---
title: "The Waterfall Diaries: A.K.A. The Return of Magic"
date: 2026-09-01
tags: ["Colombia","Travel","Life"]
description: "A week alone hunting waterfalls and answers, from Bogotá to the gateway of the Amazon."
source: https://rossgarlick.com/writing/waterfall-diaries
---
## Day 1 — August 18: La puerta del viento
I arrived at Paicol, Huila, known as la puerta del viento, shortly after 5am. The air fresher than the 22C would suggest. In the plaza principal, an elderly duo, man and woman, were already doing rounds of the square for their morning exercise. That alone made the town feel more welcoming than anywhere has the right to be in the pre-dawn darkness.
I stretched my legs after a night spent aboard 2 coaches from Bogotá, endeavoring to see and get a feel for the town before it fully awoke, but even at 5am there were stirrings as doors and windows of the colonial houses began to open, the mercado de la plaza already receiving goods.
*[Photo: Paicol, 5:10am. The plaza to myself, almost.]*
I sat down on the benches in the main square to watch the sunrise as the night began to soften. I couldn't see the birds but their morning song was carried in the air along with the herbal, floral scents from the simple but well cared for greenery. Sunrise was a subdued affair but even so the cirrus clouds turned from a pleasing pink to a gentle gold as the church bell rang at 6am.
Starting this week of solo-waterfall hunting, my plan is straightforward but the trip's purpose is anything but. I'm searching for answers to questions I don't even know how to fully formulate yet. Something related to whether or not I should take a job or found my own company, but the real questions are deeper than that - something about how I choose to live my life and where I derive my inner source of meaning and success.
We'll see if we gain any clarity over the next few days, if being alone in nature provides the necessary unlock needed, the revelation that is earned through silent meditation and disconnection from the day to day life in modern society.
So my plan is breakfast and then heading up the 6.5km trail to my first waterfall, Cascada la Motilona.
---
Waterfalls feel paradoxical to me. Peace in motion. Timeless yet ephemeral. Awesome raw power. How can a simple geological dislocation create such visceral emotional responses? And yet as I first dived into the pool beneath the Cascada la Motilona, I felt both invigorated and at the same time relieved, a wave of calmness washing over me. This is what we are here for.
The water had a green tint but was clear through to the floor, and the waterfall cascaded over the large overhang in a wide curtain. The massage I received as I stood underneath the flow was enough to leave me grateful the water levels weren't higher at this time of year in this region.
*[Video loop: Cascada la Serpiente. The bigger prize, downstream.]*
I had the place to myself. One of my favorite things about Colombia - so many natural marvels that as-often-as-not you get to enjoy for yourself, especially on a Tuesday morning off the beaten tourist track. Of course I swam naked for a while. Swimming naked under an Andean waterfall is a top 5 life experience, and this wasn't the first time I'd accomplished that, and it wasn't to be the last time on this trip. There's something very natural about the flow of water between your butt cheeks…
Self-consciousness overcame me as I was only a 5 minute walk from the 3 guest houses around the waterfall, and I put my trunks back on, happy to have "gotten away with it".
---
I almost missed the bigger, more impressive waterfall in the area. I thought I'd found "the big one" earlier on and was quite happy with it. Only by scrambling down the boulders that lined the stream did I realize that Cascada la Motilona was just the warm up. That is how I arrived at Cascada la Serpiente, surprised to see the stream I was climbing down reach an edge and disappear over it. I heard the falls first, of course, so I was safe enough, but still blown away by the appearance of a large waterfall that reminded me of Krka national park in Croatia. Once again, I had them all to myself. See my giddiness in the videos.
*[Photo set — Day one, Paicol.: Cascada la Serpiente from the base; The pools below Cascada la Serpiente; The trail above Paicol on the way to the falls; The cabin at Ecoparque La Motilona]*
They say that God is in the details. In my case, as I tried to take in the sight that lay before me, I found God in the butterflies chasing each other under Cascada la Serpiente as it refracted the sunlight into eternal rainbows.
---
Exhausted and content at the end of Day 1. No profound revelations but a tired body and mind were now relaxed.
