Matthew, Becky and I walked the same route as I did Tuesday. A few more days of rain meant the water was up even more. Alameda Creek positively roared down its canyon, and some of the dry ravines I walked past Tuesday burbled with their own little creeks today. Becky would race ahead to see whitewater. Even from behind her, I could tell she was smiling.
Seven miles, 23 for me for the year. We ate sandwiches, slogged through deep mud, marveled at shelf fungi, watched clouds play around the ridges.