February 15, 1917 
LAND & WATER 
15 
Memories of Many Waterfalls 
By William T. Palmer 
THE ancient poets and artists thought no hiud- 
scape complete without the Hash and glow and 
murmur of broken waters, and those skilful site- 
finders, the monks of the middle ages, held true 
principles in the same direction. One fears that tlie 
modern architect only values a waterfall because he 
can the more easily impound its supplies and conduct 
them down hideous sloping pipes to the electric- 
lighting plant. Still, Foyers, that great cascade by Loch 
Ness which for generations was held to be Scotland's 
pride, presents some of its ancient majesty and force 
when winter rains and thaws send a great flood over 
the dams of the Aluminium Company. Once again the 
gorge among the pines echoes the riot of many waters, 
and the rocks drive up the old time clouds of spray. 
It is perhaps daring much to divide our British water- 
falls, so many as one has seen, into classes. There is 
for instance a whole family on the line of the Cumbrian 
falls of Lodore, though their surroundings vary con- 
siderably. In Scotland in particular they abound. 
In mild winter the overcharged torrent comes dashing 
down the parr of the Leny, turgid, foaming, broken — 
jvist one wild race of waters from the ancient kirkyard 
of St. Bride down to the fringe of Callander. The cascade 
of Leny is by no means so steep as Lodore, nor does it 
face the open expanse of a Derwentwater. Its voice 
is powerful, but its throat is narrowed and twisting, 
and many burns from the bens of Ledi and Vorlich 
rattle down to confuse the sound-waves. The winter 
rejoicing of Lodore is heard far beyond Keswick —indeed 
it murmurs itself to silence against the dank grassy 
walls of great Skiddaw beyond the vale. 
One takes Cumbrian forces as types because they are 
best known. The next section must be named after 
Sour Milk Gh^'ll— an open cascade which leaps and breaks 
and dances down three hundred feet of cliff in the dale 
behind Grasmere. In summer its volume is not large, 
in winter the huge jets of water seem to fly from 'upper 
moor down to larch wood in one mighty bound. Of this 
type one would mention the Mad Torrent, near Coruisk 
in Skye, where in a gale the falling waters are snatched 
to pieces and spun and woven again into the most dehcate 
of bridal veils. Of similar type too arc the Swallow falls 
near Bettws-y-coed in North Wales. And there is a fall 
beyond the narrows of ■ Glen Nevis which leaps from 
the snowy uplands of Mamore, from the haunt of 
ptarmigan, red deei:, and golden eagle, a thousand feet 
into the glen beneath. In summer this is a narrow riband 
of foam, just like the force which pours from Birkcr moor 
mto Eskdale. Cumbria however interposes huge fans 
of scree, and long slopes covered with bronze fern and 
bracken between the rock-ridge and the dale. 
Ther.e' are many fine waterfalls of the tvpe of Skelwith ; 
a stream breaking over a rampart of "hard stone and 
gouging a pool wide and deep in the softer strata be- 
neath. Skelwith is a mere fifteen feet in sheer descent. 
The High Force on the Tees in Durham is nearly four times 
that height, while the Linn of Dee in upper Aberdeen- 
shire is mightier still in volume and height and area of 
the pool beneath. It is a more ancient fall too, having 
worn a narrow funnel instead of the broad current of 
the others. The Strid on the Wharfe seems to be an un- 
successful attempt at a waterfall on similar lines. Nature, 
however, forgot to lift the planes of rock or too early let the 
stream work its will and carve a route of its own to the 
lower pool. Where one expects a steep break there is 
a level race of wild \\'aters. There is another water- 
fall, the Poll Tarf in Glen Tilt, of a similar nature, the 
pool of which is spanned by a suspension bridge. 
The types of waterfall already mentioned are of the 
lusty sort, advertising themselves to both eye and ear. 
