My father used to drag us kids over there, told us the whole story; even for a kid it was impressive. But nowadays the only times I cross the mountains is to plant my butt in a beergarden in Leavenworth and get soaked. The sausages at King Ludvig's are fabulous. But I see I'm going to have to make a pilgrimage out to Dry Falls later this year, when it's somewhere between 100 degrees and a skating rink.