How to Ford a River

1. You need a willingness to get your feet wet (and cold).

When hiking the 26 miles or so through Crow Pass, you'll see snow-capped mountains (even in August), immense glaciers, bears, moose, and bright, red salmon who have come all the way in from the ocean to spawn. If you're lucky, as we were, sunlight will stretch across the vast expanse of mountains and valley, and give it a all a golden glow at dusk.

But the part you'll hear about most from anyone who's done it, or knows of it, is the crossing. (To confirm this assertion, I actually got pulled over for driving too slowly post-hike, so sore I could barely walk, and the policeman didn't give me a ticket. Instead, he asked all about the crossing, and we swapped hiking stories. Alaska is so cool.)

In order to hike from Girdwood to Eagle River, more than an hour's drive, one must ford a river perhaps 40 meters across, waist-deep and as icy cold as the glaciers from which it flows. And it does flow, quite rapidly. We had been talking about the crossing for some time, loudly, out of nervousness and a desire to scare away the bears.

"I wonder how much farther to the crossing?"
"I wonder how high the water will be?"
"Is it better to cross in the evening or the morning?"
"How much do we have left after the crossing?"

2. It is essential that you bring along good friends to keep you steady.

Since we camped over night, we all had a change of clothes and extra shoes. We (Britta and I) also had two very important hiking partners: the river guide (Cate, our intrepid leader), and the Boy (Jordan, capable of carrying a 60-pound pack and my shivering pup). Hiking boots were tied to backpacks, backpacks unclipped in case of slips -- not a good idea to be tied to a huge weight downriver -- and our tired feet had their first invigorating feel of cold sand and smooth stone while we strategized.

Despite the sign pointing hikers toward the usual spot, Cate explained that the river patterns change seasonally and even daily. She walked up and down the riverbank looking carefully at changes in depth, the current, for big rocks and smooth entry and exit points. Jordan and I handed our trekking poles to her, and he hoisted Leona up into his arms. It was time to go.

3. Whenever possible, face the current head-on.

We held tight to each others' backpacks thus forming a circle of support. Cate, out in front, used the trekking poles to check for depth and anything we might stumble over. She warned us of slippery areas. Jordan, Britta and I side-stepped behind her to keep balance against the current. Our feet went numb after the first 30 seconds or so; it was not possible to feel our way along, and despite our desire to move quickly to the other side, we took lots of breaks to regain our footing and discuss our next movement.

Leona barely twitched a muscle, quite content to watch things happen from her safe little perch. She now considers Jordan to be her savior; for the rest of the journey she would not let him out of her sight.

4. Celebrate on the other side.

These are the things, life's challenges overcome, new experiences, new friendships and accomplishments, that make me feel most alive. We took long swigs of Jim Beam on the second shore and swapped stories with a group of Army guys who had crossed just before us. I didn't know them and probably never would have otherwise, but we shared something that day that made me understand why people always ask about the crossing. While each experience is unique to the group, the day and the individual, each person has made the same choice to take this chance, and come out stronger for it.

Likewise, it was a little risky for me to move all the way out here to Anchorage, Alaska, but it was time for something new, an opportunity to move forward. I get such comfort in knowing that we can all, to a point, choose our life stories. If this had been a disaster, it would still have been a memorable experience (remember that crazy time you moved to Alaska to be with a boy you barely knew?), and I still would have come out stronger for it. But instead, I have an editing job that I like, a boy that I love, and landscape so beautiful that I often forget to breathe. I got my feet wet, I faced every current, and relied on new friends and old to steady me along the way.

You know, we do have a guest room. Come join the celebration!