How to Plan for a Flood: Your Battle Plan to Stay Afloat

Floods are nature’s slow siege—rivers swell, rains pound, or dams break, turning dry land into a watery graveyard. They don’t rush in like tornadoes; they creep, then overwhelm, drowning homes, roads, and hope if you’re not ready.

I have had to evacuate an oncoming flood when Hurricane Dora hit Florida in 1964. We were renting a cabin next to the Suwanee River. The river was 20 feet below where our cabin was. My father, ever the survivalist in making things work, made a winch-type device that would lower us IN the boat down to the water, and it would winch us back up when we got back from our boat trip.

It was known that the Suwanee would flood. It did. The river rose 20 feet overnight and flooded all around, including Suwanee Springs, within walking distance. We had moved as much as we could up to another cabin on higher ground. I also had to move my horse, which was stabled a bit down the road from us, to an open cow pasture.

A few days later, when the water had subsided considerably, I decided to ride my horse, Rocki, to see what had happened. I rode down the submerged road, trying to get to the higher ground I could see, but the water was still deep enough that my horse had to swim a bit. That was scary.

Read the Tribute to Rocki.

I rode further down the road, where I knew an open area was cleared for huge electric lines. It was also flooded, but being an idiot teenager, I thought I could ride through it. I had no idea how deep it was. The clearing was surrounded by trees and brambles on both sides.

As we went further into the flooded area, it dropped off into deep water. My horse was swimming again, and I had no control of her. She decided to veer off to the left into the trees and brambles. She got stuck and tangled in the huge brambles with big thorns. I was riding bareback so I could slide off of her and untangle her legs.

As I freed her rear legs, she lunged forward toward land! I grabbed her long tail, and she pulled me to dry land with her. Luckily, my horse had minor cuts on her legs, but I had deep cuts from the thorns on my hands. That was really scary. I rode her home the long way, about a mile down the side of the highway.

What Would You Do in a Flood?

At GoldenSurvivalist, we don’t sink—we swim. Whether you’re by a creek or in a flash-flood alley, here’s your hard-earned guide to planning for a flood and keeping your head above water.

Step 1: See the Water Coming

Floods whisper before they roar. Heavy rain that won’t quit, rivers bulging past their banks, or a sudden dam-break warning—those are your signals. Check your terrain: low spots, canyons, or urban concrete jungles trap water fast. Flash floods hit in hours; river floods build over days. Look for clogged drains, rising puddles, or muddied streams turning fierce.

Know your risk: FEMA flood maps mark your zone—100-year plains or storm-surge coasts. Stay glued to NOAA Weather Radio or apps like FloodWatch. X.com can ripple with locals spotting water where it shouldn’t be. The tide’s rising—spot it, and you’ve got the jump.

Step 2: Chart a Plan That Floats

When water invades, you’ve got two moves: evacuate or ride it out. If you’re in a flood plain or under orders, get out early—roads turn to rapids quickly. Map two escapes—highways flood, so know backroads or footpaths to high ground. Practice a 20-minute exit with your crew—family, pets, gear—because traffic drowns stragglers.

If staying, pick your high post: upper floors, an attic with an exit, or a sturdy roof—water rises, and basements become tombs. Seal doors with sandbags or towels; assign one to grab the kit and another to cut power—wet wires spark death. Set a post-flood meet-up—a hill, a dry lot—and a far-off contact to bridge comms when lines fail. Drill it raw—when the flood hits, you’re a machine.

Step 3: Pack a Kit to Outride the Tide

Floods cut you off—power dies, water’s tainted, help’s stalled. Your kit needs to buoy you for 5-7 days:

• Water: One gallon per person per day—floods poison taps with sewage and silt.
• Food: Waterproof, no-cook rations—sealed tuna, granola, peanut butter. Add a can opener.
• Gear: Flashlight, batteries, a life vest or inflatable tube, a whistle for rescue. A solar radio tracks alerts.
• Health: First-aid kit, meds, water purification tabs—floodwater’s a germ stew.
• Docs: IDs, insurance in a sealed bag—paper drowns easily.

Store it high—top shelf, attic—or in a floating pack if you’re bolting. Check it every rain season; moldy gear sinks you when the levee breaks.

Step 4: Raise Your Defenses Above the Flow

You can’t stop a flood, but you can dam its damage. Elevate what counts—appliances, furniture—on blocks or upper floors. Seal basement walls with waterproofing or plastic sheeting; stack sandbags at doors—every inch you block buys time. Clear gutters and drains—clogs turn drizzle into deluge.

Outside, slope your yard away from foundations; plant grass or gravel to soak runoff. If you’re building, raise your base—stilts or mounds laugh at shallow floods. Know your shutoffs—power, gas, water—and practice killing them fast; wet lines ignite or drown you. Fortify now, or float away later.

Step 5: Stay Afloat When the Surge Strikes

Floods shift gears—slow creep to sudden rush. Track forecasts—rain totals over 6 inches or flash-flood warnings mean move. If evacuating, leave before water laps your tires—cars stall in a foot, sweep away in two. If trapped, climb—roofs, trees—currents pull hard. Don’t wade floodwater; six inches can knock you down, and it’s laced with snakes and wires.

Post-flood, watch your boots: water hides holes, and mold breeds fast. Smell gas? Hear fizzing? Shut it off and air out—sparks love wet chaos. Signal help with bright flags or bangs—screams fade in the slosh. More rain can restart the flood, so stay high, stay sharp.

Final Thoughts

Floods are patient killers, but preparation keeps you dry. At GoldenSurvivalist, we don’t drift—we dominate. Know the signs, lock your plan, pack your kit, shore your ground, and stay swift. When the waters rise, you’ll be the one still standing as they fall. Act now—the next storm’s brewing. Stay buoyant, stay alive!