## Day 2 — August 19: More than just a travel day
I slept almost too well, having planned to go to sleep early in order to start today on the front foot. As I lay in the bed in my cabin, I caught myself asking if I really needed to get up and go for the morning waterfall dip that morning. I had to chastise myself and remind myself that this was only day 2 and we were here to do just that.
And how glad I was… if encountering the first waterfall on Day 1 was exciting, Day 2 was peaceful and relaxing. Feeling refreshed and glad I made the "effort", minimal as it was, I went back to start thinking about what comes next.
*[Photo: With Jhon Fredy, before the climb.]*
Plan A was finding someone to take me *over* the mountain and down to Agrado, rather than back down to Paicol and on the main road to La Plata and then Agrado and Garzon. Sandra and her husband came good, and by the time I'd finished breakfast (a mediocre offering if we're honest) Jhon Fredy was ready with a big grin.
The spontaneous part of the adventure felt like it was really beginning as I climbed on the back of his moto, hiking backpack behind me, and we began to climb.
90 minutes later we arrived in Agrado, but what a 90 minutes it was. Rich earthy air occasionally accented with the intoxicating perfume of eucalyptus and coffee azahar; wind through my hair; the plains and steep mountains of Huila creating dramatic backdrops; and great conversation with Jhon Fredy about life as a coffee campesino.
*[Photo: 1,899 meters, 8:57am. The high point — in altitude — of the whole week.]*
What I learned from him:
- He pays coffee collectors $1.000 per kilo of coffee cherry collected
- He sells a bulto of 25 kg of washed coffee for $1.300.000
- He trains gallos (roosters) for fighting and won't take a fight for less than $1.000.000 to not risk his prized possessions over a smaller prize. He trains his gallos by giving them a diet that includes flour, 2 types of corn, and what I believe were beans? And he has a toy that he uses to get them to practice fighting.
*[Photo: Coffee farmers en route to deliver coffee cherries, on the descent toward Agrado.]*
Jhon Fredy took on an air of paternity as he sized up the rank of mototaxistas who were to take me from Agrado to Garzon, eventually finding them agreeable to receive his prized cargo - a gringo who tips.
The journey from Agrado to Garzon was uneventful, the highlight being the long bridge crossing the represa El Quimbo, which didn't meet the hype Jhon Fredy had given it.
Does anyone know why all men have the urge to scroll around Google Maps, looking for places of interest in unknown destinations, imagining what it would be like to dine at a well-reviewed restaurant or stay at some off-the-beaten track lodgings? It is that urge that has made this entire trip both spontaneous and the result of years of scrolling Google Maps. The consumer surplus of Google Maps is only surpassed by, like, fire and electricity. When people talk about the incredible thing that is the internet, I think Google Maps should be example #1 of why the internet has, on balance, made the world a better place.
I was scrolling around Google Maps in the Garzon Bus Terminal when I saw a suggested place "Diego Campos Café Especial" a 5 minute taxiride away. That likely doesn't mean much to you, but to me, Diego Campos is the Colombian barista who won the World Barista Championship in 2021.
I couldn't pass up the chance to visit his coffee shop, and its presence convinced me to stick around Garzon, at least during the day, to visit the local Cascada las Damas, which I had identified as a "maybe" on my personal bucket list.
I met Diego and enjoyed a delicious Bourbon Rosado from his suegro's finca in Pital, Huila. The shop was simple, modern, and tasteful. He was lovely and clearly enjoying life post-competition, bringing specialty coffee for consumption to Huila, his home and the largest coffee growing region in the country. I then found my mototaxista in Garzon via Facebook which worked surprisingly well, and headed up into the hills behind Garzon to find my next waterfall.
---
Cascada las Damas is different from the first waterfalls encountered in Paicol, and more impressive: erupting from the forest in a narrow, deep canyon, the 15-meter fall is narrower and taller, and gives off a spectacular energy you can feel viscerally in person.
