Survivalist Weekend: Practice for a Disaster

Author Linda Brady Traynham

I always loathed fire drills in school. I saw no point in practicing perfectly simple escape plans when we could be learning instead–something that really dates me. My deceased husband, John, a highly decorated combat veteran and well-known mountain climb leader, was wont to say that he didn’t have to practice being miserable because he had ample experience already and a vivid imagination. Which he did.

Most Americans lack both. They are a pack of pampered Persian kittens who don’t begin to know how to cope with a world in which Fancy Feast is not put into Waterford crystal goblets regularlys. I don’t want to teach you to be feral, but I think you will find my Survivalist Weekend a very instructive experience. You know I never do anything unpleasant if I can avoid it, and I certainly never do anything other than think if I can get someone else to do it for me. I designed the test so that it is primarily passive for that reason. It isn’t about what you have to do, but about what you must do without. No fair going shopping after you read this. The test begins Friday at five o’clock and concludes Sunday night at ten p.m. The supplies needed are simple: two empty gallon milk or water jugs, a roll of wide masking tape, a pad of sticky notes, a big black magic marker, and a tally sheet you need to print out ahead of time.

The rules are simple: for that fifty-four hours your survival drill consists of doing without electricity or running water. It will impress upon you how utterly dependent we all are upon those two. Take your masking tape and sticky notes and go through your house or apartment marking the following with big NO!!! warnings and covering switches. Tally every time you want to use either one, and be honest with yourself about how many times you cheat. It is especially important to be honest with yourself.

1. NO electric lights, cooking with electricity, microwave, TV, radio, computer (this is the point at which my hands begin to shake), or anything else that plugs into an outlet. If a device runs on batteries you may use it until the batteries run down. It is a sign of moral turpitude to cheat by buying batteries in advance. Your laptop computer and cell ‘phone are under this edict; until the batteries die, live it up. Better save them for those long, dull, dark evenings. You may answer the house ‘phone because it does not use electricity. You may turn on the heater only when the temperature reaches 60 degrees in winter or 80 degrees in summer, a sinful stipulation on my part because if you are in the aftermath of a tornado nobody is going to come turn your electricity on just because you’re cold. Cover the light switches with strips of masking tape to remind yourself. You may use what food is in your home when the test starts, and I will grant you the indescribable luxury of not worrying about what you have in the freezer and refrigerator going bad. Natural and man-made disasters will not.

2. NO running water. You may fill the two water jugs ahead of time and use those for cooking, washing your hands, and brushing your teeth. I am going to cut you a very big bit of slack by stipulating that you may mimic drawing water from a well, a luxury you would be most unlikely to have in a city. If you live in an apartment you must descend and climb at least two flights of stairs carrying a filled jug of water; if you have a house, go outside, fill the jug, and carry it around for five minutes. Nothing in life is free, and in a real emergency situation it is quite unlikely you would be able to procure potable water for that little effort. This will drive home how time-consuming it is to procure necessities. Do I believe you have water purification tablets or a good filtration system? A supply of MSM? No. Don’t forget that it requires at least two gallons to flush your toilet. By the time you have made several trips up and down stairs carrying water jugs you will have a new appreciation of modern plumbing.

3. Every time you reach for a light switch or water tap absent-mindedly mark that on your sheet; the tape will remind you. I may have a handwashing fetish, or perhaps you wash your hands as many times a day as I do.

By this time I suppose you wondering if I am a descendant of the Marquise de Sade. Nope; Gaelic. We Celts have a nasty line in torture, too. Abandon the test if your spouse threatens to leave you, any teenagers turn wild-eyed, or Granny starts mumbling about calling Child/Adult Protective Services or rummaging around for great-grandpa’s shotgun.

I don’t think you can do it–or do without, to be precise. Lesser mortals than you would go berserk over the loss of childish amusement devices. I know you can spend a weekend reading, around the exigencies of providing authorized water for yourself. Snicker. Think of the time you’ll save not having to cook. Oh…let’s hope you have a hand-held can opener; the electric one won’t work, and neither will the mixer, when there is no power.

I’ve always been a “be prepared” type. When I lost power in a thunder storm at nine one Saturday night and didn’t get it back until the following afternoon I demonstrated that it is possible to read until after two by the light of twenty-five candles (the glass pillar type) set in front of mirrors. This will give you a raging headache but it is better than trying to rearrange your closet or clean out kitchen cabinets by candlelight. Most people have at most a couple of Yankee Candles because they smell good. A great hint: never get your telephone, cable, and Internet all from Time-Warner. If anything knocks out even one service none of them will work!

This is a very low-level stress test. The streets are not full of those considering breaking down your door to steal your food, there is no curfew, you don’t have to wish you had a gun and knew how to use it, and no actual tornado or hurricane is tearing your city apart. Your life will be full of interesting choices, though: do you want a bath enough to devise a way to heat water you have carried, or are you vain enough to bathe in a bit of cold water? I doubt it! Get accustomed to the smell of unwashed bodies. Do you want to wash your hair badly enough to do it in cold water–that you carried? It takes quite a few gallons. Yes, I know, I’m a fiend incarnate. Laughter of remembrance. We were without hot water in Rome, once, during a strike, and I was, indeed, vain enough to wash my hair in cold!

