A once thriving logging operation sluiced logs down to a village below. A staging area for logs and a thriving village with a homogenized Euro culture that prospered. Beautiful homes and picket fences with well manicured gardens and grounds were etched out of the rugged environment. Chinese gardeners maintained the tenuous grooming. The village withered, the homes became a shambles and then burned or were dismantled. Like so many ventures up the Gorge, most have vanished into ashes, vegetation and graves. The area before you is reputed to be a gateway to some graves. As you stand hip deep in the tangles, with rugged rock precipices as a back drop, reverence for me, has always been the invisible tether that stops me from venturing deeper into the forest. Just knowing it is there, or to some might be there, is enough for me.