Lewis River Falls Trail: A Waterfall Hike in Washington

The trip started the night before, with a stop I hadn’t planned. I’d found a place to rest in Southwest Washington, a couple of hours from the trailhead, and with time on my hands I wandered into the tasting room at Matranga Vineyards. Brian and Hope told me about their family business while their dogs, Luigi and Bridget, kept an eye on things. The next morning I checked out early and drove into the Gifford Pinchot National Forest before sunrise, headed for the three tiers of Lewis River Falls.

Lewis River Falls

It was a 12.6-mile out-and-back with 1,555 feet of climbing, under clear skies and crisp air. I carried two things with me. One was gratitude for my children, who had walked beside me through love, loss, grief, and renewal this past year. The other was a trail-thought built from three old sources I keep coming back to, Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, and the Stoics, one for each waterfall.

The Journey…

A soft breeze was moving through the trees at the Crab Creek Trailhead when I set out, on one of those mornings when the forest felt like an old friend. The trail was rocks, dirt, and the occasional gnarled root, a reminder that even a well-traveled path can get a little tangled. The first mile was overgrown in places, but it went by quickly, with the river keeping me company the whole way. The Lower Falls came first, the water pouring over the rocks with no regard for how early it was. Seeing it felt like wrapping my hands around a warm cup of coffee on a crisp morning. I stopped there for a while and just breathed. It was a good start, and a reminder that the best parts of a day are often the simplest.

The climb toward the Middle Falls warmed my legs up, and the elevation gain asked a little more of me. The Middle Falls slid over a smooth sheet of rock, and I found a log nearby and sat with the sound of it for a while. Then it was on to the third tier, the Upper Falls. That climb was tougher, and I felt it. Standing there, taking in the falls, I recognized a trade I keep making on the trail: the steeper climbs wear me out, and they’re usually the ones that lead somewhere beautiful.

I turned back with a full heart and retraced my steps. The sun was higher by then, and its warm light made the trail I’d just walked look new, catching every small rapid in the river. I passed a few friendly hikers on their way up, and we traded the kind of smiles that come easily when everyone’s out for the same reason. Back at the car, I unlaced my boots and let the day settle. The drive home was long, and I didn’t mind the solitude. It gave me time to take in everything I’d seen. Hiking keeps teaching me that the climbs and the small moments are most of what there is, and I came home with plenty of both.

Gratitude…

I checked out early and drove into the Gifford Pinchot National Forest before the sun was up, and my gratitude went to our children. They’ve been steady companions on the rough ground of this past year, the way trekking poles steady a hiker on a steep climb. Kelly’s passing didn’t only change my world. It changed theirs too. A scene from the Apple TV series “Shrinking” had reminded me of that. A daughter, after losing her mother, tells her father, “it didn’t just happen to you!” I felt that one. Loss is shared, and it had reached every corner of our family. It humbled me.

Each of us has packed away our own stones this year, and we’ve also found ways to lighten each other’s packs. The year has been a search for understanding, for meaning and purpose, on a path that sometimes felt too steep to cross. Through all of it, our children guided me. Each of them shared a strength that was theirs alone. They showed real resilience, offered love and encouragement while I tried to find my footing without their mother, and gave me the grace to stumble. I take some peace in knowing we can grow through this together. So this morning my gratitude was simple: for our children, for their courage, and for the love that keeps growing, even in the shadow of loss.

Reflections…

Three waterfalls waited up the trail, so I brought three teachers with me. My trail-thought was about growth, and the old guides I’ve come to lean on while I work at it: Benjamin Franklin’s 13 Virtues, Thomas Jefferson’s “10 Rules for Daily Life,” and the teachings of the Stoics. A lot of what fills modern self-help books traces back to sources like these. What I like about the originals is how little they waste. They skip the long stories and say the thing plainly, and I can carry them up a trail without needing the book.

These old ideas give me a sense of direction, and I went looking for whatever they still had to teach me. It has been nearly a year since Kelly left us. I walk a lot of familiar paths in my life where her laughter used to ring alongside mine, and her absence still weighs on me. Many days are an uphill climb. I find some comfort in the wisdom of people who walked long before me, way before. Their principles work like markers along the way, helping me make sense of a complicated life and tell the difference between happiness that passes and joy that lasts.

The air was crisp on the Lewis River Falls Trail, with the scent of damp moss and Douglas-fir, and the path was dirt and a thick layer of needles, soft under my boots. A little over a mile in, I caught my first look at the Lower Falls pouring over a rocky ledge, and it stopped me. Standing there, I let my mind turn to Franklin. I can’t recite all 13 virtues from memory, but they’ve become familiar signposts. He was in his twenties when he shaped them, back in 1726, and he leaned on reason, self-control, and character as the keys to doing well and giving something back. Each one marks the kind of person I’d like to be as life goes up and down.

