Taughannock Falls, a majestic 215-foot waterfall, showcases nature’s beauty and power, intertwining geological history with vibrant ecosystems in New York.
Introduction Nestled in the heart of the Finger Lakes region of New York, Taughannock Falls stands as a testament to the delicate balance of power and beauty in nature. This iconic waterfall plunges 215 feet—one of the tallest single-drop waterfalls east of the Rocky Mountains—into a gorge whose story is written in stone. The park surrounding this natural wonder offers a symphony of sights, from towering cliffs to lush greenery, inviting visitors to explore its ancient secrets and vibrant life.
View of taughannock Falls from the South Rim Trail. Taughannock Falls New York State Park, Trumansburg, Tompkins County, Finger Lakes Region
A Story Written in Stone The rocks of Taughannock Falls tell a story that stretches back 380 million years to the Devonian Period, a time when the region was submerged beneath a shallow inland sea. Layer upon layer of shale, sandstone, and limestone formed as sediment settled to the ocean floor, preserving the fossils of marine life that once thrived here. These rocks have endured the passage of eons, but the gorge itself is a far more recent creation.
Limestone Steps on the South Rim Trail descend to the gorge floor.
It was the retreat of the mighty Laurentide Ice Sheet, approximately 10,000 years ago, that set the stage for Taughannock’s grandeur. As glaciers melted, torrents of water carved the U-shaped valleys that now cradle the Finger Lakes. Taughannock Creek, a tributary of Cayuga Lake, began its work, etching its path through ancient rock, sculpting the gorge we see today. In just 10,000 years—a fleeting moment in geological time—the relentless force of water carved its way 3/4 of a mile upstream, creating the awe-inspiring chasm and waterfall that continue to evolve even now.
Taughannock Creek carved this landscape over thousands of years.
The Gorge’s Living Tapestry Beyond its geological wonders, Taughannock Falls State Park bursts with life. Along the North and South Rim Trails, Eastern Hemlocks (Tsuga canadensis) stand tall, their evergreen branches weaving shadows that dance across stone stairways and forest floors. These silent sentinels are habitats for myriad creatures and protectors of the delicate ecosystem.
Wildflowers were planted by park staff at the Falls Overlook. The bright yellow of Black-eyed Susans (Rudbeckia hirta) and the vibrant purple of Coneflowers (Echinacea purpurea) attract bees and butterflies, their nectar fueling the intricate web of life that thrives here. Along the trail, on the forest floor, mosses and ferns cling to rocks, softening the edges of the gorge with their verdant touch.
Cone FlowersCone Flowers gone to seedFrom a walk around Taughannock Falls State Park “Rim Trails” October 22nd, 2024. Trumansburg, Tompkins County, Finger Lakes Region, New York State.
The Fall’s Eternal Dance At the heart of the park is the waterfall itself, its roar both a hymn and a whisper of time’s passage. The view from the North Rim Trail reveals the waterfall framed by steep cliffs, their striations like pages in a book written by water, wind, and time. The plunge pool below, shimmering in sunlight, seems almost sacred—a place where the forces of nature meet in harmony.
Viewed from the North Rim Trail on a summer morning. Taughannock Falls New York State Park, Trumansburg, Tompkins County, Finger Lakes Region
Even as we marvel at its beauty, the falls are a reminder of the earth’s constant transformation. Each drop of water that cascades down the cliff face carries away tiny fragments of rock, continuing the slow, deliberate work of reshaping the land. What we witness today is but one moment in an ongoing process—a fleeting glimpse of a masterpiece in progress.
A Place of Wonder To stand at the edge of Taughannock Falls is to feel both small and connected. The cliffs, formed over hundreds of millions of years, whisper of ancient seas and forgotten worlds. The gorge, carved in the blink of an eye by geological standards, speaks to the power of water and time. And the vibrant life that fills the park reminds us of nature’s resilience and beauty.