*[Photo: Cascada las Damas. Too powerful to stand under.]*
Too powerful to stand under, the flow then winds through the canyon with fast flowing rapids. In the few bends where the stream widens out, small beaches offer entry points for swimming, but even there the flow means you need to find a good footing or risk being swept away. This is a waterfall to appreciate from a safe distance rather than getting up close and personal to.
The first impression of the canyon, with its rickety rope bridge that you cross to enter, evokes Indiana Jones and other adventurers. But as I sat in the stream, shaded from the 1pm sun by a rock overhang, I saw scores of butterflies of different colors - orange, yellow, and bright blue - and as I looked up the trees swayed gently and airborne seeds drifted up and down in the breeze, placing the canyon much more in magical paradise territory than a domain for humans.
Once again I had the place to myself. The grumbly old señor who owns the farm where the trail down to the canyon begins was definitely ripping me off when he charged me $10.000 to come in, but I am hard pressed to imagine a better way to spend $3 and 2 hours.
I wrote these thoughts while sitting on a large, smooth boulder that juts out into the stream, mercifully shaded by an overhanging tree. I'm glad these places aren't more commercialized. Falls like these belong to the individuals who actively seek them, not the masses looking for pre-bought spiritual fulfillment and Instagram posts.
I walked the 790 steps up the canyon and was greeted by the señor asking me if I wanted to order a sancocho. I politely declined but bought 2 drinks, then pinged Juan, my new Mototaxi friend, who would take me to the terminal.
Between Diego Campos and the Cascada, my detour into Garzón surpassed my expectations.
---
Everything had gone too smoothly thus far.
I left Garzón at 3.30pm on my Cootranshuila van-bus towards Pitalito, having pulled the trigger on my hotel for the night in San Agustín during my morning coffee. But as we passed Altamira and started driving right along the verdant but hot Magdalena river valley, we came to a standstill. An accident ahead had totally shut the road down. Over an hour later, no sign of movement. Sweltering is the word to describe the atmosphere whether in the bus or out.
Once free, 2 hours after first hitting the roadblock, the Cootranshuila driver drove like a madman to make up for some time, and I managed to hop straight onto a San Agustín-bound bus just before 7.30pm.
---
I arrived at Masaya San Agustín with mixed feelings - happy to be there, but arriving with the sinking realization that this Masaya was just as "soulless" as the Masaya in Medellín, a place that is incredibly functional and well run, full of instagrammable spots, but with a slight uncanny valley-esque feeling that every detail has been taken from a corporate playbook, lacking in true authenticity. A fine place to spend a night, not a place to deeply engage with the magic of the birthplace of the Magdalena and an area inhabited for at least 5,000 years.
I ate well, slept well, and determined to find somewhere better to stay the next night.
## Day 3 — August 20: Primordial catharsis
Primordial catharsis. That's the phrase that came to me as I unleashed a bellow of delight from deep within my body as I was pummelled by the Cascada El Cinco.
We all yearn for the power of renewal, to be forgiven our sins, to wash away the past and begin afresh. Standing under a waterfall is the most natural, most beautiful way imaginable to begin anew. Humans have done this for millenia. To this day, everyone who showers to "start the day fresh" or to "wash off the day" is recreating the sensation in a controlled environment. There is something cleansing about a stream of water that falls from above, washes away your tiredness, your worries, and your sins, and then drains away. A ritual as important for the mind as it is for personal hygiene.
Imagine how long the intervals of time are between a molecule of water passing over the same waterfall twice. We have a water cycle and on a long enough time horizon anything that is highly improbable becomes inevitable, but we are talking about timescales longer than we mere mortals can contemplate.
If a molecule of water had emotions or memory, I'd wager that the journey over a waterfall would rank right at the pinnacle of what it means to be a water molecule, probably even surpassing a cloud bursting into rainfall. The ultimate expression of the thing. The realization of potential in such a dramatic explosion that very few of us mere mortals will ever get the chance to understand, the aquatic equivalent of Usain Bolt breaking the world record.
*[Photo set — Cascada El Cinco.: Cascada El Cinco falling into its pool; Standing under Cascada El Cinco; The pool and canyon at Cascada El Cinco; Cascada El Cinco from the stream crossing; With Don Ovidiedo, owner of the finca above Cascada El Cinco]*
---
My trepidation as I had sought to find the Cascada El Cinco earlier in the day was partly self-imposed in my lightly intoxicated state.
