The waterfall walk that closed after the 2024 storms reopens in a Wicklow valley this month with a longer path and no fee

The valley’s song of water is back, and with it a revived trail that’s longer, gentler in places, and free to wander. After months of repairs and patient planning, the path threads towards a roaring cascade, beneath silver birch and moss-dark granite, feeding the simple joy of stepping where river meets rock.

A valley stitched back together

Storms in early 2024 tore into this quiet glen, ripping out footbridges and carving fresh scars on the hillside. What followed was a careful rebuild, part craft and part listening to the land. Local crews set stone by stone, and volunteer groups hauled timber, brush, and gravel to mend the most fragile bends.

“We wanted to put the valley first,” said a project engineer, pausing by a knot of alder. “That meant slower work, lighter touches, and structures that yield before they break.”

Today the route feels familiar yet new—recognisably wild, but subtly guided. You notice it in the way drainage gullies pull heavy rain from the tread, and in the way path lines avoid the boggy temptation of a shortcut.

What’s new on the trail

The path now unfurls a little further, adding a loop that skirts a ferny shoulder of the valley and returns with a wider view of the falls. There’s a compact boardwalk across a seep, a low footbridge placed just above flood reach, and a couple of new viewing nooks where spray dusts your sleeves.

Look for waymarks—small, timber posts with understated arrows—that keep you off the eroding braids of older tracks. A short section near the car park is now smoother, welcoming prams and steady wheelchairs, before the surface turns rockier and the climbing grows playful.

“People asked for more time with the water,” a local ranger noted. “So the loop lingers near riffles and pools, then climbs just high enough for that big breath of the valley.”

Access, cost, and timing

There’s no entry fee—a deliberate choice, the team says, to keep the walk open to all and to share stewardship rather than sell it. Parking is limited, as always in a narrow glen, and weekends can feel busy by late morning. Come early for low light, birdsong, and cooler air, or drift in late afternoon when the gorge turns amber and the falls glow.

Public access runs from dawn to dusk; beyond that, the valley is for the owl and the otter. Buses serve the wider area, but the last stretch remains a rural approach best tackled by foot, by bike, or with a designated driver who truly likes hairpin bends.

Safety and stewardship

This is a living landscape, and even with new drainage and handlines, water moves where water wants. Expect slick rock, shifting gravel, and the kind of wind that changes conversations at the falls. Good footwear, a light shell, and a pocket snack will tilt the day in your favour.

• Pack out all rubbish, stick to waymarked paths, and give wildlife space—your quiet is their shelter.

“Care isn’t a rulebook,” said one volunteer, shouldering a muddy spade. “It’s how we say thanks to a place that holds us up.”

What you’ll notice when you return

The soundscape is richer after heavy rains—a bassy rumble under a lace of spray—while dry spells pull back the curtain, revealing the sculpted ribs of the river’s bedrock. You’ll walk through cool pockets of shade and sudden shafts of light, catching a dipper’s arrow-flight or the white wink of a wagtail’s tail.

Benches appear where a view pulls you to pause, not where a planner thought you might sit. Steps are cut low and honest, fit to the grain of stone so your stride feels natural. In muddy places, crushed aggregate firms the ground without that concrete glare that can drain a wild path of its character.

Why longer feels better here

More distance doesn’t mean more effort; it means more choice. The extended loop gives families a gentler outing, while restless legs can tack on steeper spurs that flirt with heather and height. The route now breathes, letting people spread into pockets so the waterfall keeps its spell, not a crowd’s clamour.

The valley’s custodians hope that free access fosters a culture of reciprocity: pick up a wrapper, close a gate, nod to the next walker. The absence of a pay barrier is an invitation to be present, not a dare to be careless.

Planning a simple, good day

Bring a small flask for that fairytale moment when steam curls into mist, and the river’s voice folds around your break. If weather darkens, the forest rises like a wall, but the waymarks stay honest, pulling you back to the lane and a waiting boot.

Local cafés in nearby villages lean into the season—brown bread, strong tea, and that fireside heat that turns a wet walk into a story. You’ll carry it home: the clean ache of calves, the pebble in a pocket, and the hush that follows water long after the trail ends.

“Sometimes the best fix is time,” a warden murmured, watching the gorge breathe. “We just helped the path find its shape again.”