Rarely does a name of a place live up to the expectations quite like Dismal Pool does. In what can only be described as a borderline Lampoon-meets-1980’s road trip, my father decided he wanted to go to The Flume via his outdated GPS unit that took him the longest way possible. As we drove, we passed all sorts of amazing natural beauties, like Diana’s Baths and Echo Lake State Park, that we didn’t stop at. Once we complained about flying past all of these great things, he slammed on his breaks and whipped into the next designated scenic vista area he came across causing a cacophony of honked horns from the people he nearly crashed into during his dramatic display. The scenic vista was quite scenic… Tall mountains dipping gracefully from the sky to the land. We took the requisite selfie or seven before realizing that we were also at the home of Dismal Pool. My father encouraged us all(«you wanted to stop here, so we’re stopping here!») to take the time to walk down the steep hill to absorb the wonder that was Dismal Pool. The small pond is in fact depressing, dreary, and pitiful… Defining«dismal», as it were, to a tee. It was tepid looking water against large boulders in a overgrown area of forest. We, of course, took some more photos. Because… when at Dismal Pool, do as the Dismal Poolians would do. Or… what happens at Dismal Pool stays at Dismal Pool? Some other city’s saying here replaced with Dismal Pool. Honestly? There’s no reason to stop here, unless you appreciate not being let down. Because what the sign says is exactly what you’re gonna get. No false advertising here!
