Incomparable Iguazu
Posted: Friday, January 29, 2010
by Joel Black
Education Leadership Dynamics
Everyone knows Iguazu is the world’s largest waterfall—stretching over two miles, with 275 falls, at least 50 of which (individually) make Niagara seem an embarrassed afterthought. So one is prepared to be awed. One expects the overpowering—and he gets exactly that. Everyone has seen pictures (which understate the reality) and everyone has heard that the falls are so big one cannot see them all at once, even from the air, so he expects to hike, and in this, again, he is not disappointed. Perhaps the fascination with superlatives is to blame, then, for the many errors of omission in all one has heard of Iguazu. The guidebooks speak of the thunder created by the 2,000 cubic meters of water plunging 275 feet every second. I heard birds, coatis, and rustling leaves. The path along the canyon rim is full of gentle surprises, and these are every bit as riveting and inspiring as the myriad major falls: the unexpected viewpoints built actually on top of the falls, where one feels nearly in them, and from which one can observe a shallow sheet of swift, turbulent water change direction, velocity, and separate, first into fingers, then fractals, then lace, then individual droplets, as it changes character from an impetuous dive to a more leisurely, even directionless, floating in the air. Indeed—many droplets ascend. The plume of mist rises 300 feet above the Devil’s Throat, and persists more than a mile down canyon, leaving rainbows, hints of rainbows, and umbras of rainbows in dozens of directions. There are also the 275, or perhaps it is 550, waterfalls not counted in the official tally, for behind each waterfall is another, and behind some, a third. Tenacious grasses thrive in the fierce current, line most of the cliffs, and completely line—a green backdrop—some of them. These increase the drag of the water racing along the bottom of the riverbed; and thus is born a segregation. The faster, upper brothers leap into space, forming the arcs so often photographed.
And the surprises have only begun. Each glimpse of the falls through the trees is a discovery. Beauty is often enhanced by being partially, but revealingly clothed. So while the unthinking masses race from open viewpoint to open viewpoint, the pensive person is nearly alone with his falls as he moseys from turn to turn along the path. And each turn, each glimpse, is endlessly new, and worthy of a David Moench calendar. The path is bordered by almost pristine jungle—and the butterflies and flowers, even in the dead of winter, are prolific—and stunning. Impatiens six feet tall. Orange trees, bearing fruit. Hibiscus, being probed by hummingbirds. Dainty, deep-purple flowers on the striped wandering jew. Blood drop flowers. And designs and colors on the wings of butterflies that reveal a mad artist with an unlimited palette in his most unpredictable and frenetic moments. 700 species no less. We were told to come back in the Spring for the orchids, but why bother? We were not short-changed.
All of which fails to note the lesser falls, the unnamed falls, those little fellows spilling only dozens of gallons per second, bouncing from rock to rock, braiding and pooling, then soaring again, only to disappear into trees or loose rock on a shelf, and to emerge from a shelf some small space below, peer coyly around, and leap again. Any of these, by himself, would have commanded a guidebook, a signpost, a trailhead and plenty of commendations in the halls of the explorer clubs of North America. Each is worth an hour’s solitary contemplation. And all are lost in the panoramic magnificence.
(More travel stories by Dr. Black can be found at http://www.educationleadershipdynamics.com/travel/journal.htm)
This Article has been viewed 7 times. (Not updated in real-time.)
No comments yet.We want your comments! If you can read this, you don't have javascript enabled, so you can't use this comment system. Please enable javascript.