SUMMIT - Heroism is risking hugely for a good greater than yourself without seeking glory or expecting reward other than the satisfaction of a necessary job done. The Shy Guy whom I've been partnered with for 26 years is a hero. He, like all of his kind, will dig his toe in the dirt, squirm and explain he was just doing what had to be done. Yes, but how many would have? Not me. He may stop liking me for a few days for writing this. Too bad.

TIME: afternoon, a week before winter solstice.

SCENE: He and I are all that are here on The Land. I am worthless for physical labor, a danger to myself and others. The flooded, café au lait, river chews at soft banks held in place only blackberry and grass roots.

We are more than a mile from neighbors, who are probably having their own issues.

The weather service is warning of 100 mile winds on the coast, 40 miles west. Gusts get your attention. Rain is falling. It has been falling for days: everything is saturated. Two point eight inches in last twenty-four hours. Much more is predicted with a cold front behind the wind offering to leave us six inches of snow. The electricity is still on, but that's a miracle we are prepared to see fold. (Later, it did, for a full week.) Trees on the hill are falling with the regularity of a tolling clock.

THE MISCALCULATION: Two weeks ago, three tall alders fell, spanning the river, missing our home and car, even sparing the satellite dish and propane tank. Whew. They fell downriver from the critical bridge that allows us access to 95 percent of the steep, forested, west-facing land.

The Shy Guy trimmed topmost branches cluttering the path and disposed of the shattered outdoor chairs and metal sculpture trashcans. The large trees he left in place. Why?

Woody debris is necessary for a healthy river. It aerates and provides shelter for fish. It returns its essence to the ecosystem that produced it. Cutting fallen trees nowadays requires chainsaws. These spew oil which is death to animal and plant life. We've done this for the 20 years we have been stewarding The Land. It is a beautiful, rich river with beaver, salmon and all their cousins.

But we miscalculated how much debris from upriver would collect on the fallen trees and how the flooding river would threaten the necessary bridge. We are native to this place and must maintain our trails and dens. We disturb nothing casually.

SOLUTION: Cut out enough of the fallen alders to allow the debris to travel down river to the next windfalls.

THE HEROISM: Walk along the undermined bank, six feet above the churning, growling river. Calculate the bounce back from the spring-loaded tree trunks that must be severed to move down stream, saving the bridge. Whip the starting cord of the chainsaw and kneel out over the water to cut the trunk free. Be hyperalert to the danger of the saw being pinched by the shifting weight of the tree. Do this three times. See everything is interlocked. Get a pipe and, standing on the precarious bank, use impressive strength to pry a key piece loose. Do this repeatedly. Get a tow rope and become a mule. Think about rigging a come-along (pulley-rope) apparatus. Decide it's getting too dark.

Move the car and pickup. Make sure nothing we care about is under the power lines. Behave as if it is all in a day's work. And it is. That's country heroism. If you see him, give him a slap on the back, no matter how much toe digging he does.

Peg Elliott Mayo is a mentor, writer and artist who lives in the Coast Range. She invites comment at uncommonideas@rivervoices.com and visits to her Web site: www.rivervoices.com