Half a gram of psilocybin-infused chocolate is enough to make even the mundane feel like a journey. My 7km walk to find the Cascada from my starting point on the other side of San Agustín felt like an odyssey: the man sat on his porch who confirmed directions I already knew became the oracle, the 2 women who walked by me strangely wearing bright red lipstick became the sirens, and the man lurking near the entrance to the falls became a troll. The first crossing of the stream at its elevated water level became an epic challenge, which, once accomplished, felt like a victory which left the darkness behind and the promised land ahead.
---
At the Cascada, I kept waiting for the magic to fade, pinching myself that this was too good to be true, that a place this special couldn't belong just to me, even if only for an hour on a Thursday afternoon.
Unfortunately, the magic did fade when a lady from the Finca above the waterfall showed up in Wellington boots with two big dogs by her side, caught me in my underwear, and politely charged me the $5.000 COP entry fee to the waterfall.
Part of me had previously seen these small entry fees as a toll, a light vacuna — a protection payment — small enough not to bother anyone. But as I had entered the entry route to Cascada El Cinco I had doubts in my mind about being followed and mugged, which severely detracted from the experience. If $5.000 can buy peace of mind that this area is "safe" to enjoy, then it is worth that and much more.
My thinking was soon to be validated as I clambered through the steep coffee tree-laden hill to reach the upper exit from the Cascada and met Don Ovidiedo (I asked him twice to make sure I wasn't mishearing "Oviedo"), the owner of the finca. He told me how he had lived there for 50 years, and how until 5 years ago the waterfall wasn't maintained and was exclusively used by "people with vices". At a certain point he and his children decided to clean it up, building out the pathway and doing daily trash sweeps. Nothing that is beautiful should be taken for granted, and maintenance is a virtuous but thankless task. A $5.000 maintenance fee for magic is the least he deserved.
---
I allowed myself to follow my instinct as I left the waterfall. I had spent the morning on a great call with the CEO of a company who said they were raising money from Cometa Ventures, and on Google Maps I saw a "Finca Cometa" nearby with some nice looking photos, so I decided to head there with no reservation. I was greeted by 3 big dogs but no people - there were no reservations so no one was there. Fortunately, a quick whatsapp conversation with the owner, and an empleada showed up 15 minutes later to let me in and showed me to my beautiful, tastefully decorated little cabin with a perfect hammock. I was told there was a 2 night minimum and allowed my original plan to deviate in order to settle in here and embrace the glorious sunset that was fast approaching.
*[Photo set — Finca Cometa. Instinct and chance, rewarded.: Golden hour over the valley at Finca Cometa; Sunset from the cabin at Finca Cometa; Swinging in the hammock at Finca Cometa]*
As I lay in the hammock, I was content that I was beginning to live the trip as originally hoped - allowing instinct and chance to guide me. No answers to the deeper questions I was asking myself, but no concerns either. I was living in the present. I slept well that night.
## Day 4 — August 21: Worth the 30 switchbacks
I woke up with nothing booked, but with one more full day in San Agustín I knew I had to visit both the Estrecho de la Magdalena, the narrowest point of the 1,528km long river, and the Salto de Bordones, a 400m behemoth waterfall that is Colombia's second highest after La Chorrera outside of Bogotá, but much more visually impressive.
I negotiated a daily rate of $100.000 with Gilvar, my mototaxista for the day, and off we went. Initially concerned about his slight smell of body odour, I relaxed as we headed out of San Agustín and the fresh country air and spectacular canyon vistas through which the Magdalena rushed below overwhelmed my senses.
*[Video loop: Out of San Agustín on the back of Gilvar's moto, the Magdalena rushing below.]*
The Estrecho was an impressive channeling of energy into such a tight stretch that I've been told is incredibly deep and has swallowed people whole, but I didn't stay too long as the waterfall beckoned. I endured an unappealing lunch in Isnos, an unpleasant roadside town full of tacky bars and strip clubs, and mototalleres, but my spirits were still elevated as we left the paved road behind and approached Bordones.
