They remind me of a retired couple who have been together forever, for some reason. "Where are we going now, Mildred?"

Oakland's creeks are flowing these days, replenished by the abundant winter rains. Mere trickles at the end of summer are gurgling, running, cascading.

In Arroyo Viejo Park, smack dab in the middle of East Oakland, the creek runs brownish from the mud, but clear. It flows like it thinks it's a bigger body of water, a small river or something, falling over rocks, curving under the iron bridge.

A red coke can is visible in the creek bed. Some trash has caught in a pile of branches the water has pushed up against pipes traversing the creek. But at this end, the litter isn't too bad. A duck, not one of the retired couple, quacks loudly nearby.

As the creek bed curves, the water flows into large logs placed to stabilize the shore, rippling back into the main stream, thrilled by what its volume enables it to do. Showing off. Past the logs, the water deepens and seems to still. A seagull flies south and another heads west.

Birds chirping. The soothing sound of running water. The scene is tranquil, bucolic. No one would ever believe the park is in East Oakland. An unexpected jewel, with one corner at Olive and Ritchie, just off of, but not visible from, Bancroft Avenue.

The restoration of the creek ---- a 750 linear-foot stretch ---- was completed in January, 2002, involving the planting of native plants along 45,000 square feet of bank, removing 760 tons of concrete from the banks and bed and stabilizing the creek banks. It was a joint project of the City of Oakland, the California Coastal Conservancy and the Alameda County Flood Control and Water Conservation District.

In front of the amphitheater, the creek jogs to the left. It becomes shallower there and looks like a little beach. Then it curves back to the right and toward a stone bridge with an arch. Looking through the arch to where the creek continues, the banks green, the water rippling and circling, it looks more like a spot in some New England town. A towering palm tree dissipates the illusion.

The sun breaks through the voluminous light gray clouds and sunlight glints on the creek's surface as if it's trying to catch the moving water, running away.

Through the arch of the stone bridge and the creek grows louder, gurgling over boulders and through crevices, falling back into the stream, gathering speed and volume, thinking it deserves to be called a small river. Curling its arm to show off its muscles.

A crew of robins, 20 at least, hop along the bank, into the water and splash their wings.

Surging in a straight path now, the creek flows toward a concrete arch and into darkness. At the Arroyo Viejo Children's Center it disappears, just as Oakland's 14 other creeks disappear under the city. Just a few steps from where the creek roared to be recognized as a small river, it is inaudible. Just feet from where you would have needed a dingy or at least tall rubber boots to stand in the creek, you are standing on a dry city street.

Walking along 78th Avenue toward Arthur, you would never suspect a creek flows under foot. Looking down at the ground, you listen intently for the sound of the water, gurgling and flowing.

The Oakland Tribune: Cityside
Leanne McLaughlin, Managing Editor
(510) 208-6447
(510) 208-6477 Fax##
lmclaughlin@angnewspapers.com Email

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