Plan B - June 4th - Iroquoia

Allow me to point out right off the bat that Plan B is the title of a very good book by Sharon Lee and Steve Miller. The very good book is part of a very excellent series.

In general, people consider fear to be a negative stimulus. Still, for some reason, they tend to seek out the thrill-factor. Amusement parks know this. They make a good income on this fact.

This presents a lovely dichotomy. Your average person does not like to be afraid and yet pays good money to ride the "Drop Zone". What gives?

Me, I think it has to do with predictability. I think that people have no problem with being afraid so long as they also believe they are safe. It's like watching a movie. You know the good guys will win and that nobody really ever dies.

Now, the problem with predictability is that in daring a predictable outcome one can never really come way feeling brave. It's a bit like signing on for the crucifixion and knowing for sure that the resurrection is in the bag. There is not a whole lot of glory in that kind of deal.

I've never really liked amusement parks. I find them artificial and noisy. That said, I experienced one of the most self-defining moments of my life at the C.N.E when I was 12. My grandmother put us on the gondola ride thinking it was a round trip deal. It was a long ride. It was also 1 way. So I had to be brave and I had to be smart and I followed the gondola line back, on foot, with my 9 year old brother in tow and I was successful. I got us through. I developed a Plan B.

In my late teens I decided if I was actually experiencing fear in any given situation then it must be dire indeed. By then I had figured out that fear is self-limiting. The trick was to get competent at things so that the little stuff would not hold me back. It made good sense to limit the controlling aspect of fear and keep it lurking over in the corner along with the bug-eyed-monster.

This policy has served me well over the years. It gets me places. It encourages me to keep on learning and to be flexible. You may remember the T.V. show "McGyver". I admired the character for more than his looks.

On Saturday we went out to Mt. Nemo to pick up our hike. I was out with Donna and my brother and the kids, but no dog. The bother was wrangling two dogs. We figured 3 adults, 4 kids and 2 dogs was about right. The weather forecast had promised a p.o.p of 60% with thunderstorms. I am not an advocate of hiking in a storm, but thunderstorms being what they are and about 2k between each car parking spot, well, we figured we could wait them out easily enough. We all knew that p.o.p 60% is no big deal.

We set out in a light rain. The high was supposed to be 23'. Rain is good in that instance. It keeps the bugs down.

The rain persisted through about 2.5k of well-fenced and tall soggy grass. The paige wire fencing on the quarry side of the trail and on the road side of the trail was impressive.The aggregate is clearly taking Safety to the nth degree, although a paramedic would need wire cutters to get though to an injured hiker, the likelihood of impulsively running out into traffic or into the quarry is nil.

As the trail left the fence run to turn right and head down Blind Line, so also did the weather turn. The wind picked up. Bits of new made  leaf snapped off the trees. The temperature dropped slightly.

A thunderhead cruised into view. It was not the friendly sort. It was the jagged-edged toothy sort. The sky was not precisely green but it was thinking green thoughts. There was nothing casual about those thoughts either.

My brain began doing calculations that involved the merits of lying in a ditch and the most efficient way of getting back over the 2.5k to Azsa (the van). This was when the lightning hit and the thunder sounded at the same time (never good) and my youngest child froze, screeched and jumped into my arms. Then the rain came sheeting down.

Holding the kid, mindful of the other 3 kids, and 2 dogs, we watched two cars splash by. The smell of ozone wafted by. We were spared the necessity of stepping out in front of the next car by the fact that it stopped voluntarily and the young man behind the wheel offered succor. At the same time a sharp whistle beckoned us over to a nearby garage.

My brother was dispatched to get the van and the rest of us ran for cover. Two very nice men were in the garage discussing wood and woodworking projects. "Bad day for a hike," the opined. "No kidding!" we agreed.

Andrew arrived with Azsa, allowing us to beat a hasty retreat back to Mt. Nemo through the driving rain with many thank you's for the rescue.We waited out the rain. We noted that a storm of that intensity at 11 a.m. meant some baaaaad karma. Interestingly, the man in the car had stopped because it was good karma. Ah, balance.

The rain tapered off. We decided to hike another 3k to Kilbride.

They were a nice 3k. We crossed Bronte Creek in full flood. I recognized it. Bronte Creek is the site of another defining moment of my youth, one involving a Rover troop, a Ranger unit, a kayak, and some canoes. Some day I will visit Bronte Creek in the dry of the fall but for now we seem fated to meet in the spring.

In Kilbride, we found the world's safest, and most temporary, road hockey venue. A huge pine tree had snapped in the middle and come crashing down across the road. About a hundred meters past that was an uprooted tree, also blocking the road. We began to suspect that perhaps the weather forecast had not been entirely accurate.

Hospitality was again offered, this time by a woman allowing us to use her washroom as we dithered as to whether or not to continue. She confirmed the conculsions we'd reached following the ozone-sniffing. That strike had been darn close, perhaps even over the pond on the corner of Blind Line. We'd been hiking during an actual severe t-storm watch. Oops.

As I said, I categorically do NOT advocate knowingly doing such a thing. However, as with any situation involving adversity there are positive points to be scored if you do inadvertently end up  in one. I think this is a big advantage to adverse situations. Boring ones seldom yield fresh points of view.

Having done it, and talked about it, I find people's reactions interesting.

In Poland if someone rescues you from your erroneous assumption that there would surely be room at a B&B in Leba (after laughing a lot), by lending you a tent and setting you up with the relative of a relative who runs a venue called "Stork Camping" then the mood will be mellow. There'll be a sense of shared adventure. People will be curious. They'll want the whole story. They might even ply you with tea. There'll be a shared understanding that hey, plans go awry but enacting them is preferable to staying home under the bed. Then again, if someone in Poland tries to keep a fellow from jumping off a bridge and fails then that someone will shrug it off and figure, his funeral.

On the other hand, I have just read a story about a woman who was sailing and got stranded for a week on an island and all the comments are negative. They all center around forcing people to be safe.

I have nothing against safe. I do have a problem with forcing. This is because it is my opinion that since 9-11 society has been moving increasingly towards fascism in North America and fascism is baaaad karma. It is fostered by people who are afraid to do anything EXCEPT abide by the rules and who, consequently, seldom do anything brave. They seek to achieve control by forcing people to abide by limits. They get right pissed off about failing to stop people from jumping off bridges. They seldom allow for individual wants or needs or capabilities.

Not good.

We, for example, knew what we were doing. We wisely decided not to continue hiking past Kilbride because the kids were wet and getting cold. Also, the sun was not coming out. More rain was moving in. We knew our parameters. We knew how far we could push them. We did not intentionally seek to be out dodging lightning. We're pretty practical people, really.

I am raising children. I have to chose what kind of characters I wish to help forge. I am not interested in keeping them under the bed. We do not own a Nintendo. I have to chose challenges for my children to face, ones I can share. The sequel to Plan B is called I Dare.

On Sunday morning my 8 year old son went out and got the pine tree pelt he had dragged home from Kilbride. It is almost as tall as he is. He could and did wear it like a coat of armor.  "What do you want to do with that?" I asked.

"I was thinking maybe we could nail it to the wall and it would fill our house with the scent of pine," he said.

He was quite serious. I have that sort of house.

My youngest son woke up early Sunday morning. He looked at me and made sure I was awake. "Mommy," he said solemnly, and with great pride, "I am brave."