About an hour's drive East of my house, in the heart of the Columbia Gorge, are the fantastic Multnomah Falls.
With a total drop of 620 feet, Multnomah Falls is the second-tallest year-round waterfall in the nation.
Just past the lower falls, there is a wonderful footbridge where intrepid tourists find themselves covered in a misty fog generated by the water cascading down from the upper falls.
There is a trail to the top, which takes several hours and a lot of energy to hike. Few people venture that far.
Except, of course, a teenaged ME (okay, this was a looooonnnng time ago) and a bunch of friends one fine summer day. We found that at the very top of the falls was a wooden platform from which we could stand and take in the view. Cars in the parking lot below became tiny toys, and people became ants.
Jutting out over the edge of the falls was a single flat stone, water slowly cascading from either side, down into the abyss below. With the lower intelligence exhibited by many teenagers, we climbed out onto this rock. I guess we couldn't read either, because there were signs everywhere warning against this type of behavior.
I sat down on the wet stone and slowly inched my way forward ... swinging my legs over the edge. The ever-present Gorge winds swept misty gusts through my hair as I came as close to flight as I will probably ever be.
A wonderful feeling ... but I would never do it again.