Sharecropping The Apocalypse: A Prepper is Cast Adrift (25 page)

I always like to start any of my newbie or youngster fishermen out by telling them that every fishing hole is different and that it requires getting your “fish face” on and sitting back and watching them for a second or two if they are going to recognize my next words. This pause to observe nature and my reflections on life in general pretty much describes how this fine fishing day is going to turn out.

If someone is open for suggestions or has some grandiose notions of just sinking a baited line in any body of water anywhere and coming up with a stringer of fish because they are “special” is soon dispensed with as the lore and experiences  is told of fishing salt, fresh, murky etc. waters becomes apparent. The greatest Salmon fisherman from Alaska or the top dog of Southern bass tournaments soon can become outclassed by a 6 yr. old with luck and grand pappy’s patience, advice and wisdom as the day goes on. All fishermen are equal if you know what works in your local waters and it’s a matter of timing, location and luck. What you know from your home waters probably doesn’t work as well in someone else’s and your fish brain needs tweaking with a trick or two from a local sportsman to be truly successful. Thoughts of going alone to a new Mecca for fisherman and holding your own soon becomes a lesson in humility as familiarity overcomes contempt for new experiences and knowledge learned the hard way. Kids are different, children don’t carry the baggage of adult anglers and just want to catch fish. They think any angler with the time to take them fishing must know some special secret to some lost art of fish calling and will jealously defend their matriarchs or patriarchs that bought them a fish pole or said come on boy or girl lets go fishing with that special gleam in their eye regardless if they catch anything. You see Kids, those special beings some of us are blessed with and or those of us adults that are blessed to borrow one occasionally know that they are what fishing is all about. It’s the hundred and one things an adult might know to put a fish on that little girls or that boys line for the first time and get bragging rights with the other adults in the community we tend to compete for, but really it is so much more than that. David would rather he never caught a fish himself all day or ever for that matter as long as he could teach the patience needed to sit and talk quietly or not at all and see the joy in some child’s eye to be a part of the sport and survival skill of catching one of these finned wonders.

All kids must go fishing at least once in their lives and if he had to hock the farm to do it for him or her to buy the first fish rod and put gas in the car he would do it! Now he was beside himself with excitement as he had the opportunity to not just teach kids but adults as well the fine art of fish poaching with no worries of a game warden or someone’s jaded notion of sport fishing interfering with him. The rule of the day was catching, not hunting or fishing for something and he had a whole bag full of tricks he had tried, wanted to try or had heard about that were about to be tested to the limit.

“This wasn’t going to be just a rescue trip to drop off some survival gear. No this was going to be the biggest funfest of hunting and fishing ever! He just hoped he was up for the task and the game cooperated long enough for him to get some meat back on the starving castaways bones before he had to say farewell to them. If the dams were broken and the rivers were trying to regain their course, he was reasonably sure that the fish were disturbed enough to be highly unpredictable let alone try to locate them in silt and debris laden water.” David mused losing a lot of his enthusiasm.

“Why are these bags so danged heavy, David?” Julie said dragging one duffel bag out of the center of the floor.

“You probably grabbed the one with the cans of cat food in it; I also have about 10lbs of fish meal cakes in there to attract things. We best keep an eye on the cat food, folks probably will want to eat that when get there.” David said making a bad joke.

“That wasn’t funny David. What else you got in there? Hopefully no dynamite!” Julie said making her own more appropriate joke.

“Ha! You have been listening! I can do something like fishing with grenades with MRE heaters and pop bottles but no I don’t have any explosives.” David said smiling and remembering how he had answered a question of hers once. “David what works best to hunt game with?” His answer was pretty simple. “Just get you a list of fish and game laws and whatever is illegal is what works best!” had been his serious but humorous reply.

“Thanks for reminding me though of nefarious ways to catch things. How many of those cheap floating LED lanterns we got?” David asked.

“The ones with those square batteries? We can spare a few. You going to use them for fishing?” Julie asked, thinking David might make a lighted fish buoy to use with a cast net.

“No, that’s a thought though. Never tried that on freshwater fish, hum should work. No they are for doing the deer in the headlights routine or shining up some raccoons or possums in the trees.” David said opening a duffle bag to once again review the contents and try to figure out what else he might be able to add if he had it around the house and had enough to spare.

4

STRANDED

The narrow paved road leading up to the parks pavilion climbed up a steep hill winding through the woods towards the facility’s entrance and restrooms. This was the official assembly area for the guests of this Corp of Engineers campground. To continue to call them guests of a federal reserve was a bad joke now as the residents of the campground usually referred to themselves with any number of more appropriate names like, survivor, refugee or even castaways. No matter what an outside observer might call the mix of people already waiting at the large wooden pavilion or trudging towards it for a meeting, they all shared the same plight of being stranded on the peninsula and surrounded by water. Having the water round no matter how murky or questionable it was, was regarded a blessing. Problem was it also kept them from accessing any food or escape to the mainland.

