Washington: elemental America

I left the multiplex in south-east London last Wednesday night, a fellow cinemagoer observed, with more than a hint of desperation: "The waterfalls were good." That is about the best that can be said about Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull – the new film in which Harrison Ford trashes, among other things, a fleet of vehicles, the reputations of both himself and the Soviet Union, the history of the pre-Columbian Americas and the geography of Peru.

The saving grace is the movie's final landscape: a screen-busting arc of waterfalls that tumble from a raw, rocky plateau into a chasm as deep as it is wide.

Nowhere on earth can you see such a spectacle of water plunging over a breathtaking brink. But I know exactly where the digital designers saw the magnificent natural blueprint for their computer-generated cascades – because two Wednesdays earlier I had stood on the lip of an ancient catastrophe in the north-west US, gasping at the gaping, wide-screen drama of Dry Falls.

Now, waterfall-watching has long been a respectable tourist occupation, from the Falls of Foyer that decorate Loch Ness via Victoria and Niagara to Iguacu in South America. What unites these disparate cataracts is the presence of water, plunging by the giga-gallon over a vertiginous threshold.

"Dry Falls", you might imagine, is surely a contradiction in terms. But trust me: follow Highway 2 across Washington State, making the odd, brief detour along the way, and you will encounter a succession of natural wonders – including the greatest waterfall the world ever knew.

These Dry Falls were not always dehydrated. Tens of millions of years ago, when the formidable physical geography of North America was taking shape, gravity dragged floodwaters over the edge – with, it is said, 10 times the potency of all the modern world's rivers combined.

You may know Highway 1, along the coast of California. It is often rated as one of the world's greatest drives. Well, I've checked, and can confirm that Highway 2 – the old and now largely abandoned artery aiming due west across the state of Washington – is twice as rewarding.

The starting point is Spokane, a city in the far east of Washington whose curious pronunciation ("spoke-ann") is irrelevant to the vast majority of British tourists, since they will never get there. They should. Because if you like water in your waterfalls, augmented by the uncommon sight of white water in the middle of a city, then Spokane is the place to be.

The Spokane River rises in the Rockies across in Idaho, and by the time it reaches this workmanlike city of half-a-million souls it is raging. The foaming waters force their way through the city centre.

A succession of bridges provide excellent views of the torrents, while cable cars swoop across the dramatic drops.

A poor man's Niagara it may be, but Spokane has plenty of handsome early 20th-century architecture (including the flamboyant 1911 Paulsen building and a majestic 1914 hotel, the Davenport) and two multi-storey car parks that are genuine architectural triumphs (City Ramp Parking and Parkade).

At the downtown branch of Avis, I picked up a car several sizes too big for me, for the princely sum of $64 (£33) a day, including unlimited mileage (which turned out, incidentally, to total 333 miles to the middle of Seattle).

The first few miles were consumed as the suburbs unravelled, but within minutes Highway 2 proper had begun: a ribbon of tarmac clambering over rolling hills, with mighty clouds scudding past like Spielberg special effects while country-music stations drifted on and off the radio.

The two-lane road allows the speed that, half a century ago, thrilled Jack Kerouac: a mile a minute. A sharp decrease from 60mph is demanded only when you reach the occasional drowsy town.

At one such sleepy settlement, Wilbur, I took the first detour, heading northwest to the Grand Coulee Dam. Here, the sting is taken out of the wild Spokane and other rivers, and converted to tame energy. Some of this goes to power the huge fridges at the local Safeway, where I assembled a picnic.

Washington State, at least this part of it, is one big picnic area. In a region where every view seems to include a real-life, geology lesson, I sought the perfect location for an outdoor feast.

Downstream of the dam, the Grand Coulee itself looks as though the gods have gouged a 20-mile strip out of the surface of the planet. Route 155 drills along the eastern edge of this chasm, while the afternoon sun ignites the raw rock walls. The ideal picnic spot turned out to be at Steamboat Rock State Park. This wilderness (with a handy campsite) is named after a giant, brooding boulder that was once an island in the Columbia River but now stands on the canyon floor, in the manner, it is said, of a ship.

As the (no-doubt-GM) tomatoes vied to outshine the sinking sun, I pondered why Washington should be off the map for many Brits. After all, it is nearer, emptier and more scenic than California, and in summer the days linger much longer. The state name is one reason: for most people east of Spokane, "Washington" means the American capital.

The north-westernmost state in the "Lower 48" is the only one named for an American president – but they chose the same one as the US capital. One effect is seen in the title of the new Rough Guide to Oregon & Washington, which has the states in that order so that people heading for DC do not pick up a copy in error.