As the sun filters through the trees, illuminating the mist that rises from the falls, it’s easy to believe that this place holds magic. Perhaps it’s in the way the water sparkles like diamonds in the sunlight or the way the breeze carries the scent of pine and earth. Or maybe it’s in the knowledge that here, in this park, we are witnesses to a story billions of years in the making.
Conclusion Taughannock Falls State Park is a place of wonder where geology, ecology, and history converge. It invites us to reflect on the immense forces that shape our world and to cherish the fleeting beauty of each moment. Whether you come to marvel at the towering waterfall, walk among the hemlocks, or simply stand in awe of the gorge, Taughannock Falls leaves an indelible mark on the heart—a reminder of nature’s power, resilience, and enduring grace.
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Copyright 2024 All Rights Reserved Michael Stephen Wills
As I step into Cascadilla Gorge from the Linn Street entrance, I’m greeted by the soft rustling of leaves and the constant, soothing rush of water. The air this Halloween Day is warm, the autumn colors vibrant against the cool blue sky. I know Cascadilla Gorge is part of the Cornell Botanical Gardens, but the immediate beauty of this natural sanctuary makes it easy to forget I’m still within the city limits of Ithaca. The sounds of the gorge draw me in, as if whispering there’s more to see, more to explore. With a deep breath, I begin my journey up the trail, eager to discover what lies ahead.
Just a short way in, I notice the First Church of Christ, Scientist perched on the corner of University Avenue and Cascadilla Park Road. The architecture of the church is both quaint and elegant, with its light-colored facade framed by dark trim and roof. Surrounded by foliage, it feels like the church belongs here, as much a part of the landscape as the trees and rocks. The sight of this historic building nestled so close to the gorge reminds me that this wild and ancient place is woven into the fabric of Ithaca’s community life.
I move further along the trail, and the terrain begins to shift. Fallen leaves create a golden carpet along the path, their crisp shapes overlapping like nature’s confetti celebrating the season. Each step crunches underfoot, adding my own rhythm to the symphony of sounds. The trees overhead are a kaleidoscope of colors—deep golds, fiery oranges, and the occasional flash of red from Virginia Creeper vines (Parthenocissus quinquefolia). Together, the trees create a canopy that filters sunlight, casting dappled patterns on the gorge walls. It’s an ever-changing play of light and shadow, one moment bright and the next subdued, adding a layer of magic to the experience.
As I follow the trail upward, the gorge narrows, and I find myself surrounded by towering walls of rock. Here, layers of siltstone and shale formed more than 300 hundred million years ago are exposed, a testament to the forces of water and time that carved this place across mere millennia of recent geologic time. The rock formations are fascinating, with the water flowing over them in gentle cascades, finding every groove and crevice. There’s something humbling about standing in a place shaped by forces so much larger and older than myself. I pause, letting the rush of water and the stillness of stone fill my senses.
Along the way, I come across an interpretive sign provided by the Cornell Botanical Gardens. They tell the story of Cascadilla Gorge, how it was formed from the bedrock of sandstone and shale that eroded from mountains to the east, in the Devonian era when an ancient inland sea covered the region. The signs also introduce Robert H. Treman, a philanthropist who saw the beauty and educational value of the gorge. Thanks to him and the efforts of many, this natural wonder is preserved for all to experience. Knowing this adds depth to my walk; it’s a reminder that places like this exist not only by chance but because people cared enough to protect them.
The sandstone staircases along the trail are a marvel in themselves. Some sections are steep, winding up the gorge in a series of steps that seem to have been placed with precision, blending seamlessly into the natural landscape. The steps are covered with leaves now, making each ascent feel a bit like climbing through a fairy-tale forest. The chains along the path provide a comforting grip, especially as I climb higher. I look back and see how far I’ve come, the creek below winding its way over rocks and around bends, each step a small journey of its own.
