If you cross the bridge at the edge of town near the jail you might see an exit to a small park. There is a standard large wooden information board containing more vandalism and profanity than map coordinates and historical footnotes. The softwood forest is carpeted with fine red needles from pine and spruce. The root system weaving its way across the sandy soil make a treacherous hazard with snags and snares running the gambit. The trail from the parking lot descends to a look out point on the edge of the tallest hill, indeed the entire park rests along this ridge. With a magnificent panoramic view of the blue hills and behind those, white capped mountains some thousand leagues distant. Beneath the edge of the cliff lies the cold rushing waters of an ancient and furious river, surging and tearing at the soil and rocks some fifty feet below. To run the gauntlet one must be in excellent condition. Solemn countenance and broad awareness are required. A single mistake could result in catastrophy. But to the sure footed and brave, an adventure awaits which awards its players a glimpse from the margins of vision the greatest sense of accomplishment.