making a bug-out bag in Korea

Do you know what a bug-out bag is?

If you don't, follow that link and read the article. You'll need some context. I'll wait.

In case you're too lazy to do that, though, let me just give you the skinny: the term "bugging out" means evacuating your home due to fire, earthquake, poison gas leak, alien invasion...or war. A bug-out bag is an emergency kit, personally assembled by you, a forward-thinking human being, in case you have to be away from your home for 72 hours.

The only natural disasters that face Seoul on a regular basis are monsoons, fires, and maybe the occasional tsunami. (Japan does a pretty good job of soaking up all the typhoons and earthquakes that come this way, though.)

You have to remember, though, what's sitting just 60 kilometers (37 miles) north of this city.

That's right. North Korea.

On Wednesdays I have no class, which means I get to putter around doing whatever I want. Today even more so: I had no choice but to moon around the apartment all day waiting for the deliveryman to arrive with the Coleman waterproof matches I ordered from Gmarket. I bought myself a Stanwell beechwood pipe and some tobacco a month ago, but I've been dogged by the lack of proper lighting materials. You can't use a Zippo to light a pipe, 'cause the butane makes the tobacco taste funny. Moreover, you have to hold the lighter upside-down, and that singes your fingers. Wooden matches, however, neither taint the flavor of your smoke nor char the rim of your pipe. So I had my heart set on matches. After a fruitless search through every grocery mart, convenience store and bar in my area, I found them on Gmarket and ordered them. They were due to arrive today, and the deliveryman wouldn't just leave them at the door; I had to receive them personally. So I couldn't leave.

To pass the time, I watched the 2012 movie Red Dawn.

And suddenly I thought of a much better use for those Coleman waterproof matches.

The movie made me realize just how unprepared Miss H and I were for a disaster—of any kind. She and I have talked about preparing bug-out bags for months now, ever since we moved into our new place in East Seoul. We did all the usual stay-at-home preparations, like compiling our important documents, files, IDs, bankbooks and passports into one convenient and safe location, buying eight liters of emergency water, acquiring flashlights and lanterns and candles and a fire extinguisher, et cetera. But somehow we never got around to putting together a bug-out bag. Senseless, I know. A 72-hour emergency kit would be invaluable in case we had to leave the apartment (and, say, assemble at Jamsil Stadium for evacuation by the U.S. Army as North Korean troops overrun the DMZ).

So I resolved to fix this inadequacy this very afternoon. After taking delivery of the matches, I stuck six boxes into my Timberland® 20-liter backpack. (The other six boxes will go into my drawer with my pipe.)

And that was the start of it all. I hunted high and low through the apartment and located some other items to stick in:

• 2 cans of tuna
• Nature Valley® granola bars
• 2 flashlights
• a deck of cards
• plastic sporknife (yes, they exist)
• diarrhea medication
• multitool
• first-aid kit
• sunblock
• lens wipes
• 2 liters of water
• complete change of clothes
• Colgate® WISP™ toothbrushes
• lensatic compass
• Ziploc® bags
• vitamin tablets
• cash and coins

Noticing that there were several items on my list that just weren't in the apartment, I hopped the subway across the river to Cheonho and went to E-Mart. There, I acquired the following:

• Ottogi tuna (2 bundles of 3 cans, ₩3960 apiece)
• bowls of prepared rice (pack of 3, ₩3450)
• Diget chocolate biscuits (₩1580)
• Dr. You granola bars (2 boxes of 4, ₩3980 apiece)
• kitchen knife (₩2000)
• small paring knife (₩1000)
• folding knife (₩5100)
• hand saw (₩7900)
• folding trowel (₩7500)
• packet of quick-start charcoal (₩1360)
• camping rope (6mm x 10m, ₩2,900)
• duct tape (10 meters, ₩1350)

The items remaining on my list are:

• glow sticks (for when flashlights fail)
• hand-cranked radio
• ponchos
• tarp
• space blankets
• signal mirror (though I think I'll just use the small shaving mirror in my grooming kit)
• safety whistle
• camp axe

I'll have to get these either at Homeplus (which is a subsidiary of Tesco, and generally better stocked than E-Mart) or a camping supply store.

Some of you might scoff at the completeness of this list. "What do you need a hand axe for?" you'll ask. Good question. Hopefully, we'll never need it. But just in case the North Koreans come storming across that border faster than expected (or they bring some Chinese or Russian friends with them), I want to be ready. The worst-case scenario here is Miss H and I hiking through the wild hills of K-Land trying to get back behind friendly lines, or make our way down to Busan to catch a boat for Japan. If we have to rough it for a few days, at least I'll have the tools, ropes, tarps, and matches I need to make our campsites comfortable. Even if the North Koreans never invade (or the zombies never attack, it don't matter to me) we'll at least have a well-stocked supply kit for untoward exigencies.

