I’ve been putting off the Ramona Falls trail for years. I don’t know exactly why — it’s forty-five minutes from Portland, it’s not a difficult hike, and everyone who’s done it describes the falls as worth the trip. Maybe that’s the problem. When something gets described as “worth it” enough times, you start expecting the experience to be diluted by crowds.

March turned out to be a good call. Nine cars in the lot when I arrived at eight-thirty on a Friday morning. By the time I got back, a few more had shown up, but I had most of the trail to myself on the outbound leg.

The loop runs about seven miles depending on which source you consult. There’s some elevation gain — maybe 900 feet total — spread out enough that it doesn’t feel like a climb. The first mile follows the Sandy River before the trail cuts into the forest proper. After thirty-five years of teaching units on Pacific Northwest watersheds, there’s something satisfying about walking the ground you used to show on maps.

The falls are at about mile three. They fan out over a broad basalt formation in a way that doesn’t look entirely real until you’re standing next to them. I stayed longer than I needed to. The mist was heavy enough that I was glad I’d packed a spare fleece.

Practical notes:

• The parking area requires a Northwest Forest Pass ($5 daily, $30 annual). I watched a ranger working the lot while I was eating lunch — he was thorough.
• The Sandy River crossing depends on water levels. In March it was manageable — stepping stones and logs — but I’d check conditions before going in a wet year.
• Some of the rooted sections on the return are slippery when wet, which in March means they’re slippery. Trekking poles helped.

Near the base of the falls, I watched an American dipper working the water for about ten minutes. If you haven’t seen a dipper, it’s worth knowing what you’re looking at: a small, plump, slate-gray bird that hunts underwater by walking along the streambed. It bobs constantly — hence the name. It looks like a biological mistake until you realize it isn’t one.

I’ll be back in late fall to compare notes. But March, with the mist still heavy and the trail mostly empty, might be the right time for this one.