Dungeon Ghyll, in Langdale, is of a different order, its 
beauty lying much in its retirement from the garish 
light of day. A mere tnckle of water comes down from 
the shoulder of the Pikes, cuts its way deeply into a belt 
of crushed rock, then drops, in a pillar of foam, a sheef 
hundred feet into a tiny pool. So narrow is the gulr 
that two boulders falling together have made a bridge, and 
in winter practically exclude the light of day. It is at 
such times a freezing room : the smooth walls are ice- 
polished, the spray has built fantastic castles on the 
ledges and has hung icicles wherever they can grij). 
The Falls of Cruachan above Loch Awe are similarly 
retired, just as dark, and being nearer the sea the trees 
clinging to the rocks and ledges give more play to the 
frost-fiend's fancies in the way of spray buildings and 
ice spears. Hardraw Force in Wensleydale is more open 
to view than these ; it is a thin sheet of water falling o\er 
a hard ledge and scooping out a pool beneath. Hardraw 
in the geological period when its volume was twenty score 
times more powerful than to-day, has so undercut its 
tip that even in summer one may walk between the 
falling waters and the crumbling rock-wall. The heavier 
stream of winter shoots out further, . and leaves tho 
track behind clear almost of spraj'. 
Plumes of Water 
Midway between the dark, mysterious waterfalls and 
the bold torrents, comes the most glorious type of all, 
the straight slim plume of water dashing down between 
mighty palisades of crag. Dalegarth Force in Eskdale and 
Scale Force near Crummock are perfect examples. Aira 
Force by UUswater and Stook Ghyll at Ambleside are less 
perfect, and one inclines to put Cordale Scar, in the 
Pennine, into the same class, as well as some of the 
forces about Ingleton and Falling Foss in the moors 
near Whitby. In winter these waterfalls are often quite 
imapproachable. The narrow gorges are floored with 
tossing, ra\'ing water, and one clambers about the high 
walls for even a distant glimpse of the main fall itself. 
One of the maddest enterprises in a youth not famed 
for caution was a visit on a night of hard winter to Scale 
Force. There had been much rain, then a few days of calm, 
a griping of frost and a heavy blanket of snow. Next came 
a clear night, and the starlight challenged a young man 
out for adventure. The gully of the waterfall was a line 
of ink-black shadow, which the rising of the moon 
accentuated while lighting up the broad expanse of snow. 
At first progress was not dithcult, but when one began 
to step from one snow-domed boulder to the next a fall 
became more than likely. Still, on one pushed, passed 
within the walls of the gully and lost the advantage of 
even the witched light of the moon. The last hundred yards 
were groped up the iced rocks. One wished to stick 
it until there was a view of the falling stream. There it 
was — a thin, pale-blue veil dropping into a velvet- 
black gloom, backed by a piu-ple-blue sky through which 
stars of gold and silver were gleaming, and at one's feet 
a cauldron of black, shifting water. 
The return was even more dangerous, as the tendency 
was to pitch forward from the iced steps and boulders. 
One looked down on the dark floor of Crummock \\'ater 
bounded by fields of glistening white, with a wall of 
mountain seamed with shadows and touched with silver 
beyond, and on either hand were the sheer, forbidding 
rock-portals of the gully. 
One of the most impressive waterfalls of my acquaint- 
ance stands outside this series. It is the fifty-feet 
plunge of the subterranean river which passes through 
Yordas cave, in Wensleydale of West Yorkshire. The 
surroundings are eerie. Instead of icicles and fairy 
palaces there are grey fingers of stalactite and the rounded 
bosses here and there of stalagmite. The hght of day 
has never ventured here. There has never been the 
song of the dipper, the flirt of the wagtail, the blue fire 
of the kingfisher. To reach the place one has to crawl 
\mder a barrier of rock, andci'oss a mighty chamber where 
the gloom of centuries seems to liang. The cavern 
is filled with water-smoke. A flash of magnesium 
proves the great spout of grey above our heads ; there 
are many rainbow tints of curving waters. The same 
flash shows where the torrent strikes the walls of the 
shaft, and where it disappears in mist and thunder and 
darkness. The Yordas waterfall is one of the places 
which is left with reUef , yet it remains a pleasant memory. 