I pass several small waterfalls, each one unique in its character. Some are gentle trickles, while others pour over the rocks with more force, their sound reverberating off the gorge walls. I stop frequently, entranced by the way the water carves its path, eternally moving, adapting, wearing down even the hardest stone. Leaves float down from above, landing in the creek and swirling in miniature whirlpools before being carried downstream. It’s mesmerizing to watch nature at work in such a quiet, persistent way.
Further up the gorge, the views open up, and I can see the layers of rock descending in terraces, each level a little cascade of its own. I watch as the water flows across these steps, catching the light as it moves—a silvery ribbon winding through the golden autumn landscape. The tranquility of the scene is meditative. Around me, the trees stand as silent witnesses, their branches bare in places but still adorned with clusters of leaves clinging through the last days of fall.
Finally, I reach one of the larger waterfalls, framed by a graceful stone arch bridge that crosses high above. The scene is something out of a painting. Water pours over the rocks, gathering in pools below before spilling onward. I pause on the bridge, looking down at the gorge below and the trail I’ve followed, grateful for the journey.
Along the way, artists are positioned along the path, each lost in the beauty of Cascadilla Gorge. They stand or sit in quiet reverie, brushes or pencils in hand, capturing the gorge’s unique character. Some focus on the play of light over the water’s surface, while others seem intent on the rugged details of the rock formations. Their presence adds a contemplative depth to the scene; it’s as if each artist has uncovered a hidden aspect of the gorge that I have overlooked in my journey upward.
I slow my pace to take it all in, appreciating how the artists interpret this natural wonder through their own eyes. Their canvases reveal layers of colors that shift as the sun filters through the leaves, casting vibrant golds and subtle greens on the cascading water. The scene feels almost collaborative—nature and human hand creating art together, each reflection of the gorge as unique as the individual capturing it. I’m tempted to pause beside them, to see how they choose to frame the towering walls, the stone bridge arching above the water, and the gentle curves of the creek as it meanders downstream. I can imagine each artist’s work holding a different piece of this place, like fragments of a memory.
Bridge View looking up Cascadilla CreekBridge View looking back the way I came
As I continue, the sound of rushing water grows louder, drawing me towards another cascade that tumbles in steps down the gorge. The rocks are layered in angular formations, giving the water a zigzagging path to follow. Leaves are scattered across the stones, their colors—yellows, browns, and the occasional splash of red—standing out against the dark, wet rock. There’s a timelessness here, a feeling that this scene has remained unchanged for centuries, save for the shifting leaves and the ever-present flow of the creek. The thought makes me feel like a small part of something much larger, a guest in an ancient place shaped by nature’s slow, steady hand.
The path narrows again, following the edge of the creek where the water has worn smooth channels into the stone.
Moving forward, the trail climbs steeply, and I find myself surrounded by tall rock faces on either side. The walls are layered and weathered, a geological history book open to the forces that shaped this land. It’s humbling to see how this place puts everything into perspective, how it reminds us of our place in the natural world.
Columns of sedimentary rock
Ahead, the path becomes more rugged, the air feels cooler here, shaded by the gorge’s high walls, and the sounds of the city are long gone, replaced by the steady rhythm of water and the drift of leaves. The layers of ancient limestone that form these towering walls give shape to our landscape and ecosystem. As rainwater falls and seeps through the porous rock, the limestone raises the pH of the water, neutralizing its natural acidity. This subtle alchemy nurtures the flora and fauna, fostering a unique biome that thrives in the gorge. The artists fade from view as I move further into the solitude of the trail, but their presence lingers in my mind. Each turn of the path reveals another scene worthy of capturing, another moment that seems to call out for remembrance.
Looking back toward the way I came
The trail steepens, and I press onward, the sound of the water intensifying as I near a grand waterfall framed by the impressive stone steps leading up to the College Avenue Stone Arch. Each step is littered with leaves, their colors vivid against the worn stone—golds, russets, and the occasional brilliant red, like embers scattered along my path. The waterfall beside me spills down in steady streams, each cascade creating rivulets that catch the light as they flow downward.
