Alone in the Valley: Outdoorsman in Peril
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It's October the 27th, 2022, in the Blue Mountains of Oregon. The wind that whistles through the high desert is sharp and laced with frost. It flattens the sagebrush and threads itself through the wheatgrass like a plague of rattlesnakes. High in a remote valley, surrounded by rolling terracotta hills, a haunting guttural howl echoes across the floodplain, an elemental primal screech. If anyone were passing by,

They might mistake this for the cry of a wild animal, but it's not. Once I had gotten my breath back, I had not stopped screaming. It was just a constant scream and it was odd to me because I couldn't control it. I couldn't make myself stop and it didn't sound like any noise I'd ever made before. You know, just these guttural screams. 42-year-old Josh Burns lets out another animalistic bellow.

Pain explodes through his body in searing flashes. He looks up towards the top of the hill, struggling to make sense of the blurry shapes that crowd his vision. Blood drips slowly from a gash on the back of his head. People talk about seeing stars when you hit your head. This was not like seeing stars. This was more like a firework show. Like my field of vision was just

flashes of light and arcs of color screaming across my pan of vision. Josh digs his fingers into the arid earth and drags himself forward. The pain is excruciating, but he has no choice. He has to keep moving. If he pauses to rest, he might lose consciousness. And out here in this valley, that would make him easy prey for the actual wild animals that roam these hills.

I didn't want my family to have to walk up on me, you know, having had a run-in with wolves or a bear or something like that. I didn't want my family to have to find me dead. Ever wondered what you would do when disaster strikes? If your life depended on your next decision, could you make the right choice?

Welcome to Real Survival Stories. These are the astonishing tales of ordinary people thrown into extraordinary situations. People suddenly forced to fight for their lives. In this episode, we meet Josh Burns. In October 2022, Josh sets off on a solo hunting expedition in Oregon's Blue Mountains. It's a cold, crisp autumn day, and all the signs suggest a successful trip is ahead.

until a freak accident flips the script, turning the hunter into potential prey. Injured, alone, and with no way to call for help, Josh must somehow make it back to his truck, a distance of less than a mile, but in his condition, may as well be a thousand. There was no one else on the mountain but me, and I didn't think there was anyone probably for miles around, so I realized it was going to be up to me to get myself out of there.

All this as he struggles to move, struggles to stay conscious, struggles to take a single breath. Breathing is really a subconscious activity. You don't have to think about it most of the time. But even thinking about it, I couldn't make myself inhale. I could not breathe. I'm John Hopkins from the Noisa Podcast Network. This is Real Survival Stories. It's Sunday, October the 23rd, 2022.

Deep in the blue mountains of Oregon, a clump of yellow-brown earth flies from a hole in the ground and lands with a soft thump on a steadily growing pile nearby. Inside the half-dug trench, Josh Burns stops for a breather. The 42-year-old plants one boot on the blade of his shovel and leans his weight against it, running a damp shirt sleeve across his brow.

A few feet away, outside a rudimentary structure of cinder block and corrugated iron, the chrome fenders of his pickup truck gleam in the autumn sunshine. Josh is laying a gas line to connect his workshop to a propane tank. It's a big job, but worth every drop of sweat. When it's done, he'll be able to enjoy the comfort and convenience of gas-powered heat right where he needs it. Shielding his eyes, he lifts his head and gazes out across the mountains.

I always just have felt

more comfortable in nature. If you pick me up and drop me in the middle of a big city, I feel lost and I feel claustrophobic. I couldn't tell you which direction north is, but if you pick me up and drop me somewhere outside, I'll pretty quickly have my bearings and feel like, okay, I know what direction we should head. And it's just a different comfort level. Josh's outdoorsy personality is a product of his upbringing.

His dad used to take him hunting in the backcountry of Arkansas, a state where much of the wilderness is privately owned. This meant they could only hunt if they received permission from local landowners first. And even then, permission could always be revoked at a moment's notice, often cutting father-son quality time short.

