When Summer started high school near Anchorage in 2012, she felt depressed, anxious, raw. She was only 13 years old but regularly chatted online with men in their 20s and was even planning to meet one of them. She coped with bad feelings by burning and cutting her own skin.
Summer's mother, stepfather and the school counselor were worried about her. So the counselor gave them some options: Individual therapy, family counseling or a "wilderness-therapy" program near the southeast Alaska town of Wrangell.
Summer, whose last name is not being used because she is still a minor, had social anxiety and considered herself "a homebody." The thought of going into the woods for weeks with strangers stressed her out.
But she needed to get out of town for a while. The world she knew seemed to be closing in on her. So Summer chose the wilderness.
Natural consequences
Alaska Crossings, part of a nonprofit called Alaska Island Community Services, is in its 15th year of serving Alaskans 12 to 18 years old with behavioral issues.
The program's clinical staff oversees therapeutic aspects of the 64-day program as field guides lead at-risk youth on hiking, canoeing and camping trips in the lush forests and pristine bays of Tongass National Forest surrounding the small island community of Wrangell.
Alaska Crossings director Stephen Helgeson estimates that more than 1,500 adolescents from across Alaska have participated since 2001. Unlike similar programs in the Lower 48, most clients come from low-income families, with about half of them coming from remote Alaska villages. Medicaid covers most or all of the costs, Helgeson said.
The program has strict admission guidelines. For instance, it doesn't take kids with histories of abusing others or those who are severely emotionally disturbed.
"Typically they are struggling at home and school and sometimes have run-ins with the law," said clinical director Jerrie Dee Harvey.
According to several staff members, most of the kids have experienced some sort of trauma. They've been emotionally, physically or sexually abused. Someone close to them died or committed suicide. They've been neglected or gone hungry.
In many cases, clients have already undergone traditional residential treatment. For some, Alaska Crossings is their last chance.
"We're not doing trauma therapy or intensive therapy with them," said Harvey. "We're teaching a lot of kids self-care and social skills as well as emotional regulation."
Field groups are broken down by sex and have a cap of three clients per guide. Most of the time is spent in the field. While surrounded by natural wonders and the ever-present threat of bad weather, guides utilize what many in the field of wilderness therapy call "natural consequences."
"We're not just out there camping," Harvey said. "It rains in southeast Alaska because it's a rainforest. That's not always that fun. So we use that as a metaphor. There are things in our lives we can't control but it's how we react to it that we can."
Said a former client who now works for Alaska Crossings: "It showed me that I was capable, that life was good when everything is stripped away. You don't have to push and push. You can just step back and enjoy life. You just might have to be a little more resourceful."
Vetting programs
Some wilderness therapy programs in the Lower 48 have come under fire in recent years for being little more than remote boot camps that break kids down while they're trapped in the woods and vulnerable. In some cases, children have been injured in such punishing camps.
But Helgeson said Alaska Crossings does not follow a punitive model.
"We don't tear them down. We build them up. We try to get these kids to realize what their strengths are," Helgeson said.
Keith Russell, a Western Washington University researcher who has studied Alaska Crossings, wrote in an email, "They have state of the art risk management systems and have an excellent reputation."
Alaska Crossings is accredited by CARF International, a well-known accrediting body that does not specialize in wilderness therapy but more broadly on residential behavioral treatment.
A top academic in the field, Michael Gass of the University of New Hampshire, said anyone considering one of these programs for at-risk youth should investigate thoroughly.
"There are four questions a parent is going to ask," Gass said: "Does it work? Is it safe? How can I tell a good from a bad program? And is it worth my money? Good programs will actively be involved in pursuing answers to those questions."
Wilderness reflections
As soon as clients arrive at Alaska Crossings' main facility, they receive physicals to make sure they are healthy enough to handle the outdoor activities. They also receive psychological evaluations.
Clients stay 72 hours in a floating house with generator-powered lights, a fully stocked kitchen and pantry, several rooms with bunk beds and a shared bathroom.
They get hiking packs and equipment for the rest of the trip, things like sleeping bags, raincoats, whistles and bug nets. They learn about bear safety, proper boating techniques, how to cook in the field and make warm shelters out of a tarp. Guides run drills to prepare for emergencies.
Once everyone is up to speed, the groups head out for a series of increasingly rigorous canoeing and hiking adventures. As they hike up Woronofski Pass, paddle canoes in the straits near the Keku Islands or make their way up the Stikine River toward the Canadian border, they also work on individual behavioral plans.
A couple of weeks into the program, clients have begun to figure out the physical aspects and buckle down on the emotional. They get personal challenges, things to work on the next day.
"It's intensive, which means I'm not going to talk to my therapists once a week and forget those skills because (out in the field) I am practicing them day in and day out," Harvey said.
Summer, now almost 18, recalls her time in the field fondly. She remembers eagles flying overhead as she and the girls in the group hiked in the mountains. Deer watched from the lush foliage. A black bear even entered their camp.
While canoeing in the ocean, she saw thousands of screeching seagulls and paddled near pods of orcas. Seals sunbathed on the rocky shores and sometimes followed the boats for miles.
"We held sea cucumbers, lots of starfish, and we even held jellyfish by the backside or we would pick jellyfish out of the water that didn't sting," she said.
Members of her group, called "the A-Team," weren't excited about all the wildlife they encountered.
"There were a lot of banana slugs and it was very gross," Summer said. "Once a banana slug crawled on my sleeping bag when I was sleeping -- so nasty!"
They were also wet a lot of the time. If it wasn't the rain, it was the waves. If it wasn't the waves, it was moisture soaking through tents and sleeping bags.
"It made us cold, uncomfortable and smelly," Summer said. "I got upset a lot having to deal with being soaking wet and smelling like mold."
But even when she was upset, guides and other clinical staff who met the group at various stages in the field reminded her to examine her needs in her immediate environment as well as how helpful her reactions were. If she realized she was able to react positively in a downpour in the middle of nowhere, maybe she would feel more capable back home when regular life caused stress.
As Harvey, Alaska Crossings' lead clinician, said, "Wilderness is just a vessel for that intentionality and learning opportunities. It has nothing to do with canoes. It has nothing to do with hiking. That's just the thing we chose."
Summer said the program was challenging but she's glad she went.
"That was the favorite and best time in my life," she said.
Shane Castle is a freelance writer who lives in Palmer