On Monday, I pulled a stocking hat over my head, zipped up a pile jacket, wrapped my legs in a blanket and watched the Minnesota Vikings top the Green Bay Packers in what turned out to be a pretty good football game. And no, I wasn't sitting anywhere near that fabled "frozen tundra" of Lambeau Field in Wisconsin. I was in my living room trying to get a feel for how Anchorage Mayor Dan Sullivan might ask us all to live this winter (Read "Frozen in the future?).
The temperature was 61 degrees. It was time for me to be thankful for the "Alaska panic room" just down the hill from the house. That would be what is normally known as Craig's workshop. It is heated by a wood stove. It is a small, well-insulated and self-contained structure, and no matter what happens it is easy to keep warm.
I know, because I've worked down there comfortable by the wood stove when winter temperatures were 20-below zero. Twenty-below is when there could be a good chance the mayor will ask us all to turn down our thermostats to 60 degrees and douse the lights because Southcentral Alaska is running out of gas for both heat and electricity.
Turning the heat down to 60 might not seem like much to those who've never tried, but after 48 hours of life near 60, I can tell you it's not much fun. I've been warmer on the Kahitlna Glacier of Mount McKinley; the reason why might be simply a matter of lifestyle.
On McKinley, you're invariably either on the move or in the sleeping bag. Being on the move, exercise keeps you warm, even sweaty. And inside a sleeping bag rated for temperatures of 30- to 40-degrees below zero in weather that's more often only around 10- or 15-degrees-below zero, you're warm.
The problem at home is that you don't camp there. You live there, and that makes you go about things differently. You don't expect needing to wear four layers of clothes to cook in the kitchen or eat at the dining-room table, and you don't expect to dress up like you're going to a fall football game in the Midwest to watch football on your own TV.
A friend who came over to watch the Monday night game with me did little but whine about the cold house. I had to keep reminding him it was 61 degrees -- a whole degree above the newly announced standard of 60 if Anchorage goes on "red alert" in the months ahead.
Needless to say, he was skeptical about the likelihood of regional residents turning the heat down that far. After 48 hours in the cold, I tend to agree. Yes, some people will cooperate with the energy-saving program, but let us not forget it is voluntary. Some people volunteer for hazardous duty, too. Most don't.
I can't help thinking of that old call for volunteers in the military where soldiers are asked to take one step forward if they want to accept the assignment. You know, the one where some poor schmuck ends up getting sent out because everyone else takes one step back, leaving him a step out in front. The city might get Anchorage residents to drop the thermostat to the "yellow alert" standard of 65 degrees, but even that's a big maybe. It's better at 65 than at 60, but many Americans find 68 a sacrifice. About the only realistic way I can see to get them to go much colder than that is to make them pay. But the idea of imposing a surcharge on gas use beyond a certain quantity has been rejected by both the gas company and local political leaders.
Alrighty then.
Maybe we can just boondoogle our way along through a volunteer program that doesn't work until we get rolling electrical blackouts, at the least, to save energy. Or some parts of Southcentral really do run out of gas. Personally, having investigated this issue a fair bit, I don't think that is likely to happen. The region's gas and electrical supply system is fragile, but barring any major equipment breakdowns, the people running it should be able to hold things together for at least another winter.
Barring any major equipment breakdowns or, of course, a major winter earthquake. The utilities did get together once to do an analysis of what they would need to do if Anchorage got hit by something like the '64 quake in the middle of a winter cold snap. The conclusion was that they wouldn't need to do anything, because there would be nothing they could do.
In other words, we'd be screwed.
My Alaska panic room is looking better and better. Everyone should have one. If you own your own home, it shouldn't take much.
Is there a back bedroom or a garage in which you can easily install a woodstove? Put it in there. Add some extra insulation to the room. Keep a stock of firewood on hand. And if worse comes to worse, be ready to retreat to the warmth of that cocoon.
I am. I know how to drain the pipes in my house, if it comes to that, and then shut the place down. I can even, if worse comes to worse, take the workshop off the power grid and wire it onto a portable generator, thus providing a home away from home with both heat and power. I keep a good supply of firewood on hand, plus some extra gas for the generator.
I don't expect to have to move to the Alaska panic room. I don't want to ever have to move to the Alaska panic room. But if we're forced down there, at least I know I'll be able to watch Monday Night Football in comfort. If, of course, the GCI cable is still working.
Now, as for you folks living in apartments or condominiums where an Alaska panic room is unrealistic or impossible, about the only advice I can offer is this: Go buy a good sleeping bag. My personal and well-used favorite for the worst of weather is a Marmot CWM good to minus-40. You don't need a bag that warm, but even at 60 degrees, a decent sleeping bag is a nice thing into which to slip. And if the worst happens, and temperatures in your apartment or condo do fall below freezing because of gas or electric outages, well, a sleeping bag designed for life at subzero could be a lifesaver.
Contact Craig Medred at craig_alaskadispatch.com