My eyes bulged as I saw the Salto for the first time. This waterfall eclipsed any that I had seen before it in sheer size and power. The scale of the thing was just outrageous, hard to comprehend. The volume of water that flowed over its two tiers can only be described as biblical.
*[Photo: Salto de Bordones. Two tiers, 400 meters, biblical.]*
The Spanish terminology for waterfalls is much better than the English, with different terms to describe the form of the waterfall: cascada, catarata, salto, chorrera, chorro. Salto is literally a jump or leap, and it is a much better representation of the thing than a "fall". "El Salto del Angel" is much better at conveying the epicness of the Angel Falls than the English translation, while the "Cataratas de Iguazu" immediately puts the volume of water in a different league than other waterfalls.
A Salto is a leap of faith, a forward motion that temporarily defies gravity, and El Salto de Bordones is appropriately named, with an epic leap as the water's momentum from the gushing river pours out of the canyon's edge.
*[Video loop: The leap itself. The spray reached the lookout, 50 meters above the river.]*
I wound down the pathway to get as close as I could, counting 30 switchbacks of varying lengths as I descended rapidly into the canyon. I was once again completely alone aside from a coffee farmer climbing the trail with his mule.
I knew I wouldn't be able to swim in this waterfall, but upon arriving at a scenic lookout spot 50m above the river in the valley, I stopped and allowed myself to take it in. "The heart of the f\*\*\*ing Andes!" I screamed at the top of my lungs as the spray lightly cooled me, with the beauty of the scene reminding me of [Frederic Church's masterpiece, *The Heart of the Andes*](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Heart_of_the_Andes#/media/File:Church_Heart_of_the_Andes.jpg).
*[Photo: Down the 30 switchbacks and into the canyon.]*
The climb back up was sweaty but I was content - this was a true bucket list waterfall and a magical experience to live. Colombian natural beauty at its finest. By the time I arrived back in Finca Cometa an hour later I crashed. Another early night after a day well spent, a deep understanding of why San Agustín has brought magic and beauty to humans for over 5,000 years.
## Day 5 — August 22: The Epiphany
I didn't expect the 3 hour bus ride from Pitalito to Mocoa to be life changing, but alas. I sat on the bus with my body almost shaking with the deep resonance of a train of thought that physically held me, and I tried to cling to the feeling for long enough to express it, frustrated as always with how the feeling and thoughts translate to written words.
The journey was taking us through the greenest Andes I have seen yet, dense forest on both sides of the road, a green wall climbing all the way up into the clouds, with the bus driving along a tiny sliver of civilization.
I was feeling for the first time in Colombia that I was descending into the "other" side of the country, the direction that flows in the opposite direction to the Magdalena. And it was true - as we travelled south we were descending in altitude, and the water flowing alongside us was, almost unbelievably, now in the Amazon watershed.
I knew that at some point in this trip I'd finish Season 1 of [*The Telepathy Tapes*](https://open.spotify.com/show/1zigaPaUWO4G9SiFV0Kf1c), and once I did so I'd revisit Packy McCormick's [*The Return of Magic*](https://www.notboring.co/p/the-return-of-magic). I listened to Episodes 9 and 10 on this bus journey and then began to shiver as I reread Packy's piece.
I've spent a good chunk of this year trying to think through the implications of what it means to be human in a world of abundant, too-cheap-to-meter superintelligence provided by AI.
> I keep coming back to the idea of the soul, the notion that there is a force or an energy in us that the laws of physics can't quite measure yet. It's posited in the Telepathy Tapes that Consciousness is a universal informational field, a field that we all contribute to and are each expanding simultaneously as we experience the world. This consciousness is the yang to entropy's yin. We're all connected through consciousness, but separated into individuals in order to pursue unique perspectives on the universe, thus expanding the collective consciousness. One of the most beautiful concepts imaginable.
