Climbing waterfalls: Jessamine Creek Gorge
I've lived in Jessamine County for 14 years, and it took me 14 years to find Jessamine Creek Gorge. After one visit, I can tell you: I'm hooked.
I had my doubts at first. Hidden on a tiny less-than-one-lane back road off US-27, we spent the drive there worrying about whether an SUV would come around a blind curve or over a hill to smash us to pieces. The trail started off in one of the worst ways imaginable (for me): I almost stepped on a snake that was chilling beside the entrance.
It began much like some of the trails at Shaker Village: walking through the shaded woods interlaced with wading through open fields of grass. It was a quiet and easy trail—until we reached the footbridge.
If you know me, you'll know I'm a waterfall chaser. I will go on any trail that promises water plummeting over rock to the ground below. So, naturally, when I discovered that there was a waterfall bigger than any other in Jessamine County, even though it was off-trail, I was going to find a way to get to it.
But when we found the first footbridge, where my directions said to turn right and go down into the creek bed, taking us off-trail, we hesitated. I'd pictured a dry creek bed, not hopping from stone to stone through a foot of water. The family ahead of us asked if they had to go down into the water to get to the waterfall and at the thought of having to get their feet wet, continued ahead to the scenic overlook instead.
But we had a waterfall to find, so one by one, me, my brother, and my boyfriend all followed the worn path other deviants had created down into the water.
A couple of minutes down the creek, we ran into a group who was out of breath and desperate to get back, which made us a little worried for how hard this trail would be. That is, until we overheard one of the women say, "I'm a Southern belle, not a country girl."
Eventually, we made it to a pretty sizable waterfall where another family was sitting along with their small children. Since none of us had hiked this trail before, we weren't sure if this was the storied waterfall and the end of the line or if we should keep going. To be honest, I was disappointed—not that it wasn't a pretty waterfall, but I was expecting something more worthy of all the hype, and I wasn't ready to turn back towards the real trail yet.
Overhearing our uncertainty, one of the people in that group approached us. "There's a huge waterfall if you keep going," they said. "We couldn't even get to the bottom because it was just a sheer cliff." Excited by the adventurous prospect of rock climbing, we set off with renewed force to reach the acclaimed falls and conquer them.
We heard the waterfall long before we saw it. Thundering through the trees, the sound of crashing water became more and more all-consuming, until we reached the opening where we knew it had to be.
Let me tell you: it did not disappoint. The creek rushed over a sheer cliff face down into a pool far below, hammering down on worn rock and algae. Looking down was dizzying, but we knew it was possible to conquer. Using saplings as rappelling ropes, we scrambled down stone and mud until we reached the bottom.
The only thing that could ruin this moment—that could take away from the beauty of this feat of nature—was youths. Rock throwing, screaming, giggling youths.
Instead of waiting out the teenage shenanigans of the group messing around at the base of the waterfall, we decided to keep pressing on towards the creek proper. There, we found dried out algae mummifying huge stones, minnows and crawdads wriggling through the water, and most importantly, tranquility.
But the siren song of the waterfall was too strong, and it wasn't long before we found ourselves climbing up the waterfall despite the shrill teenage voices below. On a shelf of rock, the waterfall made its first touch before continuing to the pool below. There, we could walk behind the falls and look out on a world misted by rainbows and shaped by droplets of water.
My brother discovered a bat cave that could be accessed from there (closed, of course, due to white nose syndrome, which is currently devastating North American bat populations), and we all cooled off in the spray of the falls. We lingered, listening to the rush of water and lullaby of the forest, before reluctantly heading back the way we came.
All in all, this might be my new favorite trail in Jessamine County.