In Sarek National Park you will not find many bridges, and this is not some oversight of the park designers — it is simply the character of the place. The only bridge sits in the very heart of the park, and for the autumn and winter season a helicopter takes it away. Rapaätno, Ruohtesjohka and countless tributaries whose names are impossible to remember mean that every river is a separate decision. Over the years of walking across Lapland I have learned to treat a river crossing not as an obstacle that must be overcome at all costs, but as a decision point that requires cool judgement rather than courage.
When to cross — the time of day matters
Most rivers in Lapland are fed by melting glaciers and snow, so the water level rises together with the temperature during the day. The highest river level usually falls in the afternoon and early evening, when the sun has already warmed up the glaciers in the upper part of the catchment. The best moment for a crossing is in the morning, before this cycle gathers speed. The same river that barely reaches your knees in the morning can rise to your waist by the afternoon. So if you arrive at the ford too late and the situation is not clear, it is better to pitch camp and cross in the morning.
How to assess the current before stepping in
Before you take a step into the water, give yourself a few minutes to watch the river. The simplest measure of the speed is a thrown stick — you watch how fast it travels and at the same time you see how the current lies in relation to the banks. Turbid water usually means a high level after rains or intensive snowmelt — you cannot see the bottom, the stones are slippery, the risk grows. A milky-grey colour is glacial water, carrying suspended fine minerals — it is very cold, usually a few degrees above zero, fast, and it causes instant numbness of the legs.
When the depth begins to exceed your knees with a clearly fast current, the situation already calls for very good judgement. Depth up to the waist with a strong current is simply the moment when you step back and look for another place.
Where to look for a ford
A ford is usually where the river spreads out wide — a widening of the bed means less depth and lower speed of the current. It is worth looking at:
- bends, because on the outside the water undercuts and deepens the bed, while on the inside it deposits shallows;
- places where the river splits into several arms, because each of them separately is shallower than one closed channel;
- sections where stones stick out of the current, which usually suggests that the bottom is not deep.
Avoid, on the other hand, all places directly above and below waterfalls or distinct steps — a fall into the water before such an edge is a situation practically without return.
The technique of a safe crossing
Trekking poles work as a third point of support — hold them on the upstream side, so that you can lean on them, and not so that the current rips them out of your hands. You unclip the hip belt and chest strap of the backpack before entering the water — if you fall, the backpack must not drag you down. Enter the current at an angle, slightly upstream, not perpendicular — then the current helps you to hold your line, instead of knocking you sideways.
In a group it works well to cross with several people lined up across the current, holding each other by the shoulders, not by the hands. The strongest person stands on the upstream side, as a shield for the rest.
If you fall into the water
The first rule: do not fight the current, because you will not win. Turn onto your back, point your legs forward and slightly upwards — you push off any stones with your legs, not with your head. Do not try to stand up in the current if the water reaches above your knees, because the current will knock you over. Let yourself drift towards the bank and wait until the current slows down or the water becomes shallow. Remember that glacial water is so cold that thermal shock and loss of feeling in the legs come within a few minutes — you have to act fast.
When I say no
It happened to me on Rapaätno that I turned a group back during a trek. Not because we could not have made it across — we could have. The calculation simply came out unfavourably: the risk of injury, wet gear, several days of walking still ahead of us. The satellite communicator that I carry on every expedition is the last line of rescue, not the first.
I turn back when the current reaches above the knees and the bottom is not visible, when the water after rains is clearly swollen, when somebody in the group is clearly frightened. This last signal I treat as seriously as any technical data.
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