The campground used to sit on a large wooded bluff situated between two dammed rivers that formed a lake but after a terrorist attack destroyed parts of the dams, the reservoir overflowed and the rivers returned to their natural courses. This event flooded much of the lower elevation land that was subject to the rivers whims before the dams had been built and currently held second growth pine plantations.

No one really knew how much damage was caused by the attack upriver from them, because the roads leading out of the campgrounds and the dam crossings were now all submerged. Crick Miller (Crick as in Creek, you know kind of how some of us good old boys in Alabama and elsewhere pronounce the name of a small stream) remembered the night the seventy or so park guests heard two gigantic earth shaking explosions and then about an hour later were further jolted and confused by the sound of rushing water and cracking trees as the water that was formerly held back by dam flood gates was suddenly released in an onslaught spilling tons of earth, concrete and swirled debris and smashed boats by them in the river channel at the bottom of the bluff.

Crick still couldn’t for the life of him ever forget the eerie but awesome specter of a huge white tug boat and a steely black coal barge being swept by his vantage point overlooking the lakes impoundment late one evening. The tug had all its bright running lights still on, the crew on the deck was hanging on for dear life dressed in their red life jackets and it’s captain was blaring its shrill horn in a panic of long and short roaring bursts.  The boat was being dragged sideways by the twisted steel cables attaching it to the barge and it looked like it would have been swamped and sunk momentarily until all of the sudden a cable broke loose and the boat started to spin and flounder in the opposite direction while still being dragged by the ferocious  current caused by the hydroelectric dam failure.

Crick didn’t know if the courageous captain or crew ever regained control of their boat but the next morning when he and the other campsites awoke after a fearful night spent on higher ground for safety’s sake they saw a tragic sight. The disheveled and bedraggled campers came down slowly but methodically in a group to the main campgrounds to survey the carnage and gauge the flooding rivers rise or fall and after poking around his own trailer for a bit, he looked upstream from an observation deck and spied the coal barge about a mile down river, run hard aground on the opposite shore. All through the long dark night before this sighting, people had tuned to their radios listening for some news on what might have caused this catastrophe but heard nothing. The local radio stations were silent but the larger transmitters elsewhere only said two power stations had unexplained explosions and were being investigated by the authorities.

Refugees are people who have crossed an international frontier and are at risk or have been victims of persecution in their country of origin. Internally displaced persons (IDPs), on the other hand, have not crossed an international frontier, but have, for whatever reason, also fled their homes. Folks stuck at Prepper Stock just decided to call themselves homeless for the moment.

The next morning’s radio news was even sparser and much more disturbing. News of a cyber-attack of unknown origin had taken down the electrical grid on most of the eastern seaboard and California’s grid was faltering. That bad day had occurred three weeks ago and things had just gotten worse from then on. Tents were struck, trailers were hitched as everyone scurried to break camp and get the hell out of dodge and head home to ride the disaster out. Everyone knew why they didn’t have power at the campground and was nonplussed about it. After all, they were here to be camping anyway so most people barely missed it’s convenience. Not having water for the campgrounds restrooms and showers was missed rather quickly night one when the toilets didn’t flush. The explosions they all heard happened about 1:30 in the morning and had rousted everyone to action and bleary eyed sleepers and late night revelers both wandered from campsite to campsite checking on friends and questioning others as to what the hell had just happened.

LowBuck had been up at settlers’ camp having himself a well-deserved drink with Pop and his crew who were supervising the all-night vigil of cooking a whole hog by slowly feeding seasoned hardwood split logs into a stainless steel commercial smoker. His wife, Cat, had gone back to their campsite previously to go to bed earlier and let LowBuck play with his buddies and get herself some much needed rest.

LowBuck heard the explosions echoing off the lake and being misguided from the woods playing with the sounds couldn’t quite place from which direction they came from.

“Ramro! What the hell was that? Where in the world did that sound come from?” LowBuck said looking in the direction of the shoreline campsites where his wife lay sleeping.

“Man I have got no freaking idea what that was. Gave me a hell of a start I thought I saw a big blue white flash off to our right but we were all staring into that cooker with our flashlights blazing at and admiring that hog when it happened. Let me turn this lantern off and see if we can see any fire.” Ramro said after he turned off the Coleman lamp and then eight or so people tried to scrutinize the dark woods with night blindness as their eyes tried to adjust to and make out objects in the darkness.

“I can’t see a damn thing.” LowBuck grumbled as various voices declared their assent and lack of vision in this pitch black woods.

“I am going to go check on my wife and make sure that she is alright.” LowBuck said turning on his flashlight and blinding everyone after they stood listening and trying to get their night vision working.

“I got to go see about and check on mine also.” Ramro said, helping LowBuck round up the small blue and white cooler they were sharing and the rest of the adult beverage supplies.

“It could have been a couple of them gas wells you seen coming in from the main road or it might be something to do with the dam`s electrical substation.” Morgan said walking over to the pair.

“I didn’t know what those things were pumping. Looks like those rigs you see in Texas pumping oil, so they’re for natural gas then?” Ramro asked clutching the cooler and a brown paper bag.

