Leaving Sabbaday Falls, we set off for another superb natural geological site, Rocky Gorge, whose presence we had latterly discovered, anticipating its splendid scenes of a mountain stream-fed river whose bed is littered with massive boulders, many sufficiently flattened resulting from thousands of years of inexorable scouring power of water to create the deep stoney gorge and its impressive geological presence.

The roar of water over stone never fails to impress the human ear, and similarly, the views of water, clear and clean, hurtling over rocks, sending spumes of foam crashing upon the rocky obstacles -- hinting at the power that water holds to etch an indelible presence over mineral elements appearing to have the strength of resistance, yet succumbing over aeons to the influence of a force whose superior strength cannot be withstood -- holds an endless fascination for us.

To our naive amazement, the parking lot there was even more packed and besides, held a number of tour buses disgorging reams of camera-wielding tourists eager to behold the miracle of fall foliage against a backdrop of nature's mountain preserves. The streaming, eddying waterfalls and gigantic boulder-strewn mountain raceways are irresistible in the minds of people eager to experience the pleasure of seeing it all in living albeit transitory colour. People flooded the area, anxious not to miss the spectacular sights, imposing their presence on the landscape, chattering, massing on the bridge crossing the rocky gorge and generally thrusting a natural landscape of surpassing beauty into a scene reminiscent of a busy transportation hub.

We made our way beyond, to the Rocky Gorge pond, a small lake surrounded by forest at the mountain base, where several people briefly viewed the lake then returned to the gorge site. And then, we left it all behind as we ascended the trail entering the surrounding woods, circling the lake. Gone the tumult of the gathered crowd, gone the press of bodies against the landscape, and all was tranquil and enrapturing in its still beauty. A slight wind nudged foliage lazily off their home perches, to continue colouring the ground below. Blueberry bushes, dogwood and bracken were in yellowing decline.

Hemlock, pine and yellow birch predominate there. The trail is littered underfoot with cast-off orange pine needles, attractive to the eye and kind to hikers' feet, though the only ones present were our own. The trail rises and dips, circling the lake and beyond, diverting occasionally then returning again. At various points the lake can be seen glistening beyond the forest, the sun playing a bright sheen of light over its surface.

The still and faithful reflection of surrounding trees can be seen on the lake's mirror surface, a brilliant pastiche of reds, yellows and greens superimposed on the crystallized light of the lake. When we entered the trail on our return we found even greater numbers of people all over the bridge, the rocks below, a teeming, twisting mass of humans eager to witness the sights at this notable site, and in their pleasure at being there, fantasizing their domination of nature.

On the trail all had been utterly still, no one present to enjoy the experience but ourselves; a haven within nature's generous bosom.