one,
For he should have been there last week,
They said,
There were flocks of 'em there last week.

He wended his way to a waterfall,
And he should have gone there last week.
He carried a camera, legs and all,
But the day was hot, and the stream was small,
For he should have gone there last week,
They said.
They drowned a man there last week

- Banjo Paterson, Last Week



“So, Caz, which is better, standing at the top of a waterfall or admiring it from below?”
“Hmmm. I think from below because you actually see the whole structure, the whole waterfall.”
“But what about that feeling of space and drop you get from above.”
“Space, and that fall.”
“What about not getting near it at all, looking at it from a distance. Or, sitting just off and staring at the face of a waterfall. Watching the streaks and rooster tails, the flow moving. Its endless variations. The permutations of ways to fall off an edge are infinite.”  
“Sometimes you can’t get in close. But you feel like you want to.”

Just last week, we woke with this kind of desire. Camped beside a lake, the air was thick with fog lifting off the dark water at dawn. Ice covered the car. I stood with a warm mug of tea clenched between my gloved hands, waiting for the sun to crest the mountain range we intended to climb. As it did, it lit up a streak of distant white. We discussed whether it was just an exposed section of quartz or rock as the surrounding mountains were covered in the stuff. I grabbed the binoculars and sure enough, it was a waterfall. I checked the topo map - Whitham Falls. It looked grand indeed.

Kanangra Falls, Kanangra-Boyd National Park, NSW

And as Caz and I sit opposite each other at the kitchen table, discussing waterfalls, he asks a more important question than any of mine. He is always thinking about future adventures, moreso than re-living past glories. He soon tires of reciting the beautiful waterfalls we have visited - Far Eastern Falls, Meander Falls, Sundown National Park’s Double Falls.

Elabana Falls, Lamington National Park, QLD

Tea Tree Falls, New England National Park, NSW

“What about the ones we haven’t visited?” 
“Wow,” I reply, “that’s a whole new story.”
He already has a list in his head.
“There’s the one on the Chichester River. Nearly all the waterfalls in Tasmania.
“Well Whitham Falls, now.”
“And Reynolds Falls.”
“And of course, back in NSW, Lower Hastings Falls.”
“Lower Hastings Falls. 90m or more. Very few photos, very few trip notes. Then all those ones hidden in Washpool; Orrooroo and Willowie, Viper, Desert Creek.”

And so the ideas flow, because at the head of a deep valley, somewhere (anywhere), there is a waterfall falling. All bushwalkers know that feeling of wandering along a high ridge in the forest and stopping to wonder if that is the wind in the trees or the distant sound of a promising waterfall. You walk a little bit further, stop again, listen. Is it getting louder? Is it, in fact, your favourite waterfall, still out there, waiting to be found.

Biddlecombe Cascades, Jatbula Trail, NT

There are many waterfall pictures and destinations that did not make this story - check out our blog for more waterfall adventures by following the hot links or type 'waterfall' into the search window at the top of the home page.


All images and words on this site are copyright of Craig Fardell and Christina Armstrong. It is illegal to sell, copy, or distribute images and text without permission. We thank you for your help in respecting the copyright of our work.



9 comments:

  1. I always enjoy reading your posts, especially so today, it created a welcome escape from the mess the world is in at the present time. Caz, your photographs are absolutely beautiful, but so are the pictures created in the readers mind by your wonderfully descriptive words Chrissy. Thank you, stay safe. Ray.

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    1. Thank you Ray. We really appreciate your comments. Best wishes, Chrissy and Caz.

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  2. One of your best Chrissy. Not only could I see them through Caz's lens, I could smell them and hear them through yours. And best of all I could feel the timeless calm of the waterfall. Much needed today. Thanks. Lizzie

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    1. Thanks Lizzie. We worked hard on this blog and are glad to see it has brought some calm and nature to your day. Best wishes, Chrissy and Caz.

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  3. Bloody hell guys, you've got me on the edge of tears with the beauty of this one. "Watching that waterfall, was a lesson in impermanence; a masterclass in the constancy of change" - what a line. There really is nothing like a waterfall. I have to say I prefer standing below, as well. It can make you feel so small and your problems seem so insignificant. That feeling of reverence lined with a little fear when you stand at the base of a roaring fall is an incredibly immersive experience. Brilliant post and stunning photos (as always).

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    1. Thanks Kate. So glad you really liked it. Caz and Chrissy.

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  4. Some superb waterfalls. One thing that makes a waterfall special to me is the surprise factor. You head off to something that is just shown as a falls on the map and find something special that very few people have seen. Barrington seems to have a good waterfall on every creek that comes off the plateau.

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  5. we should tee up when youre around Dorrigo next :)

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    1. Hey Dan, great to hear from you. Hope you are still chasing waterfalls! We are in Tasmania at the moment but definitely will be back in Dorrigo one day. Too much good stuff up there to stay away. Cheers, Craig and Chrissy.

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