I have always loved a good survival tale......

I have always loved a good survival tale. No, really, I will look through those late night documentaries and docudramas, like an archaeologist in search of an ancient Buddhist text. I will watch, listen to or read the newest version of the oldest tale of endurance with the enthusiasm of someone who has never heard the story and has no idea how it ends. It is not the ending, it is the journey to the ending that I love. Some people enjoy a good survival tale to witness the endurance of the human spirit in challenging times. For me it is different. I love to watch the process that I would like to call the "unpeeling" of the human spirit. It is the process of slow disappearance of the "ground" that we ,as humans, cling to, that fascinates me. As I experience compassion and empathy for these individuals, I feel like I am practicing. They are slowly losing the idea of control. There is a process of surrendering to their helplessness. They are usually left speechless in a meditative state. Of course, they survive or it wouldn't be a survival tale and in the end, it all looks like grace. A kind of celebration of life.

It is so easy to see your self with great courage when you do not need to be brave. I know I am guilty of this.

Alan and I were tossed a little grace on Monday night. We were at home,tucked in warmly, in front of a fire, with homemade tortillas roasting in a cast iron frying pan on the stove. The winds were blowing at about 60 kilometers an hour and the wind chill factor was seriously below freezing. We had about a foot of snow. But we were safe and warm and so were the cats.

The marina called. The boat we caretake was in trouble. It would seem that the dock that the 16 ton, 45 foot boat was moored to had broken loose, and how long the one chain holding it to the marina would last was dupious. We needed to move the boat to the next secure mooring.

Alan and I went in search of really warm clothes. As soon as I realized that my dollar store gloves were going to have to do, the ground started giving way. When we arrived at the dock, this huge boat was rocking and rolling. The boat was white and everything else was black. The dock.....gee did I just say 'dock'.....the ice flow that it was attached to, was flapping on the rolling waves like a piece of cotton in the wind. There was only one small chain attaching it to the marina. To even get to the ropes that held the boat to the flailing ice covered dock, meant jumping from the stable dock we were on to this wild, unpredictably gyrating one the boat was attached to. I looked at my dollar store gloves.

I jumped and quickly got low, while Alan jumped onto the swim grid on the back of the boat and held on for dear life. The waves lapped over the grid. Alan was now in the boat unplugging wires and cables and getting tools we would need. I crawled along the ice and snow covered dock. Any lapse of in concentration, would find myself flung uncontrolably all over the dock. The dock had a life of it's own. I only allowed myself to look at the blackness of the water once. I knew it was dangerous to even consider the idea of finding myself in that water. My ground was very unstable. The dollar store gloves had frozen to my skin.

I ignored the terror in my heart that awakened every time I saw Alan make another jump to the boat. I knew that I would be be helpless if he didn't make it. Now I never did take physics, but that boat looked away to big and heavy to allow me to pull it compliantly to the stable dock. I felt like a small child in front of this huge weight. But Alan was clearly leaning down to untie the boat, so I started working on my end. The knots were frozen. We needed to find a way to melt these knots. Alan jumped back on the boat and came back with a saucepan. "Pour water over the ropes", he yelled at me. I looked at my dollar store gloves.

I crawled over to the ropes, hung my arm over the side of the heaving dock and started to pour water over the ropes. My hands screamed with pain. It was strange how they felt like they were burning rather that freezing. This was the lowest point of the night. We had been out on that snow covered dock hanging on for dear life for over an hour. I told off my dollar store gloves and put them in my pocket. That small piece of ground was gone.

Now, we didn't have to live off toothpaste for 49 days, and no one needed to cut of a limb with a can opener, but I had a survival adventure. It is so easy to have courage when there is nothing to be brave about. We moved the boat, came home, re lite the fire and ate the tortillas. The cats did not seem to realize that we had gone.