The Final Time
Tightening the laces on his
hiking boots, he hefted his burden over his shoulder, cradled her
close and stomped out across the car park and onto the grass verge
that lead to the paths, snaking into the gorge. Ignoring the view to
the Irish Sea, that he knew lay before him, he dipped his head away
from the last drops of rain drained from the grey cloud.
'It'll have stopped by the
time we get there,' he assured her, 'and I've got the waterproof
blanket in the rucksack.'
Finding the sign with the
red arrow, she'd shown him before, he headed for the Waterfall Trail.
Pace increased as the slight incline became steeper, carrying them
deeper into the forest. Reaching the stairs, built into the side of
the gorge, he lead the way. Water dripped off ferns, soaked into
moss, ran along branches to plop onto the wooden steps. Webs sparkled
with diamonds of rain.
'Not like the first time we
came,' he said, shaking his head at the memory of that sun soaked
day, when the forest had sheltered them. Dappled light had picked out
the dragon and damsel flies that flitted round the river, the
butterflies that sought the wild flowers growing from the banks and
crevices. But not today.
Picking his way carefully
down the steps, he reached the stilted boardwalk that would give them
access to the far side of Glenariff River. Halting halfway across it,
the roar of the first waterfall prevented any conversation.
Ess-na-Larach was its name. He'd looked it up on the internet when
she'd first told him, wondering what it meant; the Mare's fall. He
stared up at it as it cascaded down the gorge, levelling out once
before continuing on its narrow, channelled descent. Perhaps he could
understand the name, imagine a lithe horse with a long mane and
muscular legs leaping from one level to another. Leaning on the rail
he bent over it, watching the water swirl and froth underneath him,
bursting with energy and enthusiasm as it flowed down the wall of the
gorge, unsettling the calm river that lay at its base, pushing it
onwards to another destination, another purpose. Dropping his
rucksack on the boardwalk, he climbed onto the wooden rails, his foot
slipping on their damp, shiny surface. His knees rested against the
top rail as he pushed his weight forward, the spray from the falls
finding his face. He closed his eyes and imagined how it would feel
to let go, to drop down and let the water carry him onwards but just
as his feet threatened to loosen their tenuous grip she stopped him,
pulled him back. Holding her close he laughed, promised her it was a
moment of recklessness he wouldn't repeat.
The boardwalk continued,
following the base of the gorge wall, rising above the water, even on
this day when it was swollen with spring rain. Ferns, liver wort and
moss clung to the rocky walls around him, softening the sharp, dark
stone, that towered over either side of the river, narrow at this
point but widening ahead of them. The river shallower but broader
ahead, seemed sleepier, flowing round the rocks and boulders that
dimpled it, rather than crashing and coursing over them. The walls of
stone began to recede, broadleaf trees replacing them. The boardwalk
began to curve, passing a timber lodge containing a cafe, before
traversing the river again. He didn't stop to smell the coffee, or
search for fellow walkers. No insects zapped by to distract him with
their bright colours and flashing wings. His destination was too
close to be deterred.
The path began to ascend
and as the incline hampered his breathing he sought the branch that
he knew would descend to the next waterfall and their spot. The heavy
tread of boots on the gravel trail gave way to the soft thud of feet
on soil. The deep grooves on the soles gave purchase in the soft mud
and then he heard it. The patter of water upon water, the Glenariff
meeting the Inver. Ess na Crub, the fall of the hooves. In three
streams it fell over the rock face, rippling the shallow pool at its
base, which spread out before him, settling to a flat surface by the
time it reached the edge of the path.
Spreading the blanket out
under the oak tree, its skeletal branches now covered in buds that
proved a change in season, he set her down upon it and unpacked the
flask of comforting tea and box of buttered bread. The last time
they'd sat in this spot the tree had been heavy with green leaves,
the ground dry and dusty. Then they had a thirst to quench, chilled
water and refreshing fruit had been on their menu. A mid-week day had
seen them unaccompanied and undisturbed when she'd rolled her
trousers up and run into the cold water, encouraging him to join her,
before drying their feet on that same blanket. Stretching out on it
together. He remembered how her lips had tasted of the strawberries
they had shared.
But that was then and this
was a different day. That time had passed. No invitation to taste her
lips would come today. Instead the warm, brown liquid slipped into
his mouth and down his throat as he watched the waterfall. Unlacing
the boots he removed them from his feet. Tucking the thick socks
inside them.
Lifting her they moved to
the edge of the water. Holding her in his arms he tried to find the
way to say it, seeking the words that would tell her how much he'd
loved her, how often he wished he could have brought her back here,
to this spot that had been a beginning but now marked the end. A way
to say goodbye. Words fled.
The water chilled his feet,
clung to his legs with cold purpose but on he waded, through the
rippled water to the intersection of falls. Her sandy-like cream
ashes clouded the air before spilling into the pooling Glenariff. The
Inver fell upon her, the white foam darkening for a brief moment as
she joined and mixed with it. Swirling her around, it absorbed her,
taking her away.
He wrapped the empty urn in
the blanket and packed it into the rucksack. As he pulled it onto his
back, laughter and the squeals of excited children interrupted the
silence. A small boy and girl raced into view, followed by a woman,
warning them to slow down and stay away from the water. They stopped
when they saw him. He wiped the trace of tears from his face and
smiled. Walking towards them he nodded, saying hello and passed them
by. At the top of the ridge, he stopped and turned. The children
stood on the path, the falls behind them whilst the woman took their
picture.
'Goodbye,' he whispered.
Sweet and sad!
ReplyDelete