“Yea, those things are all over the place around here. I never heard of one blowing up or a gas fire before, but I would say that is a likely possibility or could be something happened over by the main dam.” Morgan said clutching his own bar supplies.

“Where is Crick at?” LowBuck asked about Morgan’s sidekick and long-term friend.

“I don’t know off hand. Him and BcTruck were talking about those rocket stoves of his when I left the campsite to come down here for a bit and see what was happening. He said he was going to be coming down here most likely about now but as you know he ain`t here.’ Morgan said as Modoc and SoCal joined the conversation with Pops and, RCchop following them over.

“So Morgan, you think that loud noise was caused by a couple of gas well pumps going off?” SoCal asked trying to fathom what the risk of them setting national forests on fire was.

“I said that was one possibility. Those explosions were not like any I have ever heard before, dang sure were loud enough. They were like Da Dump, one went off to our right and a second or two after the first I heard one off to our left. There are two power stations in both directions but there is also those rocker pumps pumping gas everywhere and on whose ever land has a lease. Those big bangs sounded pretty damn close though but the woods and lake can amplify or muffle things. I will tell you one thing; it was a hell of a lot louder set of booms than a couple big transformers make normally blowing out in a thunderstorm.” Morgan said taking a nervous sip from a red solo cup while fidgeting with his unlit flashlight and grocery bag in his other hand trying to decide whether to put it down or not.

Morgan and Crick were everyone’s go to guys for all things concerning local information. The pair had grown up together and still lived in the general area so their advice was sought after by all, regarding where liquor and grocery stores were, road access, camp rules etc.

“I know that you and Crick got your shit together but did you all actually physically inspect all those ammo cans you got stacked up at your camp?” SoCal said flashing his Hollywood smile at Morgan.

“What do you mean? Oh, I got it. Funny, no it wasn’t us that made anything go boom. I mean all me and Crick did was just enjoy buying a government military surplus deal on a pallet of cans was all. Empty ammo cans for caches or stashes was the order of the day. Those things are dear in price if you try buying them one at a time,” Morgan said for SoCals edification.

“Tell me about it brother. Government castoffs ain`t what they used to be price wise. By the way, I am still laughing like hell you got that Taj Mahal of a trailer you are staying in propped up by 50 cal ammo cans.” Socal said laughing and reviving the mental picture he got when first observing things.

“Hey, they are great items and most preppers don’t really know how functional or versatile and durable they are without a demonstration.” Morgan said grinning.

“Well, you got me sold on durability, I never seen that done before. I just remembered that you had a stack of 120 millimeter mortar cans off to the side and I considered you might have had an oversight.” SoCal said, not sure if LowBuck knew he was just joking about the possibility of loose mortar rounds going off.

“I got to go check on the wife, I am sure your government surplus booty is ok. Those inspectors for that crap got checklists out the wazoo to assure its safety before you buy and I was just joking that a round might of went off. Still and all though those inspectors are human and can still make mistakes.”

“Are you all about ready?” Morgan asked.

” Downhill always beats uphill, let’s get going and go check on folks.” LowBuck said leading the way back down the trail to their prepper community campsites.

It was a community, a community of like, minded souls that had gathered under his banner and YouTube channel of what was referred by one and all as Prepper Stock 2014. This was the biggest congregation of preppers in one location under that black and yellow banner that had occurred to date and everyone was having great fun.

Preppers had streamed in to Alabama to attend the gathering from as far as northern California and as close as across the river for folks like Crick and Morgan. It had been a magical and mystical assemblage of like minds that couldn’t be more different in geographic, racial, economic or otherwise ties. Many hours and days had passed for those who had counted the months to attend this prestigious celebration of preparedness from the last great meet up. Many of the participants had been on the LowBuck bandwagon from day one and could say they had attended every Prepper Stock to date from the first originating one.

Many folks like LowBuck’s friend David couldn’t afford to go to every one of the Prepper Stock assemblies due to mileage but had evidenced support in a myriad of other ways to the events they missed in presence but not in spirit. David had pledged what little bit of treasure he had as well as his full faith and support to Lowbuck from the first conception of the event by the man over the years. David wrote about him and shared supporters the same as if they were both neighbors working on a block party but their allegiance to each other went much farther than that.

Times had changed for everyone in the ever evolving internet and changing prepper community to the point of who used to be on top of YouTube channels had faded away and the books David had written including them as characters were passé to a new generation. Didn’t matter too much on the surface to LowBuck and David that fame was but a fleeting image. Neither had joined the prepper community or advocated for Tea Party views because they had some prior views that their acceptance as a voice of the community could do anything other than inform and help prepare others. You know what preppers are? They all start humble with but one hope. Every single blogger, youtuber, author, follower, subscriber, participant etc. had only one goal in life that they somehow grew into. We all agonized, we all questioned ourselves and dealt with the same rejections to a preparedness message we were not quite sure why we were so vociferously declaring.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              

The other blocks of campsites next to the prepper community were sparsely occupied by the regular RV type travelers and campers. The lights were on their camps also and people looked anxiously out into the night towards the lakes shore.