The current and the wind caught us in their grip, and we swashed out from shore and got under way.
I can't say that trip looked good to me, from the first rod out.

Of course, the river couldn't rear up and get real savage, like the ocean, but there were choppy little waves that were plenty nasty enough, once you got to bucking them with a blum-nosed old scow fastened to a cable that swayed and sagged in the wind that came howling down on us.

And with two rigs on, we filled her from bow to stern; all but about four feet around the edges.
Frosty looked across to the farther shore, then at the sagging cable, and then at me.

I gathered that he had his doubts, too, but he wouldn't say anything.

Nobody did, for that matter.