Do let me know of any helpful strategems you come up with. An obvious one (yuck!) is not to flush the toilet until it has solids in it. Any toilet paper that is used for wiping after urination could be put in a bag because you really don’t want to stop up your toilet. I can hear your wails: “It will stink.” Why, yes, of course it will. Disaster situations are full of things that smell bad. Thrice in my life I have been in disasters where power was out for a minimum of a week. Unpicked up garbage begins to smell fast, too, particularly in the summer. Sometimes it gets maggots in it! (Do I have to sound so cheerful about it?! Yup. It’s good for you.)

Some event leaving Pampered, Sheltered You without power and lights really could occur. When that happens, hotels fill quickly–even if you could get to one and it were any safer. I was about ten when an ice storm hit the ranch and left us without electricity for a week. We had oil furnaces, very fortunately, and an artesian well about half a mile away that provided water. Mother cooked in the fireplace, ruining all of her pots with soot and producing some odd meals. 1500 brand new baby chicks were on the floor of the dining room. Go where? Electricity was out in Bryan, as well, and in those days there were far fewer hotels and motels with generators. If you own a generator and have fuel for it you may skip that portion of the test.

In 1990 we were in Derby, Kansas, just outside Wichita when a series of tornadoes struck, one of them all but leveling the local AFB and destroying a couple of trailer parks. That was summer, and more than a few old people died from the heat. We were very lucky: one of my daughter’s closest friends worked for the power companyy and had power up for us the next day, fixing ours after a long, gruelling shift. That, too, is a good moral lesson: some people get lucky and others have friends in high places, such as on power poles or able to get into transformer boxes or whatever those things are.

We were in Tacoma, Washington, in the inaugural ice storm of ‘92. NOT fun. We huddled miserably around the two fireplaces for twenty-four hours. Again–proving God loves me, or I have very good taste in daughters–one of Tiffany’s chum’s fathers worked for the power company and took a few minutes at the end of an incredibly long day to get the transformer on our private road hooked up. I never told the three sets of neighbors whom they had to thank…Some people died during that week or more.

Hey, yeah, if it can hamper sweet, sheltered little old me it can happen to anyone.

I learned long ago that when thunderstorms threaten, set candles and matches out in every room and light at least one of the candles when the storms start. I buy the ones in glass cylinders that cost .89 two years ago and were over a dollar and a half the last time I looked. Those are far safer, burn over 24 hours, and can be moved without burning yourself.

I have set you a far tougher test than it sounds like, and it sounds quite unpleasant enough. You may use economic advantage if you wish: go spend the weekend in a motel or a bed and breakfast. There are times when that solution would work splendidly. The problem is…there are also times when it will not. About…’72, perhaps?…we were stationed at Ft. Silly, Oklahoma. John was off in Utah playing with Pershing Missiles and a terrible ice storm froze the gas wells at their heads. Problem? The roads were all but impassable for over a hundred miles in any direction. Worse, most houses there were heated with gas, and so were the motels. I bunked on the couch of a friend with a rare all-electric apartment, bless her. Thanks again, Sandy!

What do you do when a Tsunami is headed towards Hawaii? John and I spent the entire night playing duplicate bridge at the Pali Palms. What else was there to do?! The weather outside was frightful, a drive back across the island to Honolulu would have been extremely dangerous for all of us, and the unanimous decision was that if we were all going to drown we might as well go out striving for master points. Smile…John and I won. The storm diminished in the nick of time and the wave did not build enough strength to reach us.

What do you do in an earthquake? You think, “My, this feels weird.” Then you get under a table. There isn’t anything else to do. Be glad you weren’t in San Francisco in ‘90.

Our survival test for the ranch came when we were hit by Ike. A hamlet twenty miles away was without power for over three weeks because theirs came from a plant in Houston, some 125 miles away. We didn’t really expect anything too bad–the storm would continue to move and we were on the “good” edge–but we played it for real. Candles ready in every room, five gallons of iced tea made, cooked a roast and a ham and made a vat of potato salad and dozens of deviled eggs…lots of water for flushing in all the bathrooms (because that is what you do. Even when you have private wells.) Shut the livestock we could catch up, and oh! what our precious goat girls said about being herded into a maritime shipping container. The only repeatable parts are “Maaa! It DARK in here. We lonely.” and “Maaa! We go house wif you. Maaa not leave we.” Chickens don’t herd well and we didn’t have cattle, horses, or hogs at that time. We set a generator and fuel in a sheltered place on a porch just outside the living room, unplugged all the computers and large appliances against surge, boarded one vulnerable window, laid a fire and brought in extra wood, and sat back placidly to wait. The storm raged for several hours. Lights flickered three times but weren’t out more than a few minutes.

Comes the morning we inspect the mess. Yup, Ike did a bunch of damage but the only living casualty was one chicken who drowned looking up at the storm. Chickens do that; they’re very stupid.

