Further downstream, the roar of the waterfall is drowned out by cars flying down Interstate 90 overhead. As each one passes, the guardrail rattles, shaking leaves and bits of trash from the road loose, sending them floating down into the water. I begin my ascent up the side of the hill, back to the path, when the mouth of a tunnel, covered by fallen trees and debris as if it is a window boarded up, catches my eye. It is sunken into the side of the hill like the empty eye socket of a skull, and swift water plunges into the darkness, white and frothing, spraying my face when I get to close. The noise of it echoes back, and I can no longer hear the growl of engines in the sky. I ditch my shoes and hide my phone and my keys behind a rock, abandoning everything, and navigate the jungle gym of tree limbs to drop down into the tunnel. Cold water swells around my bare feet and ankles as a descend into chilly, uncertain darkness. I wonder if this was how the Ancient Greeks and Romans imagined the passage to their underworld, a dark and cold road to the River Styx. No light is at the end of the tunnel, no ferryman to guide me to the other side.
My eyes gradually adjust to the darkness, and I feel my way through the water with my feet, stumbling over uneven rock and slimy plant matter. Graffiti glows white on the walls, and I am able to make some words out – The Underwear Spirit will… (cut off), an ominous Beware, and on the other side of the wall, in purple that looked almost black and neon green, a peace sign and initials signed A.H. Next to it, the largest of the art installations exclaims in bold white, Smoke Crack!
The tunnel begins to warp, turning slowly to the right, and it is here the water is deepest and the footsteps most uncertain. When I come around the corner, I finally see light where the tunnel lets out. In the distance, I can make out blurry patches of brown and deep green and, reaching the end at last, I find a surprising stillness around me. The tunnel spills out into a pool of deep water, funneled into a stream that has etched its way between rocky cliffs where hemlocks grew from the sides and curl upwards to grow towards the sun. I can’t hear the rumble of cars across the highway anymore – there is only the playful trickling of water and birdsong from the high up branches. The journey I made here was uncertain, but worth it – here I feel as if I have finally found a sanctuary.
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