This revelation seemed to tie a single thread through many disparate ideas that have occurred to me over the prior years as I have flirted with spirituality and my belief in something bigger than us:
- The profound insights gifted to me on trips that *vibes matter* and that revealing your inner child to friends is one of the most beautiful forms of connection possible.
- The issue with GDP being its inability to measure spiritual wellbeing outside of the materialist realm. Things that are good for the soul often are at odds with what can be measured in a productive economy.
- The reason centralization is bad is that we limit the surface area for consciousness to expand and experience. 200 individual nations are better than 1 global state. 50 states that can experiment with different policies is a complement and improvement on a monolithic federal government.
- The last line in my favourite modern novel, *Cloud Atlas*, has long resonated with me: "Only as you gasp your dying breath shall you understand, your life amounted to no more than one drop in a limitless ocean! Yet what is an ocean but a multitude of drops?"
- Reincarnation may happen simultaneously, in parallel, with multiple lives being lived at once. The connection I feel when I see dancing butterflies in nature. Maybe I am seeing a different version of myself through my own eyes.
- Colombia's magical realism, as renowned in its most famous literature, is not fiction but reality. This is a place where magic lives side by side with the concerns of ordinary human society.
- Vibes matter. It's why great leaders inspire millions. It's why company culture is probably the single most important factor in a company's success. Good energy between humans is a powerful force to be reckoned with.
Each person must find their own way to connect with broader consciousness. Human religions are made impure via their human mediums with human incentives, but once filtered and distilled, may contain some deeper truths. Similarly, the telepaths from the Telepathy Tapes say that for them, communicating out loud or via spelling is diluting the weight of their deeper meaning.
I used to laugh at the idea that we'd all sit around painting once we achieved material abundance, either through some hypothetical communist collective utopia or through the more realistic technooptimist vision. It felt like a serious lack of imagination to me as I tried to seek inspiration for what we'd all do in a world post-scarcity. But I think I was taking it too literally. What they are actually saying is that we unlock the ability to work on our spiritual health as expressed through art, creativity, community, and love. Working on spiritual health to the point of self-actualization is a concept that has spanned human history, from the Buddha's nirvana to Maslow's hierarchy of needs.
And as I surrendered to the nature I was encountering in isolation on this trip, far away from the hubbub of daily life, I felt an understanding for why the children in *The Telepathy Tapes* sought silence and sensory deprivation in order to connect with each other telepathically. Finding space and time to live with one's own thoughts is hard to do in the "real world", but increasingly important if we want to work on our spiritual health.
As I have aged I thought I was losing my sense of wonder. The mototaxis through the Huilense countryside that would have enthralled 24 year Ross were taken in stride by 34 year old Ross. I have reflected a couple of times on this trip that a younger version of myself would probably be proud of the life I have built and how I go about my life, both day to day and traveling. But the implication of taking things in stride is that you are no longer surprised or taken aback by new experiences. Fortunately, this bus ride and the waterfalls on this trip have reminded me what it is to wonder.
I had been in Putumayo for less than an hour and my jaw had already dropped at least 3 times as the bus has rounded corners and revealed epic, verdant mountains and fast flowing rivers that are so much more massive than they appear on a map, and as I ate a delicious lunch of bbq pirarucú in the center of Mocoa, I envisioned the city of 70,000 people not as it currently is, but rather as an Amazonian Wakanda…
---
I arrived at Huaca Huaca hostel hot and sweaty after the 30 minute climb in the afternoon sun. I had found the hostel on a card left in the Finca Cometa cabin and had decided to trust my host's recommendation. It was a great decision. Upon arriving I was offered "quebrada or cascada"? by Victoria, one of the two ladies running the place. I had already decided to save the big Fin del Mundo waterfall for the following day, so responded "quebrada", and Victoria promptly dropped into the creek running by the property and we started moving upstream.
We encountered a rather lovely, lush six-meter waterfall and Victoria paused, asking if I wanted to bathe here or continue up to the other waterfalls. I asked her with some trepidation if these were "the cascadas del fin del mundo", prepared to be underwhelmed by Putumayo's offerings after what I had seen in Huila, but she laughed and said no, these were the small local falls on a different quebrada from the main falls.
