The end of the world as we know it

There's no toilet paper!

And I feel fine. Probably because I don't yet have the novel coronavirus, aka, COVID-19, currently sweeping the world. Italy is quarantined as is the Hubei province in China along with a growing number of communities. All public events are being cancelled, including Dweezil Zappa playing Hot Rats, for which I had tickets. Grocery stores are out of toilet paper, hand sanitizer and a whole raft of other items people presumably think they will need as civilization comes crashing to a standstill. The stock market has spent a couple of weeks gyrating wildly, so I'll probably have to work another ten years to recover economically. And it's still just the beginning of what has now been officially declared a global pandemic.

I'm not the type to panic about this sort of thing, and though I read a lot of post-apocalyptic fiction, and have occasionally entertained the odd Robinson Crusoe fantasy, I'm no doomsday prepper. But we seem to be entering a period in history when there will be increasing volatility, whether from the climate, the economy or good old fashioned social unrest. So, I figure it doesn't hurt to put aside some extra supplies in preparation for what increasingly seems the inevitable disruptions to our comfy suburban life.

I've picked up a few bottles of water, some germicidal bleach and a few bags of dried beans. I've shelved a big ol' bottle of lamp oil and some extra candles. Nothing that would last more than a couple of weeks, max. After that, we'll be relying on the kindness of strangers, I presume. But this post isn't about any of that. This post is about something with which I became reacquainted as I prepared for the end of the world.

As I considered what might be useful during an extended period of deprivation, I thought back to my youth during which I spent a bit of time hiking around the Appalachian mountains, living on what I could carry on my back. I could survive for a week on what today seems like very little - as long as I could find a source of water periodically. Ramen noodles cooked over a backpacker's stove? Nothing better.

Svea 123 - made in Sweden

First I dug out my old Sweetwater water purifier. I had it before MSR bought the company. They make a very similar pump, so I can replace it if need be. If the tap water stays on, or if we just find ourselves hunkered down in the house with our stored water, I'd probably use the Brita pitcher to "purify" water anyway, but the Sweetwater would be good if I find myself on the move. Similarly, if we are simply quarantined at home, which seems most likely during the current troubles, I'm most likely to use the propane fueled Weber Spirit II grill for cooking in the event of a power outage. But the Weber won't fit in a bugout bag, so I kept digging until I [re]discovered my trusty old Svea 123 backpacker's stove.

Let's go campin' now, everybody's learning how...

It's always delightful to rediscover an item that's been abandoned for decades and find that it still works perfectly. I have a 1986 Fuji Allegro that's like that. And a 1942 Swedish Mauser. Both are testaments to thoughtful design and quality craftsmanship. Apparently the Swedes excel at that combination, and are still known for the quality and beauty of their axes. And maybe their Volvos..? I don't know.

I remember my backpacking buddy at the time went to REI and bought himself a super whizbang Primus stove that was waaaayyy more powerful than my little teeny Svea. You had to move some swing-arm into place, pump it sixty times, switch a lever back and forth, and then the whole thing went up in flames like a Saturn rocket run amok. Meanwhile I just held my little brass stove in my hands for a minute or two, lit it up and I was eating by the time his got going. Once he finally figured it out it proved to be much more effective at genuine cooking, but it was also substantially bigger, heavier and fuel inefficient. I stuck with my Svea. 

The design of this stove, made entirely from brass with only about two moving parts is just about bombproof. Even the white gas I put in it in the eighties still functioned perfectly without fouling or sputtering. I spent about ten minutes burnishing the old thing back up to a bit of a shine and it's as gorgeous as it was the day I bought it. As frankly is all my old equipment, much of which has traveled miles on my back, has been blackened and dented and pounded back into shape and just like their owner they bear the scars from those miles, but they are more interesting for it. I cannot imagine ever needing another backpacker's kitchen set, and when the zombies come, as now seems inevitable, I'll be out on the patio with a gallon of white gas, a thirty year old Svea 123 and some of the fifteen pounds of low sodium doomsday pasta I just bought. I should have enough to share.