We were not prepared for the brute force of Niagara Falls. The wet wind, coming at us from all angles, billowing our flimsy blue ponchos from the ground up. The boat, heaving and churning in the cold, a cockroach dogpaddling its way toward a vomiting giant. We weren’t getting closer, were we? We were. Hold on to the railings, folks. The water’s about to get real choppy. I squealed and clung to your soggy arm; you squinted and peered into the mist, as buckets of water were thrown against our legs, my cowboy boots overflowing Niagara, the hood on your coat overflowing Niagara, we were happy.
The Approach (Larger)