The sounding cataract

The sounding cataract

                     

                      The hotel room was adequately curtained to help us sleep late in the morning. The overnight long drive from Detroit had prompted all of us to steal some morning slumber. Since the long awaited visit promised a lot, I tossed in the bed and was awakened by the rustle of sheets. It was eight. I knew it was already late. Quietly I got out of the room and was on my own. There were many tourists on the road and almost everyone was only on a specific direction. I followed them.

                      Soon I could hear the roar. Among all sounds the sound of water is unique. It never bores you. A narrow walkway led me to a parapet with steel railing. As I edged it I could see it. Gallons of pristine white sheet of water just vertically fell down to giant boulders at the base. The Niagara was making a thunderous blow while spewing a huge spray of whiter mist. All around me I could see the excitement of those whose dream came true. Their cameras grew busy. The joy of sharing this experience with their kith and kin was manifest on their smiling faces. Meanwhile the river, unmindful of the enthusiasm it created went on its way down the vast valley of blue green water. Freezing some moments in my handset, I retreated my way to the hotel to explore more

adventure.

                      Two hours made a lot of difference. The crowd swelled around the ticket counter. Nobody minded the cost; they only wanted fun filled moments to let them frolic with its violent fall and the hazy spray which was very welcome under the hot summer sun. We were ready for the adventurous voyage in the Maid of the Mist, claimed to be America’s most amazing boat ride operated only from April to October. All the languages under the sun were heard mingled with gleeful laughter. Provided with thin blue rain ponchos which we wore over our clothes to arm ourselves from getting drenched, we slowly queued into the huge boat destined to carry at least 500 tourists into the middle of the swirling deep waters. Every second we were getting nearer and the scream mingled with the resounding thunder of the grand fall enveloped everyone. The climax was when we got into the Canadian Horseshoe Falls. Blinded by the attack of water spray and deafened by the roar of the falls and the people we were safely navigated by the crew from the deep pool. Many of us got wet in spite of the covering. The powerful summer wind soaked us and the half hour thrill made us remember the experience for a life time.

 

                      A walk on the Rainbow Bridge which connects USA with Canada is possibly a dream of all tourists. But the formalities of international emigration defeated the dream. So the bridge in an almost semi circle was just a visual feast from hundreds of feet below it. Pocketing the Niagara sojourn, we left the small town to reach home through Buffalo and Cleveland. Driving on the long bank of the Lake Erie on the summer evening was another memorable keepsake.