“Jerry! Don’t do it!”
“Why not? I can make it. It’s not a problem.”
Jerry stopped our GMC Terrain and we sat in our car watching the melting snow flood the road ahead like a raging river. The runoff raced over the road, obstructing our path, then disappearing into a precipitous drop toward the swelling creek below. We didn’t see shortcuts or detours. If we wanted to continue on, we had to drive through the river. I, for one, did not want to travel through the top of a waterfall. One misstep and our car would be tumbling downward.
We had booked a cabin in Oak Creek Canyon at one of the resorts set in a breathtaking gorge and forest about five miles north of Sedona, Arizona. We discovered the river blocking our way after turning off Route 89A and on to the road leading to the cabin.
Earlier, while shopping in Tlaquepaque Village, the resort sent me a text stating the road leading to their resort had traffic cones as a barrier to the entrance. The text assured us we had nothing to worry about and instructed us to move the traffic cones and continue on. There was no mention we would need to ford a waterfall.
The snow runoff seemed in a hurry to get across the road, over the cliff, and down the mountain. The gushing water, maybe only one foot deep or ten feet, surged with the strength that could easily shove a car over the edge. A light blue sedan sat vacant to the side of the road. Someone had parked their car rather than risk driving through.
Jerry and I sat in our car staring at the water ahead.
“What do you want to do, Bronwyn? We have paid for a cabin and the only way to get there is on this road. I can make it.”
The mention of money already paid, which is non-refundable, had a way of making me see things more clearly.
“Okay, let’s go,” I said, closing my eyes and grabbing on to the door handle in preparation for the trauma I was about to endure. I probably had years of therapy ahead of me dealing with this waterfall terror.
What goes through one’s mind while forging a river at the top of a waterfall? For me, it was—does this car float? Will I fit through the window so I can climb out when the car lands in the water below? Do I remember how to swim?
We came to the resort for an overnight getaway to celebrate my birthday. Dinner served in our cabin came with the reservation. If we were going to sweep away in the water, I would miss dinner. Your mind does strange things in times of crisis. You suddenly want pan roasted chicken and mashed potatoes with mushroom gravy.
Jerry chugged through the water like a steamboat. Soon, we were on the other side and continued on.
“See. No problem,” Jerry said, his way of making a victory speech.
After checking into our cabin, we hiked in the mushy and icy snow to explore the area. With so much mud on every path, we turned back. We stopped at the resort office to mention our cabin didn’t have the bottled water as promised when we checked in.
“Wait a second,” said the receptionist and hustled to the back room. Did I hear a faucet running?
She returned with a clear bottle of water. “Our water here is so pure we can drink it straight from the faucet,” she said handing us the bottle.
You mean it’s not actually “bottled” water, like the kind you pay money for and comes from an aquafer that’s ten-thousand years old? It’s not even smart water from Costco?
The receptionist seemed very proud of the area’s water, but the slushy, melting snow mixed with mud and sticks made me wonder. Is that where the water comes from? I was skeptical.
We sat in chairs similar to these and on a porch like the one shown here.
Back at our cabin, Jerry and I rested in cushy chairs on the cabin’s porch. We didn’t have a television, or WiFi. We were out of network. No ding, ding, ding of text messages for us. Instead, we had a beautiful, snow-covered forest. Studies have shown that trees lower stress, restore focus, and improve mood. Ahh, the fresh mountain air felt invigorating. The tapping melodic rhythm of snow dripping from tree limbs made us feel we had landed on another planet.
When you live in the desert and see sage brush and mesquite year after year, you long for trees and mountains and dripping snow.
Our actual view from our porch at our cabin.
As the sun set, some of the resort’s trees lit up in fairy lights. Nice touch. Enchanting, actually. Soon, our cabin boy delivered our dinner (yes, we had a cabin boy).
“I’ll be back to get your dishes in forty-five minutes,” he said, then jumped into his golf cart and sped away.
“Jerry, we only have forty-five minutes to eat our dinner?”
There would be no languishing over the dessert of strawberry and blackberry shortcake.
Jerry made a fire in the cabin’s fireplace. For us desert people who haven’t seen a fire in a fireplace in over eleven years, we were mesmerized. The fire spit and popped and crackled, just like I remembered fires did.
The next morning, we hiked to the Lodge for the breakfast buffet. I mentioned to one of the staff clearing plates off the tables that the apple butter was exquisite. “We make it here,” she said with a smile. Since she seemed friendly, I asked if she drives through the river to get to work. Maybe there was a boat service for employees. Maybe a convenient zip line? She said, “Oh, I drive through it all the time.” She smiled even wider, like she had mastered the skill of waterfall driving in the same way Evel Knievel’s son Robbie mastered sailing his motorcycle across the Grand Canyon.
This is a different waterfall than the one we encountered. But this man didn’t want to drive through it to get to his cabin… is my guess.
Your article made feel as if I were with you. Thank you Bronwyn. Hugs!!!
Thank you for telling me, Linda. Hugs back to you!