Stepped slate plates the width of a kitchen table, loud enough that you stop talking.
The archive
Every creek that has held the week since the first, in reverse order of honour. Scores are final. Appeals are not read.
10 creeks honoured
Spring-fed and glass-clear through a coulee the glaciers forgot to flatten.
Moss to the waterline and a dipper that works the same forty feet all morning.
Limestone shelves and a green pool deep enough to jump into, barely.
Snowmelt at four degrees. Nobody has ever stayed in it for a full minute.
Runs in a sunken lane under hazel; you hear it a hundred yards before you see it.
Beaver-managed, which the panel counts as landscaping by a qualified party.
Falls through slate spoil in a stair of small, precise waterfalls.
Rainforest dark, with salmon in October and nobody there in February.
The bed glitters. It is mica, not gold, and the panel finds that funnier.