I woke up in a bad mood, as usual. Even after three nights of camping out, I still hadn't gotten used to sleeping on the ground and eating camp food. The rest of the people on the river-rafting trip were cheerful and full of energy, which only made me feel worse. I think I was feeling sorry for myself because my parents had made me go with them on this trip, even though they know I hate the water.

Just to show my parents that I was mad at them, I'd started riding in the supply boat with Sondra, one of the river guides, instead of with them. At first I rode with Sondra just to bug my parents, but after a while I really started to like her. She didn't try to force conversation or convince me that I should be having a wonderful time. Another thing—she didn't make me feel bad about being scared on the river.

Before we hit our first set of rapids on day one, we pulled over to the bank so the guides could scout the rapids and decide how to run them. Sondra untied the bandanna she wore around her neck and tied it around mine. "Here, Alison—for good luck," she said. "I've worn it down more rivers than I can remember, and I've never been hurt."

Then we rode through the rapids. I've never been more scared in my life: the raft bucked and jumped across the waves like a wild horse. We all made it through, though, and when I was finally able to unclench my hands from the safety ropes, I had to admit (to Sondra, not to my parents) that the ride had been kind of exciting. After the first few couple of days, I actually started to relax. I was still scared when we hit white water, but I was beginning to look forward to the part of each day we spent on the river.

That was, until this morning. When we got up, Rob—another river guide—told us that we'd be hitting some of the biggest rapids of the trip that morning. He was his usual smiling self as he explained how we'd do it, but we all sensed that he and the other guides were a little tense. Part of the difficulty was that one set of rough rapids was followed by a calm area and then quickly by another set of rapids. Several large boulders made both rapids more dangerous. The water rushing past the rocks formed whirlpools that could pull you down under the surface if you fell overboard. As Rob was explaining what to do if we went overboard in that stretch of water, I felt sick with disbelief. THIS was my vacation?

I started thinking frantically of a way to avoid the upcoming stretch of river. Then I felt Sondra beside me. "I'm glad you've gotten used to riding with me," she said in a low voice. "You're smart enough to respect the power of the river without letting the fear overwhelm you. That's why I'm glad you're in my boat." I looked up at her, trying not to cry. For once, Sondra was wrong—I was right on the verge of letting fear overwhelm me.

Although the first stretch of the river was calm, I jammed my toes under the front tube and tried different grips on the rope, trying to find the one that felt most secure. Sondra sat behind me, rowing and humming a song. We heard the rapids before we saw them, a low roar up ahead. "The first set is just past that bend," Sondra said. "Get ready to hang on."

We hit the rapids with a plunge and pitched nose-down over a short set of falls. The back end of the raft whipped around like a slingshot. I was sure we were going to flip, but somehow we stayed upright. Each dip and spin was followed by a slam as the front end of the boat, where I was, rose up and smacked into a huge wave. As we careened around a partially submerged boulder, the raft stood on its side and I felt a bone-jarring thump. I held my breath, certain I would be thrown into the river, and then suddenly the current slowed and we were floating in calm water. "We made it!" I thought, flooded with relief. I looked back to smile at Sondra and saw… nothing. "The water must have knocked her off her seat," I thought. I stood up and turned all the way around, expecting to see her climbing up from behind the pile of supplies. It took a minute for the realization to hit me: Sondra was not in the boat.

I don't know if I heard the yelling before I fully realized that Sondra had fallen overboard. Ahead of me, the two spotters who rode ahead of us in kayaks were yelling at me. "To the side!" I caught fragments of what they were saying. Then I understood that they were telling me to row to the riverbank. Just up ahead lay another set of rapids, and if I didn't get out of the current, I would be pulled into them—alone.

I scrambled to the rower's seat and grabbed for the oars. There was only one! The other one must have gotten knocked out of the oarlock when Sondra went overboard, and without it I couldn't control the raft. I felt hot tears as I looked wildly around to see if I could find the lost oar in the water.

"It's under the boat on the left side!" I heard one of the spotters yell. Then I remembered: the oars were tied to the raft in case of just such an emergency. I leaned over the tube on the left side and plunged my hand into the icy water, fishing wildly for the line that held the oar to the boat. I felt it before I saw it, and pulled it toward me. The oar was light, but I'd had no practice placing it in the oarlock. I struggled with the oar, trying to swallow the panic I felt. When I finally got the oar in place, I scanned the surface of the moving water. I saw no sign of Sondra. Had she been sucked down by a whirlpool? Had she panicked? Where was she?

"Go! Go!" shouted the spotters. "They'll find Sondra," I told myself, and I turned to the task of rowing. My first efforts got me nowhere. Although the water was calm, the current was strong, and I was being pulled downstream at a good clip. "I'm not going to make this!" I thought. Images of the frothing water ahead tumbled through my mind. I imagined the slam of the boat against the boulders and the spinning motion that would heave me into the water.

With a violent shake of my head, I tried to focus again on the oars, on rowing. My arms weren't strong enough to pull the oars against the current, so I stood up and heaved my whole weight behind each stroke. "That's it!" I heard one of the spotters yell as I pulled against the river. Although my back was to the shore where I was headed, I could tell I was making headway. I forced myself to ignore how far downstream I had come and not to panic as the low roar of the rapids grew louder.

Then, suddenly, I was in still water. I had made it out of the current. With strokes that suddenly felt as easy as slicing through butter, I closed the rest of the distance between me and the riverbank. Shaking, I tied the raft to a bush. I gulped in air and tried to fight the queasiness that suddenly knotted my stomach. I felt cold and hot at once.

"Sondra!" The shout escaped me as I saw her in the middle of the river, holding onto a rope next to one of the kayaks. "Sondra!" I yelled again. One of the kayakers gave me the thumbs up sign. She was safe. I watched as they pulled her to a small stretch of shore on the opposite bank. Suddenly exhausted, I slid down until I was lying on the bottom of the boat. To my surprise, a great flood of tears formed hot in my eyes and spilled down my cheeks. It wasn't sadness I felt, exactly. It was relief mixed with fear. I felt angry and scared that I'd been in so much danger, but a sweetness, too, was slowly spreading through me. I had been in danger and had come out the other side. My own strength had gotten me through. I had faced my biggest fear—the water—and I had won.

With a grin I couldn't contain, I sat up in the boat and watched as one of the kayakers brought Sondra across the river to where I waited. Although she was safe, she'd been through a lot—I could see it in her face. But her eyes were warm when she climbed into the supply boat. "See, I knew it was smart to have you in the boat with me," she said. By then I was beaming with so much pride and exhilaration I thought I was going to split open. I hugged her and then scrambled to my seat at the front of the boat.

We still had one more set of rapids to go through before we reached our campsite. I turned toward them with a new feeling of openness and excitement. I knew the river was dangerous, but for the first time I also knew that I had sources of strength and resolve I could call on if I needed to. The tight band of fear that had gripped me since the beginning of the trip was loosening a bit. We pushed off and headed back into the current.