The gorge walls rise sharply on either side, embracing the path in rugged layers that tell stories of geological time. I feel as if I’m climbing a passage through history itself. These rocks, these trees, the very water carving its way through the stone—all have been here far longer than I can fathom, shaped by forces beyond my understanding. There’s a certain thrill in being among such enduring elements, a reminder of how small and fleeting we are in the face of nature’s grandeur.
Reaching the next tier of the trail, I pause to take in the sight of the massive stone arch spanning the gorge above. The bridge is a striking feature, its wide arch perfectly framing the sky and the last vibrant colors of autumn. It feels like a gateway, a fitting culmination to the journey. Standing beneath it, I’m struck by how well it harmonizes with the gorge, the careful craftsmanship of its stonework complementing the rough beauty of the surrounding cliffs.
The sunlight flows around the arch, illuminating the leaves that cling to the branches above, casting a warm glow over the scene. I feel a sense of reverence here, a quiet acknowledgment of both human artistry and the relentless beauty of nature.
I paused to capture this video of the moment.
Sights and Sounds of Autumn
The final ascent is graced by a bench where a stone plaque catches my eye. It’s a tribute, etched with words that resonate in this place: “Joy to all we love the best, love to thee, our fair Cornell.” A gift from a family whose lives intertwined with Cornell, it serves as a reminder of the deep connections people have to this landscape, to the university, and to the memories rooted in these trails and gorges. I pause, reflecting on my own connection to this path, which has taken me through an ever-unfolding tapestry of nature and history.
The last stretch of steps is leaf blanketed, their shapes and colors a beautiful final mosaic before I emerge from the shaded coolness of the gorge. The sun filters down through the thinning trees, illuminating the stone buildings of the Cornell campus that peek through the branches ahead. With each step, I feel the transition, moving from the curated wildness of Cascadilla Gorge and its trail to the structured beauty of the university grounds.
Myron Taylor Hall, Cornell Law School from the gorge.
As I reach the top, the Schwartz Center for the Performing Arts comes into view, its modern architecture a contrast to the ancient rocks I’ve left behind. Here, in this space where art, education, and nature converge, I take a last look back into the gorge and a journey, a gem in the heart of the Finger Lakes, a place that holds stories, both old and new, and invites every visitor to become a part of them.
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All photography using the IPhone 14 ProMax triple camera, raw format, edited on the phone.
We find boulders of crystalline rock, commonly derived from Adirondack sources, left behind on the surface of ablation moraine, in the Finger Lakes Region.
Cornell finds some and move them, maybe the case for this unremarked erratic found along the Allen Trail of FR Newman Arboretum.
Another enormous erratic, brought in from the Sixmile Creek valley, was carved into a seat as a memorial to Professor R.S. Tarr who deciphered much of the glacial history of the Finger Lakes Region. Find it at the southwest corner of McCraw Hall on the Cornell University Campus.
History (from wikipedia)
During the 18th century, erratics were deemed a major geological paradox. Geologists identify erratics by studying the rocks surrounding the position of the erratic and the rock of the erratic itself. Erratics were once considered evidence of a biblical flood, but in the 19th century scientists gradually came to accept that erratics pointed to an ice age in Earth’s past. Among others, the Swiss politician, jurist, theologian Bernhard Friedrich Kuhn [de] saw glaciers as a possible solution as early as 1788. However, the idea of ice ages and glaciation as a geological force took a while to be accepted. Ignaz Venetz (1788–1859), a Swiss engineer, naturalist and glaciologist was one of the first scientists to recognize glaciers as a major force in shaping the earth.
In the 19th century, many scientists came to favor erratics as evidence for the end of the Last Glacial Maximum (ice age) 10,000 years ago, rather than a flood. Geologists have suggested that landslides or rockfalls initially dropped the rocks on top of glacial ice. The glaciers continued to move, carrying the rocks with them. When the ice melted, the erratics were left in their present locations.
