DECEMBER 2023 · WATERLINE
Water breaks it's neck
Radnor Forest, Wales
The name is accurate. The waterfall drops through a narrow gorge in the upper Radnor Forest, the water hitting the rock at the bend with enough force that the sound carries up the valley before you can see the source. In full flow in December it's substantial.

What's not there anymore is most of the woodland above it. The land managers — whoever holds the upper slopes — have been through with machinery and taken the trees out. Clearfelled. The upper hillside above the gorge is bare now, a pale scar visible from the approach track. Freshly cut timber logs are stacked at the edge of the work: a row of round pale ends, the felled trunks lying behind them. This is what a working forest looks like when the work has just happened, before the word "forest" applies again.
The gorge itself survived because it's inaccessible to machinery.
Water-break-its-neck — December 2023

The gorge itself survived because it's inaccessible to machinery. The waterfall drops through moss-draped stone walls, the cascade catching December light and holding it in white. The rock face is vertical and wet, the moss working into every crevice and striating the stone with green. I got close enough to see individual water droplets beading on the moss surface — vivid green, each droplet a small lens.


The stone below the waterfall has the kind of weathered texture that comes from water working on it continuously. Vertical striations in the rock face. Overhanging vegetation where the gorge walls lean inward. The mist from the cascade hangs in the air and keeps everything wet.

Above the gorge: cleared hillside, stacked timber, bare sky. Below: this. What hadn't been reached was still there.
