Adamsons Falls 19 Oct 2017
These falls are one tier below the actual Adamsons Falls, which are just visible in the top left corner.
I needed a trip to Adamsons Falls as a diversion after four days’ intensive hunting for my lost husband in the nearby Creekton Falls area. Under superlative police leadership, we had searched all places logical and illogical, rational and irrational, possible and impossible, and had drawn a blank. Now, I needed a workout to soothe my soul, to distract my emotions and cleanse me in a way that only a run or workout can do. Some people turn to drink when they need to calm down; others to drugs. I just need to go for a run or a fast walk – preferably in the wilderness. I announced my plan.
Actual Adamsons Falls.
Aidan, a friend and former student, wanted to come too. We used to train together, so I knew his general pace, and said ‘sure’. A policeman wanted to come, and I rudely warned him that I was not in the mood for loitering today. The others teased him a bit, but he said he was fine. Another person (whom I didn’t know) wanted to come, but I drew the line there: It seemed very impolite, but I really didn’t feel like taking on someone who might hold me up. And I wanted the group to be “cosy”, with only people who understood me and what I was going through at this time.
We arrived at the start, and off I set, happy to find myself alone after not too many minutes. Had there just been one person with me, I would have felt obliged to be courteous and wait, but the two guys had each other, so I could move quickly, dream and sing, lost in my own little world.
In thirty eight minutes, I reached Adamsons Falls, and could photograph away while waiting for the other two. I set up my tripod and shot and sang. Some people have their spiritual moments in a dark building made with human hands; I have mine in nature. This was a religious excursion as much as anything. When the guys arrived, they wanted to rest and eat a bit. I was soothed by now, having had my little lash out, so we chatted and ate and enjoyed these falls, which are very beautiful, even if they can’t match Creekton.
The next section was fun: a pink taped route through beautiful forest, with enough obstacles to make it interesting and turn it away from being a march. I have heard other photographers describe this as rough and difficult. Listen to them and not to me. I’m a bushwalker, used to bushbashing, so this was easy for me. The three of us stayed together in this ‘third’, chatting away while we went, keeping an eye out for any signs of my husband while doing so. This took us fifty five minutes.
Back at the Creekton Rivulet, below Creekton Falls.
Now we had reached the Creekton Falls, which the other two hadn’t yet seen, so I sent them up to look at the main falls while I photographed a cascade nearer to the junction that I hadn’t shot on day one. Once more, we had fun talking and eating before setting out on the final downhill stretch leading back to the cars. This part took fifty two minutes. The other two dropped behind me, so once more I enjoyed myself having a faster walk with singing. I felt refreshed from having been allowed to move this day. My daughters climbed Admasons Peak, scanning higher territory just in case Bruce had somehow climbed up there. On the way down, they had to come to terms with the fact that this was it, the final day of our hunt, and, if they got back to be told there was no luck again on this day, then the search was officially over.
The next day, day six, was not a search day. We sombrely walked to the lake (which we later learned – courtesy of Rafael’s drone – is a heart-shaped lake!!) and had a little farewell service there before dispersing. I cannot think of myself as a widow or Bruce as dead. Legally, he’s not. He has disappeared. Intellectual knowledge and emotional knowledge do not always align. Reality will catch up with me one day.
Here is a beautiful poem that a friend, Fiona Wills, wrote about this place and event:
A man may choose his resting place,
If he is good and thought of well,
If worthy words leave kindly trace
And of his wisdom others tell.
Our man sought out a heart-shaped lake,
He meant the rugged paths to tame.
Let us recall it for his sake
And think as fondly of Strathblane.
We needn’t miss what yet remains;
The man, his deeds are here.
He’ll give us cause to smile again.
Our troubled minds will clear.
The absence felt is this, not more:
We wait as he enjoys awhile
The forest air filling his core,
Soft earth at end of weary miles.
Curse not the cloaking wilderness
But stop and rest and see
The peace and worth in places
That brought joy to such as he.
A man may choose his resting place,
If he is good and Nature kind,
And seek himself a quiet space
Where pleasant memories come to mind.