Charles Lyell’s Principles of Geology (v. 1, 1830) provided an early description of the erratic which is consistent with the modern understanding. Louis Agassiz was the first to scientifically propose that the Earth had been subject to a past ice age. In the same year, he was elected a foreign member of the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences. Prior to this proposal, Goethe, de Saussure, Venetz, Jean de Charpentier, Karl Friedrich Schimper and others had made the glaciers of the Alps the subjects of special study, and Goethe,[15] Charpentier as well as Schimper had even arrived at the conclusion that the erratic blocks of alpine rocks scattered over the slopes and summits of the Jura Mountains had been moved there by glaciers.
Charles Darwin published extensively on geologic phenomena including the distribution of erratic boulders. In his accounts written during the voyage of HMS Beagle, Darwin observed several large erratic boulders of notable size south of the Strait of Magellan, Tierra del Fuego and attributed them to ice rafting from Antarctica. Recent research suggests that they are more likely the result of glacial ice flows carrying the boulders to their current locations.
References:
“The Finger Lakes Region: Its Origin and Nature,” O.D. von Engeln, Cornell University Press, 1961 page 106.
Wikipedia, “Glacial Erratics”
Copyright 2023 Michael Stephen Wills All Rights Reserved
A faint organic whiff of Paleozoic Era generations follows hikers enjoying the Gorge Trail, an odor luring contemporary treasure seekers thankfully spurned by the December 2014 New York State fracking ban. Thanks to Governor Andrew Cuomo’s leadership, the ban protects public health, drinking water, the environment, local economies based on agriculture, tourism and small businesses. The ban on fracking sets the New York State apart for its climate leadership by leaving fossil fuels in the ground while the state simultaneously leads the nation in expanding renewable energy.
A plentitude of waterfalls…..
…bridge number 5…..
Fillmore Glen, Cayuga County, Moravia. In the Finger Lakes Region of New York State
Copyright 2022 All Right Reserved Michael Stephen Wills
We walk the Gorge Trail surrounded by the remains of two mountain ranges (the Taconic and Acadian) as high or higher than the Himalayas. Humbled by the fullness of time the mountains persist, now as this layered, fractured, water and frost battered rock. When the first grains flowed here the Earth’s day was 22 hours, a year 400 days, the Moon’s relative closeness moved tides higher. Four billion years ago, the first formed Moon was only 3.8 Earth radii, 15,000 miles, away. Today, a half billion years after the Cambrian, the distance averages 30 Earth radii (250,000 miles) and increasing at the almighty’s pace through the daily round of tides.
notice the right angles of fracture…..
…the angles record the changing directions of pressure of the continent against Africa as tectonic plates shifted.
Fillmore Glen, Cayuga County, Moravia. In the Finger Lakes Region of New York State
Copyright 2022 All Right Reserved Michael Stephen Wills
Marled and rose quartz outcroppings such as this appear throughout the Superstitions. The stories are of soldiers and prospectors who return from the wilderness with hoards of gold nuggets picked from quartz.
Marled and rose quartz outcroppings such as this appear throughout the Superstitions. The stories are of soldiers and prospectors who return from the wilderness with hoards of gold nuggets picked from quartz.
I was a member of an expedition to Peter’s Mesa March 2008, a place central to Superstition Wilderness treasure legends. This is a sunset view, looking south, southwest. Light raking across the desolation and Miner’s Needle creates a fascinating spectacle. Ancient volcanism, apparent throughout the Superstition Wilderness, is here seen in the texture, form and type of rock as well as the mineral deposits. Miner’s Needle, like Weaver’s Needle (not seen in this view), are eroded volcanic summits. Look closely for the “eye” of Miner’s Needle, easier seen in the cropped heading photograph. To this day, hopeful prospectors search for gold nuggets.
