What Stayed With Me
Where the Water Meets
Wonder does not become smaller simply because it is shared.
My brother and I had not planned much. We simply headed toward Big Sur to see what the day offered.
Along the way, we saw a sign for a waterfall. As two photographers with no prior familiarity with the scene, our response was immediate: yes, let us go see it.
When we arrived, it became obvious why so many people return with cameras. Freshwater slipped over the cliff toward the Pacific below. It was water meeting water in the most improbable and beautiful way.
Only later did I begin seeing the same view everywhere—in books, on websites, and across social media. I laughed at how thoroughly photographed it was. Everyone probably carries a private conviction that their version is the one worth keeping.
I do not think mine is the best. That was never what made it important.
The photograph matters because my brother and I stood there together, enjoying every minute of a spontaneous trip and sharing the same sense of wonder that has drawn countless others to that overlook.
A week later, a major section of Highway 1 washed out and the route became impassable. We joked about how fortunate our timing had been.
Even familiar landmarks are not guaranteed to remain accessible exactly when we expect them to be.
What Stayed With Me
Some places are photographed often because they continue to move people.
The image is not proof that I found an undiscovered view. It is a reminder that, for one afternoon, the road was open, the waterfall was flowing, and I was there with my brother to witness where one journey met another.
Which familiar place became entirely your own because of the person who experienced it beside you?