The Falls
René Gasnier, "Niagara Falls"
In the morning, we arrive in the small town of Niagara and, after having breakfast in a pretty, quiet, and hospitable wooden hotel, we head for the falls.
A low rumbling can be heard, growing louder as we advance, giving us a sense that a powerful force is nearby. Soon we see a light mist rising and filling the space between the two banks of the Niagara. We reach the railing, where we get a glimpse of the two-kilometer-wide river falling from a height of 60 meters. I don’t know how to describe the tremendous volume of water constantly rushing down, and the feeling of amazement, of being crushed, that the sight of this moving force inspires. Falling in this way, the water is time itself flowing before our eyes, the unavoidable passing of every moment, relentless and uninterrupted. We watch the eddies advancing slowly, almost reluctantly, toward our feet, as they reach the edge of the void where they are suddenly swept away, disappearing and leaving behind only vapor and foam rising in a fine mist. The sun, striking the droplets, forms rainbows on all sides, iridescent effects of the most delightful kind.
We cross the island that separates the two falls, the Canadian side and the American side. On this solitary “Goat Island” covered in calm forests, the trees still have leaves gilded by autumn. It is a beautiful space far removed from the factories that disfigure the lower side of the falls. We never tire of admiring the changing effects of the water and the colors that vary depending on the width of the fluid artery. On the Canadian side, in some places the mass of water in the falls is 7 or 8 meters thick; it appears a darker green and causes the spray to splash higher. After putting on rubber clothing, we descend a narrow staircase to the foot of the falls and there, on a narrow footbridge, we walk under part of the rapids and reach the “cave of the winds,” located behind a sheet of water that falls with a thunderous noise and covers us in icy showers. I can barely open my eyes; we are all tied together, clinging to an iron railing. The noise is deafening; all the elements seem to be unleashed.
As we head back to finish our underwater excursion, the colors of the prism dance around us, shimmering and changing like Loïe Fuller’s skirts. Finally, we return to our hotel, a little chilled from the long shower, which, incidentally, is excellent for stimulating the appetite.
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