Ridiculous. 3 waterfalls each 6 to 9 meters in height, totally private, all in beautiful, lush enclaves, the afternoon sunlight falling through. Another giddy moment of unexpected beauty to myself. On a video I described the place as "waterfall utopia".
*[Video loop: Waterfall utopia. Three private falls on the quebrada behind Huaca Huaca — and no better place to stand.]*
*[Photo set — The quebrada falls, afternoon light falling through.: A small lush waterfall on the quebrada near Huaca Huaca; Bathing pool below the quebrada falls; Huaca Huaca hostel at night]*
Post-bathing, I had an early dinner with the two other guests staying that night, as well as the owner, Janeth, and went to bed in expectation of visiting Fin del Mundo the following morning.
## Day 6 — August 23: The magic of Ornoyaco
I woke up to heavy, heavy rain, what Colombians call an "aguacero", and decided to have an easy morning. It was nice to take the morning slowly, but I worried the entire day would be wasted when Janeth told me that they weren't accepting visitors to Fin del Mundo given the higher water volumes, making river crossings dangerous. My hopes dashed, I definitely didn't expect to shortly be embarking on perhaps the most spiritual adventure of the trip.
As morning turned to afternoon, the strong sun came out and a further conversation with Janeth led me to believe I could visit the Ornoyaco waterfall if I could make it there before 2pm, the cutoff before they close the entry point to new visitors. I moved quickly and made it to the information point with 10 minutes to spare, and found the woman there unsure about letting me pass by myself given the higher risk post-rainfall.
*[Photo set — The river crossing en route to Ornoyaco.: The forest trail en route to Ornoyaco after the rains; Ornoyaco waterfall in full flood, a wall of white water and spray; The canyon below Ornoyaco filled with hurricane-force spray]*
After some convincing, she decided to let me through with a warning, "today is not a day for swimming at the base of the falls". I proceeded into the bosque, each step taking me higher up into the mountain. The hike was a tease, with many gushing streams that from afar promised to be the waterfall itself. The sun's dappled light, combined with the morning's rains still clinging to the fern-covered green walls, started to make the forest feel alive.
And when I eventually found the waterfall, I couldn't quite believe my water-filled eyes.
The lady at the info point was right.
There was no way I could swim in this waterfall. I couldn't even get close to it.
The morning's heavy rains had created a water flow so powerful that the entire canyon into which Ornoyaco fell was an all-powerful hurricane of spray.
Hurricane-force spray is not an exaggeration. The concentrated channel down which the river flowed post-fall was full of vegetation including fully-grown trees bending backwards under the force of the spray. This was unlike anything else I had ever experienced. The valley rose maybe 50 or 60 meters, and all the way up the air was full of droplets, a hundred meters away from the falls themselves.
Obviously there are more powerful waterfalls in the world, but the *relative* increase in waterflow versus what is usually a tighter, narrower baseline made me feel like I was standing in an incredibly wet wind tunnel. I was nowhere near the falls, and I was drenched.
I had to see the falls. I hid my phone and cap under my now uselessly soaked towel, and climbed up to a viewpoint that I imagine is usually a great place to take photos without getting wet.
The deafening roar of the water sounded like a constant stream of bombs exploding. I had to physically push back against the spray, and I could only open my eyes for a couple of seconds before the spray filled them. But what a glorious sight. A 40 meter wall of white and a column of sparkling spray shone brightly in the afternoon sun, acting as a backdrop to a gigantic 360 degree rainbow which shimmered so brightly I could feel it.
I couldn't tell whether I began to cry due to the beauty of the sight or because the wind and spray made my eyes water, but I cried tears and I cried out loud into the ether, my voice and tears swallowed whole by Ornoyaco.
I wasn't physically capable of enduring the spray for long. The greatest shower of my life became too much to bear after only a couple of minutes. I retreated downstream to a safe distance, climbed down to the gushing river, and carefully scrambled across a couple of boulders until I found a place I could sit and appreciate the scene. Spray still whirled around me but I could at least see, and here more full rainbows filled my view.
