“You must do the thing you think you cannot do.”

That is Eleanor Roosevelt’s prescription for gaining strength, courage, confidence.

Staring down the long, nearly vertical descent needed to reach the base of Rattlesnake Creek Falls, I wondered whether this was the kind of thing she had in mind.

But we had hiked this far, an uphill climb on a warm day along a grassy road in state gamelands. And despite years of roaming nearby forests, neither science educator Patti O’Keefe nor I had ever seen these falls in person.

Turning back was not an option.

Like so many things in life, what I imagined was scarier than the facts. I planted my hiking pole and slid down to the first landing place. From there, narrow switchbacks made the descent a little easier. The rock walls just inches from my face were dripping with water and thickly carpeted in moss. About halfway down I found two lengths of rope that were anchored along the trail, their knots giving handholds for the last stretch down to flat rocks at the foot of the falls.

Here, the air was cool and misty, full of the sound of rushing water. Rising from wetlands above on the Pocono Plateau at the border of Barrett and Coolbaugh townships, the water cascaded down rock steps to the wide pool at my feet. Towering rock walls surrounded us. It was easy to imagine early peoples gathering here, breathing in the fresh green smells on a summer day, just as we were.

Pure and clean, from here the water curves away downhill. The open forest closes in around the creek, and it flows onward beneath dense arching stands of rhododendron and mountain laurel.

Reaching the bridge at Route 191, Rattlesnake Creek joins Mill Creek in the heart of Mountainhome. Mill Creek — which once provided power for a tannery, wintergreen distillery and sawmill — flows to the Brodhead on its way to the Delaware River and the Atlantic Ocean.

Along the way, like creeks throughout Monroe County, this water becomes drinking water — for ourselves and our neighbors in Mountainhome, and then for millions of people downstream. Protecting it, keeping it pure, is just common sense.

After a couple of well-deserved photos, Patti and I climbed back up to the trail. Retracing our steps, we had just over a mile and a half walk – downhill this time. The trail takes us across the creek on stepping stones, then the trailhead is in sight.

Have I gained any strength, courage, or confidence? I’m not sure. But now I do know that I can do this — and I’ll do it again.

Carol Hillestad is a hike leader and writer for Get Outdoors Poconos, a grant-funded series administered by Brodhead Watershed Association.