One more thing.

You'll notice that I entitled this post "making a bug-out bag in Korea."

The emphasis was intentional. There are some items which I would normally include in my bug-out bag, but can't, because I live in Korea. The first one, obviously, is this:

A gun, stupid.

When disaster strikes, people go crazy. Ain't no denying that. I think K (Tommy Lee Jones's character from the Men in Black franchise) said it best:  "A person is smart. People are dumb, panicky, dangerous animals and you know it." So when the crap hits the fan and looters take to the streets, I want to be prepared to defend what's mine: my life, my property and my loved ones. I have to be honest: as an American, I'm a bit uncomfortable living in a country that doesn't allow private gun ownership, especially when there's a militaristic regime lurking on the horizon.

The second item is this:

It's a survival knife, in case you didn't know. An Aitor Jungle King II, to be exact. I haven't really shopped around and chosen the survival knife that best suits me, but this is pretty much what I'm looking for: a straight blade with a saw-edge and a good long grip with a lanyard ring. A splendid knife for cutting branches, skinning game, or personal defense.

Korea has this thing about knives, though. Turns out that any pocketknife with a blade longer than six centimeters (a paltry 2.36 inches) is classified as a "sword" under Korean law, and requires a "sword permit." This means that the 10-inch Bowie knife I have in my footlocker back in California would get me chucked in jail over here. Bollocks. I'm not sure what the laws concerning non-folding or straight-bladed knives are like, but I have a feeling they're similarly restrictive. The three knives I bought today at E-Mart were an attempt to ameliorate this deficiency.

And there you have it! My Korean bug-out bag. Once I acquire those last few vital items (particularly the tarp and ponchos), Miss H and I will be well ahead of any disaster which fickle chance decides to throw at us. With any luck, we'll never need this stuff, but it sure will be nice to have on hand.

And if we want to go camping, we're already packed...

zombie preparedness

There's a certain group of paranoid loonies out there who are promulgating the notion of "zombie contingency plans."

That there may be no speculation, I am one of them.

Beginning to gain credence outside of Max Brooks fan clubs, the ZCP is a set of protocols to be followed in the event of a zombie apocalypse. Simply put, it is a blueprint for personal survival. One has to have a plan if the worst should happen. If a top-secret mutative virus was released into the atmosphere, and 95% of the world's population was turned into slavering, mindless cannibals...

• What would you do?
• What supplies would you gather?
• Who would you team up with, or include in your survival group?
• Where would you go to take shelter?
• What would your long-term plans for the stabilization of the tattered remains of the human race (if any) be?

These blueprints are rather comprehensive. Most commence at the very first sign of trouble, within minutes of an undead outbreak, and continue in excruciating detail through the course of many years, incorporating any number of apocalyptic scenarios.

My personal plan, I'm told, is rather high-flown (literally, as you'll see) but still maintains some viable elements. Needless to say, it involves flying. What better place to escape when Earth is overrun by hordes of flesh-eating undead than the empty sky?

I'd like to be able to share the details of my ZCP with you, but some things are better left classified. Suffice it to say that the fulfillment of my plan goes something like this: there's me, and a hand-picked crew of hardy, trustworthy souls—fully equipped with firearms and bladed weapons, pillaged or otherwise. We're flying an Osprey, a Bell UH-1 or some other military-type craft (preferably capable of hovering or STOL). We spend our days moving between hidden weapon and supply caches, and hiring ourselves out as couriers or zombie-killers to conclaves of terrified landlubbers.

I don't know about you, but that blows every other zombie contingency plan I've ever heard out of the water. Most of my buddies all have land-based plans, which, in my opinion, have one fatal flaw: they're land-based. Zombies walk on land. To me, land doesn't sound like the best place to be when the scourge of the living dead arises. Zombies don't swim, either, but seeing as how they're undead, they can still infest shallow water. Only thing scarier than a zombie shambling toward you on a dark street is one reaching up from the bottom of a murky pond and grabbing the oars of your rowboat—or one of your appendages. Therefore, I would argue that life as an "aerial nomad," rotating through a series of secured caches, armed to the teeth, keeping mobile, is a more feasible idea.

