Just Like Nothing (else) on Earth: Great Falls

By Tim Jon

I remember the bright sunshine, tempered (and then some) by a cold, biting wind. I remember a longer drive from my “native soil” than I had expected; most of all I remember the more-than rewarding scenery: roaring (or was it “soaring?”) water smashing through the rocks, leaving a seemingly eternal spray in the air, with the colors of winter browns, and ever-greenery of tree-lined banks on either side of the fluid panorama. 

This was—unbelievably—my first visit to the dramatic series of rapids along the Potomac River (shared, at least in this story, by the Commonwealth of Virginia and, on the opposing side, that of Maryland) known as Great Falls. 

I know—you (and I) would think that an outdoorsman from the State of Minnesota (Land of 10,000 Lakes) who represented local radio news for 10 years in Loudoun County, Virginia would have at least paid a visit at some time or another to this hugely popular site, operated by the National Park Service. Nope. 

Probably the greatest obstacle—all that while—to my seeing this place in person was a matter of logistics: time, movement and distance. I’d been moving too fast, covering local events or directing (that may remain a matter of opinion) community theatre for a decade, then I’d been even busier, for a longer period—delivering mail to what would otherwise amount to a small town, also here, in good old Loudoun County. 

But, after all this time, I was very happy to break through these confines—nearly 27 years after moving here—and make my way to this striking and invigorating outdoor attraction. 

Now, I by no means—on this first visit—covered the extent of the Park’s impressive amenities. There was no rock climbing for Tim Jon that day, no kayaking for our brave explorer, and—no— not even any delightfully domestic picnicking on what certainly would have been an insect-free and chilly noon hour. 

No, I had my unshakeable logistics to adhere to. My still-hectic schedule only allowed me to scamper down the trail, past the Visitor Center, and out onto the projecting rocks at the River’s edge. And that was enough. 

Having endured the medical conditions related to the dizzying effects of vertigo for over a decade, I had all the adventure I wanted—just being in proximity to an inestimable amount of moving water, augmented by the aforementioned, stiff wind—I mean the kind that induces a very satisfying nap upon returning home. 

Your aging storyteller may have resembled a poor, inebriated soul, lost at an amusement park, but I persevered. And, I distinctly recall the extra care I employed in negotiating my feet and often my body—through the challenging, rocky terrain that separated the trail from what I figured would be the best photographic vantage points. 

Proceeding thusly, I actually made it out onto the rocky outcroppings and back to the safety of the walking trail, without any damage to my camera, my knees—or other significant body parts—or at least most of my manly ego. 

And I thoroughly enjoyed the experience—the downstream momentum of such an impressive amount of water was a phenomenon I’d heard described for the past couple of decades by friends—’Oh, you just have to see it.’ 

Well, they were right. It bears witnessing, at least once in a lifetime. I don’t believe with my multiple medical issues that I’ll ever partake in any “real” rock climbing, much less kayaking at Great Falls Park or anywhere else, for that matter. 

Seeing pictures of these activities is enough to make my head spin. I would like, though, on my next visit—I hope I’m not being too presumptuous—to at least cover whatever other fairly pedestrian (I wanted to say “easy”) walking trails they have to offer, and capture those views I’m able to find. 

And, now, having reached the summit of our monthly tale to review, as a collective band of humanity (yes, this includes you)—just how far is this wonderful place from my own doorstep? 

Yeah, I know. It’s like, 20 miles. So, next time you bump into me—maybe at the Lincoln Post Office, or downtown Leesburg, or maybe in some public park a bit closer to home than that of today’s story—feel free to encourage me to get back to that spot on the Potomac River, with the dramatic drop in elevation, and massive water flow over those jagged rocks. 

I’ll take it as very positive feedback. And, I don’t normally do this, but since you’ve been so supportive, maybe you can even come along, and enjoy one of these experiences “in the flesh.”