In Bahir Dar the morning after my "rasta" incident, I embarked for Blue Nile Files—but with a warning.
"It hasn't rained in a long time," the driver said, as we arrived at the guide station. "Don't be surprised if you arrive to see a trickle more than a fall."
The good news about this warning was that it set my expectations extremely low: I viewed it as a triumph to see more than a few drops falling over the edge of the cliff, even if it wasn't the sheet of water some guidebooks show. I was let down, however, at having been scammed again. The young men who mobbed me upon exiting the taxi insisted I wouldn't reach whatever remained of the Falls on my own, which the brevity and easy of my hike (our short hike—I believed them) immediately showed to be untrue.