I had never heard the term “bug out bag” until two years ago when a neighbor showed me his kit for “bugging out.” He had a great deal of military experience and I half listened as he informed me of the items needed in case you had to leave your home in a hurry.
While I was attentive to his words, I quickly placed them toward the end of what I call my “someday file,” that mental storehouse with lists that include learning to speak Bulgarian and playing the bass fiddle.
Then came an infectious disease and it occurred to me that we might be forced to flee our home one day. It was only then that I located the cat carrier, dusted it off and began building a (gosh, it sounds romantic) bug out bag for two. Okay, three, since the cat is surely coming along.
The first thought is: Where does a Southern California surfer bug out? Baja comes to mind along with “duh.”
But visions of a half-million hungry surfers descending on the desert to ride waves, catch every fish in sight and foul that region before in search of a new location dissuade me. Scratch Baja; I would rather battle it out on home turf.
The rich and not-so-imaginative always point to New Zealand in times like these. I lived there in the early ’70s and while I had a very nice time during summer months, the winters were brutal, as evidenced by some local surfers caking their faces with Vaseline against the wind.
That and the place has gone from being incredibly inexpensive (I worked as a barman and Steinlager beer was 7 cents a glass, and our rent for a three bedroom beach house was $18 a week.)
Those are not typos, living there was nearly free at the time. Anyway, New Zealand has little appeal any longer since every mother’s yuppie son would arrive there buying up large chunks of land so they can turn and burn the world as many of them have in their homelands.
Besides, strict immigration laws would probably keep you out. Going north, if you could get north in a panic, has the same problems as going south does.
After long discussions with my wife and daughter, it was decided that should the worst happen, we would hold the fort where the fort now stands, in funky and wonderful Oceanside.
There is decent surf and fishing within what, for the well conditioned, is walking distance and not every square inch of land has been plowed under to accommodate shoe circuses and goochie shops offering $2 squares of chocolate washed down with $5 coffee. There is still a bit of backcountry and for those who can tolerate them, ample survival foods: Mainly dandelions and crawdads are on the menu.
I have a good start on a bug out bag, something that includes an easily stored surf mat along with a drop line, gaffer tape, flint and a hand-cranked radio.
While I am in no way diminishing people’s suffering, I am glad to see fewer cars on the road, fewer future landfill items being purchased and fewer hyperactive ads singing about the time of your life once you are released from a packed ocean liner.
I sleep better having a bug out bag and even better when I realize I will probably never need to use it.
