Steven Fotheringham's Blog (1)

Four Sierra rivers flowing cold and crystal clear,

Draining snowpacks before man could dream.

I swam in the Stanislaus before there was hair on my chin.

I pitched my tent by the Tuolumne and it sang a lullabye.

I tasted the Merced as it played-sprayed all misty upon me.

I cooled my feet in the San Joaquin while bucks and…