This plan depends on well-maintained equipment and absolute readiness. To that end, I check on my equipment frequently, and update it or refurbish it as needs be. Last week I gave the multifarious components of my anti-zombie kit a going-over.

First I grabbed my machete and my single-bit axe out of the Jeep. Each of these implements was chosen with the utmost care. The machete is carbon steel, rather than stainless, which, though more susceptible to rust, does not flash brightly in the sunlight and alert potential enemies to my presence. I would've preferred a double-bit axe, but Pops has one in the tool shed, so as long as the house isn't completely overrun following the outbreak (which is unlikely; we're far removed from town, and zombies shamble at 1-2 miles per hour) I can run out there and grab it. The Jeep, though neither heavy nor as thick-skinned as a Ford F-350 or an Excursion, still has plentiful cargo space, and suitable 4WD capabilities to get me over most obstacles. It'll do for a start. Later on I can see about getting my hands on a Bradley Fighting Vehicle or an armored F-650.

Once inside the house, I opened my closet and took out my Louisville Slugger and my aluminum Easton. Both baseball bats would do some damage to a half-rotted skull at close quarters. Both have their plus sides and drawbacks. The Slugger is made of wood, but its reach is longer. The Easton is shorter but inestimably stronger. Wouldn't hurt to have both along. This being the United States, where guns are not irrationally viewed as being scary, violent or barbaric death-devices which wantonly kill people for no reason, I have several firearms in my arsenal as well. I would detail them here, but again, such things are better left unsaid. I will say that I am equipped for almost every conceivable scenario—and have more than enough ammunition to outlast the initial outbreak.


My machete and axe were in bad shape. Somehow, moisture had seeped into the back of my Jeep. (Yes, moisture. In the desert. Didn't have that in my contingency plan, oh no.) The blades of both tools were encrusted with rust. It took a fair amount of spit, polish, and steel wool to get it off, but I managed it. Dad helped a lot. He's good for stuff like that. I think I'll keep those (ahem) tools inside from now on, unless I really need to have them in my car.

If you must know, I didn't buy an axe and a machete expressly for zombie-fighting purposes. I actually wanted them for that inconceivable moment when I finally move to Alaska, and might need to clear fallen trees off the roads. Zombie-killing is an added bonus. A special feature, if you will. And so my anti-zombie kit has been revitalized for the nonce, and I am once again prepared to face the zombie plague, the end-all disaster. Hee hee.


Speaking of disasters, there was a slight earthquake as I was typing this post. I am not making this up. I live less than 50 miles from the San Andreas fault, so earthquakes are nothing new around here. I was just sitting on my bed, typing, when all of a sudden I felt the mattress begin to sway ever so slightly beneath me. There was some relative motion being achieved between the elbows on my knees, and the hands on my keyboard.

I jumped up and yelled "HEY GUYS! I THINK WE'RE HAVING AN EARTHQUAKE!"

No sooner did I reach the living room when Mom hollered "YEAH WE ARE!"

I felt the carpet sway to and fro under my feet. I was like riding the most gentle surfboard in the world. The light bulbs in the ceiling fan began to rattle, and I could see the clock on the mantelpiece (suspended by a thin wire) wobble back and forth. Dad—the geologist in the family—sat at the computer, grinning.

"Hey," he said, "This is a good one!"

It continued for perhaps 15 more seconds. We looked out the front window to try and see the ground wave moving down the hill, but the quake was too gentle for that. Finally, it died away.
"Somebody got really hammered somewhere," Pop mused, a little while later. "That was a good one."

The weights on the cuckoo clock still swung back and forth.

Dad was right. The earthquake turned out to be a 7.2 on the Richter scale that struck Baja California about 29 miles south of Mexicali. It took place six miles beneath the surface. Haven't heard too much about the damage it caused. But we felt it all the way up here. Yowzer.

This is perhaps the eighth or ninth earthquake I've experienced here in the Mojave. Three of them I've driven through, and haven't noticed. One of them rattled a few tools in the garage, but I couldn't feel it. Another woke me up in the middle of the night, making me think my box-spring mattress had mutated into a water bed. The rest were so gentle that I didn't detect them. Normally, earthquakes don't last as long as this one today; they just roll through, like a wave.

That could change in the near future, though. Southern California is about ten years overdue for a truly massive quake, the proverbial Big One, a 2012-style monster that'll level every overpass in the Los Angeles Basin and (hopefully) put Malibu and Santa Barbara underwater for the rest of eternity. I think I might go buy a crash helmet tomorrow. And a video camera.

Wouldn't that make an interesting vlog entry?