On the way to Café Mare and the Echizen Coast a little while back, we drove passed a roughly cut wooden sign standing at the edge of the road. It was debossed with black kanji, only one of which I managed to read as we sped by: 滝. This symbol, read as "taki," means waterfall. I wanted to check it out the second I saw the sign, but plans being plans...
My wife noticed the waymarker, too, and explained that "Shorenge Waterfall," as the place is called, is the same as the waterfall featured on a local "this-is-what's-great-about-our-chunk-of-Japan" TV show we'd seen a few weeks back. Disliking the host of the TV show, you see, I like to not keep it in my memory banks, but given that this was a waterfall and those are great 99% of the time, it made an impression. I resolved to go back when I had time.
So, I found myself driving west toward the sea early on a Sunday morning, regretfully licking the grease that remained from a Double Cheese-Sausage Muffin at McD's from my lips. I drove through a small hamlet, took a sip of bargain-flavored coffee. I crossed a bridge over a valley that will soon be home to a new dam, took a sip of bargain-flavored coffee. I wound right and left, up and down, and began to recognize the area. I took a sip of bargain-flavored coffee, signaled left, and made a 140-degree turn onto a thin road. I parked.
Grabbing my gear, I opened the door. A horse fly wearing the colors of a bee buzzed me curiously before settling on the casing of the driverside mirror. Cicadas chirped and screamed, begging for somebody to love them. No breeze blew. The sound of rushing water could be heard from somewhere close by.
Another rough wooden sign like that found on the road I'd come from stood behind the car. Next to that was an entryway made of cement. The shape of it reminded me of the Holodeck from Star Trek: The Next Generation. Stepping through, I started down a path littered with decaying detritus and pebbles brought to life by vibrant summer flora. Ropes strung between wooden poles formed a fence on the left side. Each step forward increased the volume of the running water. The cry of the cicadas seemed to just join the flood.
Halfway down the path to the left stood a large shed. A curved wooden sign fastened over the small porch read "Waterfall Teahouse Meguriai." Digging into this afterward, it seems that on certain days, the building is open and you can go in, have a bit of tea and a rest, and pass the time as you please. As I had no time for such things this day, I didn't mind it being shutup.
I carried on for another 20 seconds and a small set of stairs before arriving at a landing surrounded by a sturdy metal fence. Some 200ish feet in the distance flowed Shorenge Waterfall belting out its fluid orchestra. My sense of wonder was dulled by the realization that I wasn't allowed -- either by some unspoken social force or one backed by the law -- to go any further beyond this barrier. I wished I could get up close and feel the mist on my skin.
My drone, however, had no such limitations and soon brought the proximity and views I was looking for. Despite some trouble with its GPS, I managed to get it where it needed to go and back again. You can enjoy the waterfall through its lens over on YouTube.
Isn't it weird when someone owns a waterfall, a piece of the ocean or a mountain, and decides how much others can enjoy it?
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