Watching the Lower Falls, I thought about temperance, moderation in all things. The river moved steadily, cutting its way through the rock, and it made me think about how balance in my own life smooths the way. Franklin felt like a quiet nudge to be mindful of my choices and steer away from excess. I took a moment to breathe and let the sound of the water drown out everything else. It was as if he were encouraging every step toward a better version of myself. His virtues work like a trusty compass, helping me through the distractions life throws my way. I carried them with me as I kept walking, a little more connected to the past and ready for what was ahead.

They may seem a bit dated, but Franklin’s virtues still hold up as moral guidelines:

Temperance: Moderation in all things.
Silence: Speak only when it improves upon silence.
Order: Keep your life organized.
Resolution: Follow through on your commitments.
Frugality: Spend wisely and generously.
Industry: Use your time productively.
Sincerity: Be honest and genuine.
Justice: Treat others fairly.
Moderation: Avoid extremes.
Cleanliness: Maintain yourself and keep a tidy space.
Tranquility: Maintain peace and calm amidst chaos.
Chastity: Approach relationships respectfully.
Humility: Stay self-aware and empathetic.

The air grew brisker as I followed the river, and the forest sounds closed in around me like noise-canceling headphones. After a gradual climb and a matching descent, I reached the Middle Falls, a sheet of water tumbling over smooth rock. That’s where I turned to Thomas Jefferson’s “10 Rules for Daily Life,” which felt like a breath of fresh air in the mountain breeze. Watching the thin, clear layer of water slide across the rock, I thought about using my time wisely and the pursuit of knowledge. In that moment, “wisely” meant not trying to stand in two inches of rushing water on a slippery sheet of rock. Check, one good decision made today. Each rule is a step toward living on purpose. Listening to the quiet thunder of the falls, I thought of the rule I count as number 11, about the privilege of waking up each morning. It hits home more than ever.

At the Middle Falls, I was reminded how remarkable it is to be alive at all. The water came down with a steady energy that felt like the start of every new day. That rule kept echoing: every sunrise is another chance to take life in, to learn, to grow, and to notice the small moments that usually slip past. The mist from the falls filled the air, and I felt a renewed sense of purpose. I breathed deep, let the brisk air fill my lungs, and promised myself to make the most of my time, on this trail and off it. The water found its way through the rocks, and I could move through my own days with the same purpose and clarity. I carried Jefferson’s rules with me as I went on.

The essence of Thomas Jefferson’s “10 Rules for Daily Life” is usually summarized as a set of principles for living a fulfilling and virtuous life:

Never put off till tomorrow what you can do today.
Never trouble another for what you can do yourself.
Keep your friendships in good repair.
Make the most of yourself, for that is all there is of you.
Do not bite at the bait of pleasure, till you know there is no hook beneath it.
When angry, count ten before you speak; if very angry, a hundred.
Never be afraid to make a mistake.
Be polite to all, but intimate with few.
Steer clear of loud and aggressive individuals; they burden the soul.
Think for yourself and let others enjoy the privilege of doing so too.

There are more than ten, though. He never wrote this list himself, and people still argue over which ones belong in the “Top 10.” So I’m adding one of my own: when I wake up in the morning, I try to remember what a privilege it is to be alive. It’s the foundation of gratitude.

The Upper Lewis River Falls felt like the end of a long, satisfying climb. The trail had twisted through steep ups and downs to get there. Several cascades came down at once, a chorus of rushing water that fit the Stoic ideas I’d been turning over all morning. I hear the Stoics in a lot of modern ideas, emotional intelligence, the serenity prayer, and living in the present among them. They teach resilience and accepting what we can’t control, and those lessons feel especially close this year. Standing at the Upper Falls, I thought about the steep hills, river crossings, and fallen trees I’ve met on the trails. Each one tested me, and each time I reminded myself to stay in the present and focus on how I’d respond.

Watching the water tumble over the rocks, I was struck by how much acceptance there was in it. The falls don’t fight gravity. They go with it, and the rocks in the way become part of their shape. The way the water meets those obstacles and imperfections is what makes it beautiful. That lesson has become an anchor in the emotional storm I’ve been living through. It’s okay to feel the weight of what I’ve been through and still keep moving, and even in the hard moments, I can choose my response and find some peace. Happiness comes and goes with the weather, like sunshine on a clear day. Joy runs deeper, rooted in acceptance and gratitude. The Stoics help me find it in small things, and remind me it’s okay to feel sadness and joy at the same time.

On the way back to the trailhead, I caught a good view of one more waterfall, Copper Creek, and stopped to take it in. Franklin’s virtues, Jefferson’s rules, and the Stoics are more than history to me. They’re the principles that help me find a clear way through a complicated life, and like this trail, they keep showing me something new each time I walk them. My heart felt lighter by the end. The road ahead is long and has its share of challenges, and every step I take with love, virtue, and resilience is one worth celebrating.

I’m grateful I can learn from them. They give me strength, and they help me find joy in a year that has held both loss and love. Every hike reminds me that the walking matters as much as where it ends, and I’ll keep putting these principles to the test and letting them guide my decisions. I feel a mix of excitement and nerves about what I’ll discover next, and I’m curious where it leads. The path continues.

-Ken