Glide past a tall waterfall and the sheet holds together as you move: white ropes run down it with darker, glassy water between them. It used to be a flat white board drawn as a see-through stipple. The water falls in staggered vertical columns, the sheet widens as it drops and sways in the wind, thin strands peel off both edges as threads, and spray tears off the lip. Moss grows in the spray beside it.
At the foot the water ends in a churning white core. The foam stays round the impact instead of sprawling more than 50 m down the creek, a soft haze of spray hangs there, and mist drifts up the wall. Stand close to a big fall and there is a deep pounding under the roar, from its own recording. Nothing sits in the falling water any more: a boulder on the wall used to show as a dark squiggle low on one curtain.
It is not right yet. From a distance the sheet still shows fine wavy stripes, and checks on November 14 found that a fall sliding down a slab reads close up as a pale, nearly see-through ribbon with wavy ridges. A rebuild of the falling water is in progress and switched off.