There is one form of volcanism present today as an eerie rumble or hiss, similar to an enormous distant jet engine heard now and then during our two days on the mesa, louder and closer than an overhead plane could produce. The view includes many notable Sonoran Desert plants. Many young Saguaro cactus are in the form of green poles. Catching the dramatic light, on the ridge is a tall single flower of an Agave, known as the “Century Plant” it flowers once in a long life and dies.
Peters Mesa is named after “Old Pete” Gottfried Petrasch, father of Hermann and Rhiney Petrasch. Old Pete worked for Jim Bark for awhile in the 1890s doing odd jobs. Irregular employment gave Pete and Sons time to s searched for the Lost Dutchman Mine in the years following the death of the source of the legend, the “Dutchman” Jacob Waltz. The Petrasches were one of the first groups to search for the mine, and gold in general. They covered almost the entire Superstition range in their combined searches.
Sunrise looking across Music and LaBarge Canyons to Miner’s Needle
On our first day on the mesa, we came across the remains of one of these camps, on the top of Squaw Canyon, a deplorable junk pile discarded by searchers, presumably disappointed, too lazy to cart it out. That March, we were lucky to find the remnants of winter rains in the form of a meager trickle at the bottom of a shallow draw off Peter’s Mesa trail up from La Barge canyon. We had a good time of it until the trip was cut short by a storm front and torrential rains. We were back in Apache Junction before they hit.
Peter’s mesa is at the center of Superstition Wilderness treasure legends. I was a member of an expedition to the top of the Mesa March 2008. This is a sunset view, looking south, southwest. Light raking across the desolation and an approaching storm behind Miner’s Needle create a fascinating spectacle. Ancient volcanism, apparent throughout the Superstition Wilderness, is here seen in the texture, form and type of rock as well as the mineral deposits. Miner’s Needle, like Weaver’s Needle (no seen in this view), are eroded volcanic summits. Look closely for the “eye” of Miner’s Needle, backlit by the storm cloud itself lit by the setting sun. To this day, hopeful prospectors search for gold nuggets around the Needle. There is one form of volcanism present today as an eerie rumble or hiss, similar to an enormous distant jet engine. We heard now and then during our two days on the mesa, louder and closer than a overhead plane could produce. The view includes many notable Sonoran desert plants. Many young Saguaro cactus are in the form of green poles and, on the rim of the ravine running left to right below the closer ridge, an excellent specimen with multiple arms. Catching the dramatic light, on the ridge is a tall single flower of an Agave, known as the “Century Plant” it flowers once in a long life and dies.
Peters Mesa is named after “Old Pete” Gottfried Petrasch, father of Hermann and Rhiney Petrasch. Old Pete worked for Jim Bark for awhile in the 1890s doing odd jobs. Irregular employment gave Pete and Sons time to s searched for the Lost Dutchman Mine in the years following the death of the source of the legend, the “Dutchman” Jacob Waltz. The Petrasches were one of the first groups to search for the mine, and gold in general. They covered almost the entire Superstition range in their combined searches.
On our first day on the Mesa we came across the remains of one of these camp, on the top of Squaw Canyon. This was only deplorable junk a presumably disappointed bunch of searchers were too lazy to cart out. That March, we were lucky to find the remants of winter rains in the form of a meager trickle at the bottom of a shallow draw off Peter’s Mesa trail up from La Barge canyon. We had a good time of it until the trip was cut short by a storm front and torrential rains. We were back in Apache Junction before they hit. This panorama is from our last evening on the Mesa. As the sun set I put the Kodak DSLR with a 50 MM lens on a Manfrotto tripod and hiked a mile higher onto the mesa for a view of Miner’s Needle. I quit only after the last light was extinguished by the approaching front. My reward for persistence was this dramatic light ennobling a craggy desolation. This is a composite of several images, combined using Photoshop. I have since invested in a Canon 24 mm wide angle lens.
Michael Stephen Wills Photography 