Chae Son is Spontaneous

Plenty of daylight remained at Chae Son National Park—certainly enough, I thought, for a leisurely saunter up to what sounded to me like the park’s star attraction. (How can you not love a waterfall named “Wet Mother”?) The falls were described on displays at the visitors’ center, but they didn’t appear on any of the maps. I asked directions.

“Where’s your friend?” answered the uniformed personnel. I confessed that I was by myself. “Better not go alone. Might get dark.” Behind the smile seemed to be information that I would not be offered until we had formed a weightier relationship.

Which was fine, because at that moment I was still navigating the day by feel and planning to be back in my own bed before Sunday became Monday. It was easy to convince me to take the path more traveled by.

And that, of course, made all the difference. No, I didn’t slip and break my leg or run out of gas or steer the truck into a ditch. All I did was follow the well-trodden and well-signed track to the top of a nearby six-stage set of baby falls—Wet Mother’s young daughter, if you will.

I came across singing insects and hot springs and goofy trees and massage mats and any number of other delights that served to sharpen my appetite for ChaeSon. The place was simply too nice to drive away from. By the time I had tracked the cicada sounds and soaked the feet and photographed the epiphytes, the decision was made: Gotta stay another day!

Earlier that morning, I had left Chiang Mai planning only an afternoon jaunt to the countryside. It was just me in a borrowed truck—no toothbrush, no fresh undies. The owners of the wheels had asked that I give their burly ride a bit of exercise while they were away.

I figured I’d only make it as far as the next district, where I would sample a bowl or two of the local specialty before circling back to the barn. But somehow each new ridge kept crying out “find out what’s behind me!” until I found myself at the entrance to this charming mountain park that I recalled somebody saying once had lots to recommend it.

The proprietor of a funky country inn was glad to see a customer on a Sunday night. He had a map that gave a few hints about how to find Wet Mother. In the morning I was on the trail just after the playing of the national anthem. I reached the base of the falls by 10. The rainy season had washed away a couple of bridges (maybe that’s what the park official had hesitated to tell me?), but I got across the stream every time without risking life and limb.

Made it home for dinner Monday with a wide grin that I’m still living off of!