BRACE FOR IMPACT: Building A Real-World Guide to Surviving Climate Collapse

No rebuild. No help. No relocation. If you're still waiting for someone to save you, you're already too late. The only path left is radically local, and I’m mapping the way. No fluff. No theory. Just straight-talking, radically local action—read on.

(Aerial View of the Almeda Wildfire in Southern Oregon: arboursabroad.com/Shutterstock)

You’re here, so you already know the score. But let’s paint the scene, just in case you’ve been living under a rock—or worse, clinging to some ‘climate hope’ delusion. The triple planetary crisis—biodiversity collapse, pollution, and, most crucially, climate chaos—dwarfs the political decay of any one nation. That’s just a fact. And while most people are distracted by the noise—news, political implosions, and the baubles of daily life—the crisis barrels towards us. We’re already at 1.5°C of warming.

At 2°C, the world is unrecognisable. Heatwaves that once broke records are just another Tuesday. Crops fail, water becomes more precious than gold, and people start fighting for space to breathe. The poorest suffer first, but don’t kid yourself—no one is safe. And it’s not just heat; it’s storms, floods, and wildfires, all dialled up to brutal.

At 2.5°C, survival isn’t a choice. Forests burn and don’t grow back. Supply chains snap like cheap plastic. Governments collapse under their own weight. If you don’t have water redundancy, food security, and a tight-knit local network, you’re at the mercy of chaos. If you’re not already self-sufficient? That window has probably slammed shut. Even then, expect daily battles with deadly winds, storms, and droughts.

At 3°C, cities become death traps. Famine will gut even ‘stable’ nations. Water and land wars will be standard fare. Expect displacement, desperation, and destitution.

At 3.5°C, most of the world is uninhabitable. The seas rise, the storms grow teeth, and whatever you’ve built for yourself is your last, best defence.

Every single degree locks in new horrors. When will we hit these benchmarks? No one knows. Scientists argue over the details, but the reality is, we lack the data to predict the exact timeline. One thing’s certain: collapse won’t be a neat, even process. Some places—like mine—may hit 2°C by 2035. My community is still rebuilding, five years after climate chaos roared into our world and destroyed everything. We know that the weather that brought us the Black Summer wildfires are at least four times more likely with a 2ºC temperature rise. Between now and 2°C is an escalating hell-scape.

But none of this is new. We all know how bad things are, how much worse they’ll get, and how fragile our systems are. Yet—despite all the warnings—people are still waiting for someone else to fix it, and reading endless essays about how sad this makes us feel.

A few weeks ago,

John Shore

called out one of my restacks for being all description, no prescription. All steam, no coffee was his brilliant phrase. And he’s right. We don’t need more doom loops. We need a survival plan. Not a ‘go-bag.’ Not some ‘prepper’ fantasy. I mean long-haul survival—the years and decades after the crash. What happens after the fires rage, the rivers rise, or storms rip your world apart? How do you live?

After talking with a few of you, I’ve decided to dedicate the next year of my Substack to exactly that (in between posting about our Resilient Roots Grower Collective). Practical, real-world preparation. What you need to do before the power cuts out, the roads disappear, the shelves empty, and no one is coming to help.

I won’t be writing about policy debates or billionaire-funded ‘solutions’. No waiting for tech fixes. No theoretical fluff. Just the hard reality of surviving what’s already unfolding.

And, this is not just about surviving the disasters you’re witnessing today. It’s about surviving the aftermath—the stuff no one talks about. In wealthier nations, governments are still managing to rebuild, relocate, and provide aid. But that safety net is being shredded. Soon, there will be no rebuild. No help. No relocation. Just abandoned towns left to rot. That’s the real survival game—the long game. When the world stops cleaning up the mess, what’s left for you?

Let’s be honest with each other. I don’t see a path where society turns this ship around. Too much chaos is already baked in. Some still believe in grand-scale interventions. Good luck to them. But I see only one viable path: radically local action, taken by a few. That’s what I’ll write about.

I’m in the last third of my life. I walked away from a career (and a steady income) to dedicate my days to local resilience. That’s my priority. But I can share what I know, and maybe it helps you carve a path for your community too. Maybe one or two of you will take it further, do something bigger. I hope so.

Over the next week, I’ll pull together everything I’ve already written into structured lists. Then, in the months ahead, I will systematically address the gaps. I’ll also link to other excellent writers sharing invaluable climate adaptation and survival strategies.

Here’s what’s coming (and what I am already populating with links to other excellent Substacks and online resources):

1. The Near Future: No Rebuild. No Help. No Relocation.

2. Accepting That No One Is Coming—And What That Means.

3. Cultivating Mental Fortitude.

4. Understanding Your Community.

5. Building Real Connections That Matter.

6. Your Future Disaster Is Already Written.

7. Grow and Store: The Non-Negotiables.

8. Water: The Lifeline You Can’t Ignore.

9. Cementing Communications for When the Grid Fails.

10. Powering Survival—When the Plug Gets Pulled.

11. The Dirt on Sanitation—Because Shit Gets Real.

12. Skilled Labour: Who’s Useful When It All Breaks Down?

13. Mobility and Moving Stuff.

14. Mental Health and Social Cohesion—Because Loners Don’t Last.

15. When There’s No One Left to Pick Up the Pieces.

This list isn’t everything. There’s a hell of a lot more to figure out. But this is what I can confidently write about. I’ll also show you how to research and critically think through the information gaps so you can adapt as needed. Every community will have its own challenges—your community will need to address much more, but that’s your journey to take.

[Update on June 7, 2025] I have migrated to list to a permanent sticky post: A COLLECTIVE GUIDE TO SURVIVING CLIMATE COLLAPSE. Content will be gradually populated with links to my writing and that of others sharing vital knowledge on Substack and beyond.

Please, comment below. Share your stories. Fill the gaps. Send me links to brilliant writers.

Solidarity & Soil.

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I walked away from the algorithm’s chokehold to work where it counts: hands in soil, words on the page, shoulder to shoulder and word to word with those adapting to climate chaos. This is fire-and-flood writing—scorched, storm-beaten, and stubborn. If it moved you, pass it on like a sandbag in rising water.

There’ll be no paywalls—collapse is brutal enough. But if you’ve got coin, become a paid subscriber. Every dime fuels the RESILIENT ROOTS GROWER COLLECTIVE, where we’re seeding trial-by-fire systems and hard-won knowledge.

And if you’re looking for practical tools, maps, and field notes for the road ahead, start with A COLLECTIVE GUIDE TO SURVIVING CLIMATE COLLAPSE.