I made a pilgrimage to Shangri-La. My brother went with me. We found ourselves in a magical place with water and earth mixing, as if the rules of gravity were merely suggestions. I can't tell you where it is, or how to get there. It may not exist like this again. It might have been just a dream.
We had to struggle and pass through many trials to find the spot; climbing hillsides so steep no trees would grow on them, descending cliffs that would make a llama's knees shake, wandering through trackless forest, and battling a clear-cut full of blackberry.
As in many magical places, there was a strong sense of Deja-Vu. We had attempted to peer into this Pandora's Box before with little success, but when we did, we found ourselves climbing a waterfall just like the one above, with a log the only conveyance for us. We clawed and scraped ourselves up the slippery log and found an impassible wall, so we retreated. This time we came upon the very same spot, or so we thought, but it was impossible. Unless our memory moved to another place, deeper in the canyon, we were misled.
The river flowed in many forms, sometimes wide and gravelly, sometimes narrow. Here it is a narrow slot of sandstone cut by time.
There was an overhang cave that was the size of a small house. It was gigantic, and dry in the bottom, with the river flowing softly along the side. It must have been carved out by a huge flood at some time.
It was a memorable trip, and I hope to do it again, possibly with more camera gear, in the future.