It was like walking down a giant’s staircase.

Roots protruding from the rocky soil were sometimes helpful, providing a handhold on the precarious pathway, and other times a nuisance as we had to clamber over or push past them.

The valley was full of bird song but somehow the world was muted as if this were a secret space. The trees absorbed all but the sounds of nature, even our voices were an intrusion, until a gentle roar filtered up from below us accompanied with a dampness.

In February 2012, we had temperatures of minus twenty degrees for about a week and everything froze. Even this waterfall.

It was a treacherous walk down. We clung tight to everything and anything we could, using our backsides when standing was no longer an option. The air was dry but so cold the hairs in our nostrils froze and tickled.

Icicles clung to plants and rocks, frost crystals grew in their flat symmetrical beauty, but nothing we saw on the journey down compared with the sight of the waterfall. It was as if time had stopped. The fluidity of the waterfall frozen into a wonderous sculpture that took away the last of our puffs of dragon breath.

It was perfect in its glorious white, looking so smooth and solid from a distance but as we slipped our way closer the intricate details were stunning. Only nature could create something so incredible.

Icicles longer than the three of us hung together under the cave- like space but nothing was dripping. It was eerily quiet.

My sons picked up two fallen icicles which become shining magic-infused swords until the wonder of the still waterfall enticed them closer.

When we stepped onto the ice and stamped, nothing moved. It was safe enough to walk on. We slipped across clear and white ice, some of it ridged and some smooth, and there were white circles where air had been trapped looking like someone had painted a pattern. Frozen booties hung like bunting around the rocks which protruded from the frozen river. So beautiful.

The space between a huge rock and the waterfall had been transformed into a dragon’s mouth with pearly white wickedly sharp teeth. This was explored with bravery and laughter as our feet slipped on the icy ground.

I stood at the base of the falls, standing on the normally deep pool and I looked up. Above me looked like an impenetrable forest of translucent fungi reaching every higher towards the sky, and at the top where the water normally cascades over the lip of rock, the ice resembled the curling foamy crest of an ocean wave.

Exploring more we found delicate frozen strands, as fine as cotton thread, and others as thick as our arms. Some were smooth, others had frost crystals creating spines and spikes like thousands of tiny hedgehogs were clinging together, and others were twisted into candy canes and curved tusks.  

We took off our gloves, just for a moment, and felt the frozen waterfall. It was solid and yet fragile, smooth, and they varied in colour from milky white, to almost blue, to crystal clear. Some of the icicles had frozen drops creating ridges and bumps that reflected the light as if they were lit from within. Our hands slipped down to the tips and crouching low we found in a small icy cave. Inside were moss covered rocks smothered in translucent globules. Had someone hidden their treasure of pearls and rounded diamonds or were these the eggs of some supernatural creature?

We shivered and stood, gazing at all the wonder in front of us, and at that moment, it was hard to imagine the waterfall in motion.

A few years later we arrived at the top of the path to find a rope and a notice forbidding us access. Work was to be done. It was deemed unsafe.

I sighed and my heart cringed at the thought of change to this magical valley.

From our house we saw helicopters dipping down into the forest and returning to the local timber yard with their burden of tree trunks, again and again, and we feared for the magic of the waterfall. Then the helicopters carried metallic steps, and still the work continued.

Eventually we were able to visit again, dubious and wondering just what they had done to our most special place.

The metal steps were still numerous but did make the journey down accessible to more people, although I now had to carry our dog down and up as she had cut her paws on steps like these by another local waterfall.

Trees had been carefully removed to allow easy access and it was now possible to see the waterfall from the viewing platform halfway down. It removed the lure and build up of anticipation, but we understood why it had been done.

There were wood carvings of the local wildlife artfully displayed on some of the tree stumps. There were less trees, but it was lighter, allowing for wildflowers to appear, and after a couple of years it didn’t look as decimated.

From another viewing platform at the top of the pathway we could see part of the valley we’d never seen before, as this was where most of the tree clearing had occurred. It was possible to see the river as it carved its way through the rocks creating tiny waterfalls before it reached the main fall.  It was very pretty, and I couldn’t really hold onto my wish for the wildness it once had. It was right to share this with others.

This waterfall in its valley is beautiful and accessible to more people, and although the air of mystery, of finding something secret and hidden has gone, it is still a place of wonder and awe. We don’t visit it as often now our sons have grown up and our dog departed, and cycling has become our mode of exploration rather than walking.