We’re very proud of ourselves! We got absolutely glittering remarks (being our own fair, impartial judges) in every category save one, with extra credit because Charles had the large auto/welding/carpentry shop and well house rewired completely and up and running by that afternoon. Fifteen or so essential sheets of tin had been returned to the roofs of those buildings. Nobody was decapitated by flying tin and we had trimmed the trees so well that we didn’t lose a single limb. (THAT happened in a five-minute freak storm this summer, when about sixty years’ growth of a pecan tree planted in 1843 crashed across the roof. The new one is almost on…) The goat girls still loved us.

We made one mistake so stupid we still can’t believe it. Did you catch it? I gave you all the clues I had.

In a longer emergency, we were set up to be without water. What we lost when Ike ripped out a short power pole was the ability to run the well pump–and two freezers. How dumb can two Survivalist freaks be?! We didn’t need to worry about losing house lights and the electric stove (which will be changed to gas when we build the new kitchen this winter.) We hadn’t protected our water supply! THAT was where a generator needed to be. What is even more idiotic is that we have several. We simply did not think of it. We spend a lot of time thinking about “what if?” I fret that six dozen ball point pens may not be enough “if.” We buy books as though we may never see another Half Price Book Store again, our idea of a cataclysm. I brood over how many tubes of toothpaste five people might go through in three months.

But we failed to ensure our water supply.

If you read this far I’ll give you a pass on actually spending a weekend without power and water because you are obviously a polite, conscientious, intelligent reader who is willing to pay attention and think ahead. It wouldn’t hurt to tally how many times the commodes are flushed over the weekend, just to know how much water of that sort you should run quickly if danger threatens. The easy, obvious answer is to fill all bathtubs and every pot and jug in the house; start saving milk/water jugs if you don’t already. Pick up cases of non-chlorinated drinking water and keep one in each car’s trunk. Or put the sticky notes all over the place and count how many times you:

1. Used the microwave
2. Used the stove
3. Opened refrigerator doors (In real emergencies you do that as seldom as possible.)
4. Turned on lights in the kitchen, living room, bathrooms, bed rooms, family rooms, and so forth
5. Used any sort of electronic device–computer, video games, TV, radio, small kitchen appliances…
6. Showered, etc.
7. Filled the dog’s water bowl.
8. Wished you could wash your favorite jeans other than by hand in the bathtub with precious water you carried yourself and dry them other than draped over something.
9. Required light to read or keep from going to bed far too early. The evening hours for a family add up fast. This will matter if you ever have to rely on a generator with a known amount of fuel for an unknown period. My crew already knows the answer: the generator will be run for one hour four times a day in a long emergency because that is what it takes to keep food frozen. During those hours they may play video games, wash, cook, blow dry their hair, vacuum, or even have AC in hot weather since the generator produces ample power. Anything more is not negotiable. It will be imperative to restrict usage, and the only reason I will spend perhaps irreplaceable gallons of diesel or propane is that the frozen food must be preserved. If you’re hot go sit in the woods or put your feet in a bucket of water. Or do a test now and be able to tell me precisely how much gas is required to run the AC in one of the travel trailers. Save your allowance or salary and buy extra containers at fifty dollars each, filled!

If you do the test on paper religiously it will be very, very valuable–and a great deal more comfortable. If you don’t know how much you use how can you begin to estimate what you should stock or how long it would last under normal usage? What makes you think your family is going to adjust quickly to emergency conditions and realize that what you have may be all there is for a very long–and terrifyingly unknown–time? They aren’t. None of us do. In the time you save not carrying water jugs around, Google “72-hour bug out kit.” No, don’t buy a commercial one unless you have far more money than time and sense! Find out what you need to be prepared to leave your home for three days; lists for four days are also available readily.

I’m proud of you. Just reading this drove the point home. Survivalism is just like studying for any other test: first you have to find out what you need to know. If this article helps you determine how many gallons of fuel for a generator and how much water you would need per day to maintain any semblance of a normal life it has served its purpose. If it really made you think about what might happen, it did you a lot of good.

My commendation to a farmer/rancher friend who lives along the exit route from New Orleans. While battening down alone against an approaching major hurricane FB took time from securing livestock and many other tasks to set out a big tub of water for travelers to refill their radiators and a garden house for drinking water. The God of our fathers notes such things, FB, and it is one of many reasons I admire you.

All of those who died in New Orleans did not have to. They could have left when warned or they could have prepared ahead of time. They should have been able to foresee that desperate people do desperate things and some groups seize upon any excuse to riot and loot.

May you be safe always, but please make sensible preparations just in case.

Linda Brady Traynham

P.S. Tonight Mrs. Preparedness has a near disaster! I’m a heavy smoker and you bet I have cigarettes. They are locked in the chill room. I know where the key was two weeks ago, but I do not know where it is now because the hands moved that desk and spilled the drawer contents. The key is missing, it isn’t kind to wake people up at 4:46 a.m., and I don’t want enough more smokes to be able to write another article pounding at my head to drive twenty miles when my last half pack is gone.

Moral: it is no good to have it if you can’t get to it or don’t know where it is. LBT

This entry was posted on Sunday, November 22nd, 2009 at 12:20 pm and is filed under Authors, Linda Brady Traynham, Opinion, Politics. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.