There are places that feel real, and then there are places that feel remembered—like something pulled from the pages of a story you once knew by heart. Only in a Fairy Tale is my attempt to capture that feeling at Multnomah Falls—a place that blurs the line between the natural world and something far more timeless.
Standing at 620 feet, Multnomah Falls is the tallest waterfall in Oregon, cascading in two distinct tiers that feel almost deliberately composed by nature itself. But what has always drawn me back isn’t just the height—it’s the way everything converges: the moss-covered basalt cliffs, the soft mist that hangs in the air, and of course, the iconic Benson Bridge, which seems to float effortlessly between worlds.
In Only in a Fairy Tale, I leaned into that sense of wonder.
The composition centers around the vertical flow of the falls, uninterrupted and ethereal, while the bridge provides a quiet human counterpoint—a reminder of our presence, but also our smallness within such grandeur. The long exposure transforms the water into something more like silk than liquid, softening its power into a dreamlike veil. The surrounding greens—lush, saturated, alive—frame the scene like a living cathedral, pulling you deeper into the image.
What I love most about this scene is its balance. There’s strength in the falling water, yet a stillness in the atmosphere. There’s structure in the bridge, yet an organic chaos in the cliffs and foliage. It’s this harmony that gives the image its storybook quality—something that feels less like a photograph and more like a place you’ve imagined before.
But Multnomah Falls isn’t just visually striking—it carries a rich history rooted in both culture and legend.
According to local Native American lore, the falls were created to win the heart of a young woman. During a time of great illness among her people, she offered herself as a sacrifice to the Great Spirit. In response, the waterfall was formed, both honoring her bravery and creating a place of beauty that would endure for generations. Whether taken as myth or metaphor, it adds another layer to the experience of standing there—you feel that this place matters.
In more recent history, the site became accessible in the early 20th century, thanks in part to the vision of Simon Benson, who funded the construction of Benson Bridge in 1914. His goal was simple: to make this incredible place more accessible to the public. Over a century later, that vision continues to shape the experience of millions who visit each year.
And yet, despite its popularity, there are still moments—quiet, fleeting—when Multnomah reveals something deeper. A shift in the light. A break in the wind. The way the mist softens the world just enough to feel unreal.
That’s the moment I was waiting for.
Only in a Fairy Tale isn’t just about documenting a location—it’s about preserving a feeling. The kind that makes you pause, breathe a little deeper, and wonder if what you’re seeing is entirely real… or something just beyond it.
