Icebound Cascades at Whitoak Canyon

New Year's Day was another day with the temperatures well below freezing. I wanted to see frozen waterfalls on a hike but decided to leave the house a little later than last Saturday, hoping a couple of hours later would mean a few degrees warmer. I left about 10:30, wrapped in layers, but still feeling the biting cold trying to inch its way in between the folds of fabric.
With the car heater on fall blast and my hand warmers activated in my gloves I drove out towards White Oak Canyon. It was a beautiful day, the sun was making a valiant effort to warm things up but the winds ensured that the low temperatures remained victorious. As I drove I was buffeted from side to side by the gales as they swept across Rte 211 and was glad to finally turn off on to the more sheltered country roads. For a few miles I crossed creeks and twisted around corners, spotting a house called 'Chateau Debris' that lived up to its name and therefore wasn't photoworthy. I was amazed to arrive at the parking lot and find it almost full. So there were plenty of other foolhardy folks like me, determined to climb some altitude to check out some ice. Wrapping my scarf over my nose and mouth, pulling my hat down over my ears and tugging on my gloves I started off on my hike.

 Soon I was walking alongside the Robinson River which weaved among the trees silently under its mantle of white ice. I passed 6 solitary men hikers who all stopped to talk about the trail and were all equally enthusiastic about its beauty. I then came to a fork and stood, unsure which way to go. After a few moments a couple came down the slope, grinning ruefully and exclaiming that they'd gone the wrong way. We took the right path and chatted but soon they lamented that I was hiking too fast for them, so we wished each other Happy New Year and I continued on ahead, wanting to fist bump the air as I was the only solitary girlie hiker and I was too fast! I actually felt hardcore, despite puffing like a locomotive! I kept listening for the sound of the waterfalls and it took a while for the penny to drop as I finally realized that there would be no gushing water sounds since the falls were frozen! And then as I was berating myself, I turned a bend and there they were.

 Rivulets and waves of water were frozen solid, stilled as they tumbled down to the pool below, and reminding me of Gandalf's long white hair. Pure white and pristine, they shone in the sunlight, twinkling and glittering, and completely silent. A couple of climbers stood on the crest, throwing down ropes, abseiling to the bottom, then climbing back up to the top again using hammers and picks.
 I decided to see how the falls looked from the top before I took more photos.

 The trail started an immediate steep ascent, switching back and forth and becoming rockier. The wind picked up as I ascended but I was really enjoying the climb. It was becoming more of a rock scramble than just a hike, this was much more fun. But then I slipped. There were many pockets between the rocks that were filled with leaves, making it difficult or impossible to judge where your foot would land. I made a wrong decision and my foot went down in a pile of leaves, past my ankle, and I skidded on the hidden rock underneath. I was OK but changed my mind about hiking to the very top on my own in this weather. I'll be back when it's warmer and if I break a leg then, at least it will be warm, and I won't freeze while waiting for help to arrive. I reluctantly turned around and started back down. I was well above the falls and took each step carefully as I climbed back down the rocky path.
At the bottom I met a group of 3 guys who wanted to chat. The usual tiring questions of 'What part of the UK are you from?' started, and I answered mechanically. But then one of the guys actually knew a road in my home town, and from that moment I responded eagerly and it was non stop nattering. I learned from him of how this forest looked 20 years ago, when there were hemlocks and blackberry bushes, and we discussed my beloved monarch and hometown in depth. I was almost sad to leave the group, but we were all frozen after standing still for our chat, so we wanted to get moving again. "Happy New Year!" was bellowed out and punches on arms were given and we went our separate ways.

I learned from the guys that they'd also been standing on the ice. One of them said that 2" thick would support a man and 4" would support a horse. I decided to research this and found mathematical equations could be used to determine the ice safety. This is like speaking a foreign language to me so I also found this, which made a lot more sense.
The U.S. Army Corps of Engineers breaks it down this way:

·        Less than 1.75 inches: Keep off

·        1.75 inches: One person on skis

·        2 inches: One person on foot or skates

·        3 inches: One snowmobile or a group of people walking single file

·        7 inches: Automobile

·        8 inches: 2.5-ton truck

·        9 inches: 3.5-ton truck

·        10 inches: 7- to 8-ton truck.

So I did venture out on to the ice, quite tentatively at first, and was pretty excited about the experience. I don't recall ever having walked on an iced pond or river before so really enjoyed skidding and slipping across the top of the water. I had spotted some large cracks on parts where others had walked and kept away from those areas. I stayed on the ice which was clear so I could see its thickness and had a lot of fun sliding back and forth. The different formations of ice were amazing and I scoured the creek's surface for new patterns.

 Many of the smaller pools looked like this, bringing to my mind an image of a bath filled with Milk of Magnesia, as though the river was soaking and healing itself from the winter's erosive abrasions.

I spotted these unusual ice formations as I neared the end of my hike. I clambered down the bank and immediately went down up to my knees into a hollow that had filled with leaves. I didn't step on to the ice but crouched down to get a better shot of these upside down ice toadstools. I'd never seen anything like them before and was climbing back up to the trail when a hiker I'd spoken to earlier stopped and smiled, saying, "You just can't keep off the ice, can you?" as I climbed up the last rocks to meet him. But when I pointed out what I'd been looking at, his curiosity was piqued, and with no more comments, he too clambered down to get a better look. Grinning hugely I took one last look back at him crouching down at the river's edge, and then continued following the icy milky way back to the car.