Perhaps the Northwest Airlines connection that starts tomorrow between Heathrow and Washington's largest city, Seattle, will entice a few more people to come to a state where the Earth will amaze them.u o Washington state can offer some man-made amazements, too. Seventy miles further west from Dry Falls on Highway 2, after a brief tussle with the Columbia River, you reach "Bavaria".

In 1960, the town of Leavenworth faced the prospect of being bypassed by the Great Northern Railroad, Interstate 90 and the modern world. Noting its location in an evergreen valley flanked by soaring mountains, someone started an Alpine motel.

The idea was embraced with much municipal gusto, and today Leavenworth gets a steady stream of American visitors tempted by events such as Oktoberfest. Faux Bavaria might sound awful yet it works, augmented by a fascinating riverside park that touches on the lives of Native Americans – and some chic chalets. I stayed in one on Markt Strasse (or Commercial Street, as US Mail staff know it): the Pension Anna.

As the high-altitude silence descended on what remained of the day, I perched on the Alpine balcony, poured a glass of merlot sourced from a nearby winery, and had the odd experience of listening, via the free Wi-Fi, to Prince Charles and Gordon Brown on the following morning's Today programme. Perhaps I should get out more.

Next morning, Washington time, I did. The park rangers said the spring's bumper snowfalls still obliterated any trails over a mile high, and sent me off instead to the local "world-famous sledding hill".

This modest, low-altitude affair may not be as celebrated as the locals imagine, but it offers the summer hiker plenty of scrambles and brambles. As you inhale a scent of crushed, roasted pine, admire breathless views across to the Cascade Range that bisects Washington State from north to south. You can also pick out the course of the railroad that, miraculously, is bringing the town's passenger trains back to life. A new station on the Chicago-Seattle line with the enticing name of "Icicle" opens next year.

A few miles west of town a cultural aftershock takes the form of the Bitterhof Motor Inn – like any other motel alongside Highway 2, except for the Tyrolean twirls and a 25ft knight in shining armour.

To learn more about the pioneering, continent-crossing railroad, just continue west on Highway 2. As it climbs into the Cascades, the road borrows the bedrock of some of the old rail route.

Stevens Pass, the highest point on the Highway, was originally where the railroad crested the Cascades. It opened in 1893, linking America's east and west coasts by the most northerly route. But the course chosen proved prone to disastrous avalanches; a safer line was selected.

As the tracks and ghosts rusted away, the motor car soon asserted supremacy. Just beyond the pass, at the Iron Goat Interpretive Site, an old railroad caboose stands abandoned. From here, you can walk all the way to Canada or Mexico along the Pacific Crest trail. But if you are lumbered with an oversized Honda, instead turn temporarily off Highway 2 and take a surviving stretch of the Old Cascade Highway, which swerves through a tunnel of overgrown undergrowth for several enthralling miles.

One more detour is essential: a mile off the road to Index. You won't find it in the index to the Rough Guide, but it is a village carved into quarters by the railroad and the Skykomish River (a favourite for rafters). An old mining and logging settlement sustains a general store, a museum, a Town Hall – and a Town Wall, a 400ft-high granite cliff.

I should have ended at Index. At the town of Monroe, 20 miles further on, nature vanished and the ugly urban entrails of Seattle took over. I wanted to make a U-turn and rewind through the bewildering sights of the previous few days, but I had an appointment with real life – and that movie in south-east London. Next time, though, I shall linger in America's natural multiplex: inland Washington, where the nation is at its most elemental.

State Lines: 21. Washington

Population: 5.9 million Area nine times size of Wales Capital Olympia

Date in Union: 11 November 1889

Flower: Pink rhododendron

Motto: "Bye and bye"

Nickname: Evergreen State

Traveller's Guide

Getting there:

Simon Calder paid £463 for a return flight on British Airways (0844 493 0787; www.ba.com), which flies once or twice a day between Heathrow and Seattle. Tomorrow, Northwest Airlines (08705 074 074; www.nwa.com) starts flights on the same route. Many other airlines offer connecting flights via various US gateways, and some offer "open-jaw" itineraries that allow you to fly into Spokane and out of Seattle.

Getting around:

Public transport is non-existent along most of the course of Highway 2. Plenty of companies will rent you a car, but Avis (0844 581 0147; www.avis.co.uk) has the benefit of a branch in downtown Spokane and another in downtown Seattle.

Staying there:

The writer paid $150 (£77), including a hearty Alpine breakfast and free Wi-Fi for saddos, for a night at the Pension Anna (001 509 548 6273; www.pensionanna.com) in Leavenworth.

More information:

Washington State Tourism: 001 800 544 1800 (4pm-1am, BST); www.experiencewa.com.

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