Having accepted that I could never capture this moment, I nevertheless tried. Alone, it felt important to try and capture and share this experience, even though it was a futile endeavor. I managed to capture some videos, but nothing compares to the sensory overload I had just experienced.
*[Video, sound on: Ornoyaco. As close as it let me get. Sound on.]*
*[Video loop: From the safe distance, the rainbows.]*
I tried to internalize the feeling I had as I stood at the mirador. As of today, I can still feel the force of the spray, can still hear myself laughing and crying with joy, and can still see the 360 degree rainbow in my mind. I hope it lasts.
I returned to Huaca Huaca physically and emotionally exhausted. I ate dinner before sundown and went to sleep.
## Day 7 — August 24: The end of the world
The last day.
I had booked the one daily flight from Villagarzon to Bogotá which left at 5.15pm so I still had time to take advantage of the day, but a travel day is hard to enjoy fully, as one is always time conscious.
It had rained overnight again and I was concerned I wouldn't be able to see Fin del Mundo for a second day, but Victoria confirmed that they were open today as she delivered my breakfast of cheesy pancakes and eggs.
As I walked straight up the path from Huaca Huaca to the Fin del Mundo entrance, I reflected that the trip had not directly answered questions about founding or not, but had made me more comfortable in living a life well lived, low ego and without focusing on the expectations of others. This is a reflection that took me back to the pivotal life decision I made in 2017 to leave JPMorgan in NYC and move to Colombia, my first career salto. That's a decision I made for similar reasons - trying to live an authentic life - and one that I have gone back and forth on over time. But in that moment in Putumayo, I felt at peace with myself and content with where I found myself. Unsure what the future would hold, but temporarily able to truly live in the moment.
The Fin del Mundo waterfall turned out to be a complex of 5 falls and pools, culminating in an epic 60-meter drop with a view of a sea of green forest as far as the eye could see… the end of the world.
*[Photo set — Fin del Mundo. Five falls, and then the edge.: The upper pools of Fin del Mundo; The 60-meter drop at Fin del Mundo over a sea of green forest; Leaning over the edge of Fin del Mundo, harness-protected]*
The space was stunning, and I found myself singing Kyle Gordon's [*Mr Jambo*](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qJBm1n8JUZ8) as I made multiple river crossings, spirit high.
*[Video loop: A sea of forest.]*
Fin del Mundo was more "tourist-friendly" than pretty much any of the waterfalls I had visited throughout the trip, so while I loved being there I wasn't able to live in my own thoughts surrounded by nothing but nature, as I had done on previous occasions during this trip. I swam in the pools and leaned over the edge of the big falls while harness-protected. But as the rain started up again, I decided that this wasn't going to be the highlight of the trip, and would rather make it back to dry off, enjoy a nice lunch, and make my way to the airport.
## Home — August 24: Reflections on the journey home
*[Animated route map: the whole week replayed day by day — Bogotá to Paicol overnight, south through Huila, over the watershed divide into Putumayo, and the flight home. Elevation profile below.]*
I hadn't properly "disconnected" throughout the trip, but I was OK with that. I wasn't trying to escape my home life, and I wanted to stay in communication with my wife. But what I had done on this trip was prioritize my physical, mental, and spiritual wellbeing. And I felt good.
I'd averaged 15,000 steps per day, and the journey's objective of seeking out waterfalls as a way to be active while still giving my mind time to think to itself, distraction-free, had worked. I don't know if this was my "camino", but I had definitely nourished my soul.
## Trip expenses
*[Itemized ledger: 28 lines, total $2.059.000 COP — see the web version.]*
As I walked onto the tarmac and boarded the Satena jet that would take me home (shout out to Satena, taking you to places in Colombia that no one else will fly to), I put on an [*Invest Like The Best*](https://open.spotify.com/episode/0VPwvReM2olZDWl3YOHfqh) podcast with Ben Thompson, 2 of my favorite voices in Tech, but it all felt so far away from what I had just lived that I had to change it to something less jarring.
If you are reading this, thank you for following my Waterfall Diaries.
*And remember, “What is an ocean (or waterfall) but a multitude of drops?”*