Total Miles: 477.5
A small, grass-roofed hut along the Reisaelva – July 17, 2016
I crawl forward bit by bit, feeling the solid ground underneath me, taking in the weight of it, telling myself it has been here before anyone I ever knew was born and will be here long after we are all memories.
Spray swirls up in the air, wetting my face. Water roars against the rock. I move a few more inches until my chin leans beyond the edge. I stare down into the chaos below.
Two rivers, each worthy of standing alone, meet beneath me. They fall over separate lips of stubborn rock, thunder downwards, thick sheets of white that smash together in a cauldron of foam and current.
They carved the canyon the trail is dropping me into, cutting deep through the rolling highlands, moving down rock by broken rock, grain by grain, marching to the sea. You can feel it there, at that twin waterfall, the power to destroy mountains.
I stare and feel dizzy. Almost like I am falling too, into the mess of it all. The water swirls and rushes up as I blink it back down. I feel the earth underneath me and breathe.
“I am not falling,” I tell myself.
I stay and watch for a moment longer, my mind spinning in the swirling water, before crawling back inch by inch, foot by foot, until I can stand again without the world spinning.