Mud. Muddy muddy mud.
Mud goes all the way down, you know. Between the rocks, and in the sand, and past the clay. Mud.
I’ve been on hikes like that. I’d like to think I’d be as calm as Hubris is about it.
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“And you know what that means? Mud surfing!”
“Gaghuh!”
Maybe Hubris isn’t so much calm, but still emotionally drained from the last Outdoorfest, which only *seems* like a long time ago.
That much gaghugh . . . might just be a problem.