My father, a Baptist preacher, lived near the Rogue River in southern Oregon when I was in Junior High School. He lead a couple to the Lord, and they insisted on being baptized in the Rogue river. The water was cold and high in the banks because of the Spring thaw, with water running off the snow pack in the mountains. Dad baptized the lady first, head upstream, feet downstream. When he lowered her under the water (quoting appropriate Scripture) the force of the river swept her feet out from under her. Dad had to chase her down stream, holding her hands with one hand and the other behind her neck and shoulders, until he could step on her feet to get them on the gravel bed of the river. When he baptized the husband, Dad made sure to baptize him feet up stream and head down stream so the force of the icy river planted his feet firmly on the river bottom. Both husband and wife came up out of the river together, rejoicing and praising God.