Summary

The text describes a journey to the Cascada Waskayacu in Ecuador, where the author and their companion experience the beauty and tranquility of the jungle, culminating in a refreshing swim at the waterfall.

Abstract

In "Cascada Waskayacu," the author recounts a solitary trek through a sugar cane tunnel into the heart of the Ecuadorian jungle, accompanied only by the sounds of nature and the anticipation of discovering a hidden waterfall. Despite the challenges of navigating the wild, their perseverance is rewarded with the serene sight of the waterfall, which is compared to a "long, thin stream of water tumbling gracefully down the rockface" and a "symphony of rainy nights in the Amazon." The experience of swimming in the waterfall's pool, surrounded by tiny fish and the lush green of the jungle, evokes childhood memories and a sense of wonder, as the author contemplates the mysteries that lie beyond the visible river bend. The narrative concludes with a reflective note on the fleeting nature of such magical moments, as the author prepares to leave the grotto, with the memory of a giant butterfly that mirrors the enchantment of Wonderland.

Opinions

The author perceives the journey to the waterfall as a transformative experience, noting how their clothes feel lighter upon departure, symbolizing a shedding of burdens.
The jungle is personified with enchanting qualities, likened to the witch's house from Hansel and Gretel, suggesting a blend of apprehension and fascination with the wild.
The waterfall and its surroundings are described in vivid, sensory detail, highlighting the author's deep appreciation for nature's beauty and the emotional impact of such an encounter.
The author implies that the experience is timeless and otherworldly, as if the waterfall and its inhabitants exist in a magical realm separate from the ordinary world.
There is a sense of nostalgia and continuity as the author draws parallels between the current adventure and cherished memories from their childhood.
The piece conveys a subtle sense of urgency and privilege, as the visit occurs just before Ecuador's lockdown due to the COVID-19 pandemic, emphasizing the rarity and value of such a journey.

Cascada Waskayacu

We’re the only ones here apart from the shack. The witch’s house from Hansel and Gretel. Concrete gingerbread. Corrugated wafer iron roof. A battered ute outside in place of a broomstick.

Paradise is never free. There’s a toll to pass this way. But no one answers our call so we push open the gate that leads into the jungle.

An earthen track through a sugar cane tunnel. Insects hum to the sound of our footsteps. Further in we’re greeted by the deep, throaty squawks of parrots.

As we come to the end of the tunnel, the jungle grows brighter. Sunlight breaks through the canopy and spotlights my sandals. Everything is green, as if someone’s put a filter over our day.

Fluorescent heart-shaped leaves brush my ankles as I breathe in the musky scent of last night’s rain. Up ahead, a giant butterfly with electric blue wings crosses our path and flickers between the trees.

We continue in a trance-like state, pausing every now and again to strain our ears. But la cascada remains elusive. The sign said ten minutes, but the sun’s already high in the sky.

A murmur ahead. But it’s just a tiny stream seeping over the trail. We tiptoe across it by way of a fallen log. When it’s my turn, the rotten wood shifts beneath my feet. Globules of sweat gather on the backs of my knees, but even as my heart beats faster, my cheeks lift into an irrepressible smile.

Back on dry land, we carry on, dodging mud and mosquitos. At the next turn — the muted sound of pounding water.

Three more corners and we nearly tumble into the water. A fallen tree makes a triangular frame across the pool. And in the centre, la cascada. A long, thin stream of water tumbling gracefully down the rockface. A symphony of rainy nights in the Amazon.

Tossing our clothes on the rocks, we slip into the glassy water. Sweat washes away, but still I keep submerging my head. My hair floats around me like water weeds. But every time I resurface this world’s still here. I float on my back, limbs splayed wide.

A moment later, I flip over, giggling explosively. Glancing downwards, a tiny fish mouth is tickling my toe. I rise to my feet and see the pool is full of them, almost as transparent as the water. We keep each other company for a while until goosebumps start to surface on my arms.

Standing barefoot on a boulder, I stare down to where the river bends tantalisingly out of sight. What’s around the next curve? It’s the same question I’d often pondered with my brother at the swimming holes of our childhood. Those long Sunday afternoons floating on tyres and building dams while Dad made a sunbed between the rocks.

Water droplets glisten on my arms as the late-morning sun throws an invisible towel across my shoulders.

We stay a little longer, watching the fish and drinking in the sun until we can’t put it off any longer. There’s a bus waiting for us back in town.

We dress slowly, our clothes somehow lighter.

Before we leave the grotto, I turn back to gaze at the river. The butterfly’s here again, flitting over the fall. Impossibly huge like the bread-and-butterflies that Alice finds in Wonderland. I reach for my camera, but even before I’ve opened my bag it’s gone — vanished with the curve in the river.

***

Notes:

This piece of auto-fiction was inspired by a trip to Ecuador with my husband in March 2020. A week after we visited Waskayacu Waterfall, the country went into lockdown.