nailed to the land
Hasty rolled like the Columbia rolls, sometimes backwards in summer, when runoff flooded the lake. Or in winter when ice shut the creek down and water was apt to rise uphill.
He’d been caught before in both. He tried to stay steady and roll like the Columbia rolls without good or bad weather. A raft sticking close to the bank, he figured, was safe enough.
Hasty Jubilee drank the river mixed with whiskey and it made him crazy. Sometimes he flooded, rising, spilling the creek-beds, ever determined not to go down stream.
It wasn’t much different for the Columbia or Hasty. They both kept trying.