The sun’s just risen. First sign of a clear day since Saturday morning. The frost on our boats and the trees is already steaming.
The river continues to rise. Each night I mark the waterline with a stick, only to find it drowned by morning.
Our camp is on a small bluff on a bend in the river just above Baton Rogue. Grape vines, kudzu, and sycamores protect it from the wind. Judging from all the yipping last night coyotes like it too.
With some dry branches I reignited the embers from last night’s fire. Using it to warm my hands and our breakfast.