I am a tidal wave survivor. That’s what we used to call them. There were no advisories back then, no media frenzy triggering a cascade of physiological responses causing the release of stress hormones catapulting the body into fight-flight-or freeze mode.
We had spent the weekend on my father’s boat, and were tying up in Shoal Harbour on Vancouver Island; I was nine years living. Suddenly, the water level on the pilings started going down and then coming up again. Rapidly, for about 10 minutes. The next day we read in the paper that a 9.7 magnitude earthquake in Chile had caused the erratic tidal behaviour we had witnessed, peacefully ignorant of our impending doom.
In late July the radio informed me that the sixth most severe earthquake in recorded history had struck off Russia’s far eastern coast. “With a massive magnitude of 8.8, the earthquake near the Kamchatka Peninsula sent tsunami waves towards Japan, Hawaii, Haida Gwaii, Vancouver Island and the US west coast.”
In the following hours, more than 2 million people across the Pacific would be ordered to evacuate. With alerts also issued in China, the Philippines, Indonesia, New Zealand and as far as Peru, Chile and Mexico, not to mention Moose Jaw.
“The disaster we were expecting never arrived,” a Hawaii tourist told the BBC a day after the quake struck.
The disaster we were expecting. Sound familiar? My favourite Mark Twain quotation comes to mind: “I have suffered many catastrophes in my life. Most of them have never happened.”
I have evacuated three times before due to perceived threats. The first time I took my sourdough starter and my computer, but forgot my cat. Now I have an Emergency Tsunami Backpack packed and ready to go. I paid $100 for it, and all the provisions, including the freeze-dried Tiramisu I bought so I would be a popular evacuee, expired 10 years ago.
But since I own Copper Beech House, I have others to consider: my innocent guests. Some of them arrive by bicycle or decide to save money by not renting a car and taking public transport. I don’t know what to tell them if the house starts to behave as if it were an unbalanced washing machine on the spin cycle. Flag down the first bus that comes your way?
If the shaking stops, I tell them, you are advised to evacuate immediately without waiting for “official notice” which usually comes from Arkansas (as an email) or by an air-raid-sounding siren or loudspeaker announcements made by the RCMP.
If you do have a vehicle (always wise to keep your tank topped up, unlike like me, who prefers to run on empty) drive in an orderly fashion (again, do as I say, not as I do) across the causeway, turn right where there is not a light and, as The Boss says, “boy you’re on your own.” Actually, you are not on your own. Two thousand others will be evacuating and many of them will have been celebrating alcoholically (judging from previous experience) so proceed defensively.
Jane Wilson wrote, in her column in The Observer, “North end residents have developed an unusual crisis management plan called ‘Grab a pie and run’ after October’s [2011] earthquake hit during a wedding reception. “We take our pies seriously here in Masset,” said one resident, who asked to remain anonymous. In the second part of the plan, they drive up the hill, and spend their evacuation time walking up and down critiquing the way other people choose to park.”
You’re supposed to “obey the posted speed driving in the southbound lane only, directly to the sand pit at km 13 without stopping.” None of us residents know where the sand pit or km 13 is, so just keep driving until you see people parked at the side of the road. (You will be at the top of what most locals call Garbage Dump Hill, but others call Deep Creek Hill, though, either way, you won’t find any evidence of a sign.)
After reaching high ground, wait out the warning. (If you tune in to CBC radio for information, you will be up there on the hill until someone in Toronto wakes up at 6 a.m. Eastern time and announces the Breaking News of an earthquake on Haida Gwaii.) Stand down when the all-clear signal is issued or when other vehicles start honking their horns —assume they are getting their updates from Arkansas and that it is safe to return — and driving back in the direction of Masset.
P.S. Make sure you have a Designated Tsunami Driver on board as the RCMP will have a roadblock at the causeway and will be checking for drunk drivers, valid driver’s licenses and insurance, cracked windscreens and rust on the undercarriage of your vehicle.