As a kid, you know, that felt like, oh man, you know, we just don't have a place to enjoy this activity together. And so I sort of in the back of my mind was always like, I'm going to own some land someday. That became a lifelong goal of mine is that my kids and hopefully their kids and so on will have a place where they can enjoy the outdoors and not have to worry about someone coming back and saying, well, you can't be here anymore.

As he grew older, Josh never lost sight of that dream. He carried it with him through his career in the US Air Force and later, after retiring from the military, during his time working as an assistant manager at a Walmart regional distribution center. Ten years ago, he and his wife moved out west. They settled in the small community of Hermiston, Oregon, an old frontier town nestled in the sprawling basin of the Columbia River. Hermiston was a great place to start a family and raise their two children.

But Josh always had one eye pointed south. Seventy miles south, to be exact, where the lilac-hued silhouette of the Blue Mountain Range loomed above the prairie land. The old ambition to someday still own his slice of wilderness still burned brightly. Occupying a huge 15,000 square mile swathe of the American West, the Blue Mountains are an outdoorsman's paradise.

an endless varied terrain of high desert, snow-capped mountains and lush evergreen forests. It was here where Josh decided to finally make his dream of being a landowner a reality. We wanted to have a place we could escape to on weekends and be out of town. And so in 2019, we were able to purchase the property and that was a lifelong dream.

The Burns family holding is 200 acres of wheatgrass pasture, scrubby hills, and pine woodland, all set amid a lofty mountain valley. Though they still live permanently down in Hermiston, Josh comes here to the mountains whenever he can. This is remote country, as lonesome as it is beautiful. Many miles from the nearest town and reachable only by a series of winding gravel access roads. But then the seclusion is all part of the appeal.

One of the great benefits of owning this property is the self-sufficient lifestyle it makes possible. For Josh, hunting isn't so much a pastime as a way of life, rooted in respect for the land. He takes only what he needs and only when the season permits.

Our family primarily eats wild game that we hunt or fish that we catch here on the Columbia River. And we love that. One of my favorite things to do is to prepare a meal using game that we caught or we harvested and for the family to say, "Wow, this is really good, Dad."

My wife loves to garden and so in the summers, you know, there's times when everything on our table we either grew or we were able to get from nature. Indeed, that's why Josh is up here now. It's late October, elk ratting season, when the male or bull elks compete for mating rights with the females known as cows. For hunters, this time of year offers a prime window of opportunity.

Pumped full of testosterone, male elk will often produce a high-pitched bugling noise meant to attract the attention of nearby cows. By mimicking the calls of a female, a skilled hunter can trick a bull elk into revealing its position. As he works on laying his new gas line, Josh hears a distinctive sound. He looks across the valley with a crumbling tree-lined escarpment beyond. There, hidden in the timber, several elk are bugling at once.

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Sign up for your $1 per month trial and start selling today at shopify.com slash promo. Go to shopify.com slash promo. It's four days later, 1st October the 27th, early morning. Josh emerges from his workshop in full hunting regalia, camouflage cap and a rifle slung across his shoulder. As dawn breaks, the mountains are a black mass against the indigo sky. His breath fogs the dark air as he crosses the pasture.

Boots crunching over the frost, the wind like needles at his back. He bristles with anticipation. After laying the gas line on Sunday, Josh drove back to Hermiston for work on Monday and Tuesday. He came back here Wednesday and spent all day yesterday tracking the elk herd without success. Today he'll try again. But it's not just the thrill of the wild filling him with excitement. It just so happened that the kids did not have school Thursday and Friday that week.

And so my wife was going to bring the kids up and my son was going to be able to hunt with me the rest of the season. So I was thrilled. Josh hikes across the pasture as the sun crests the eastern horizon. Yesterday, strong winds foiled his attempts to stalk the herd. Elk are cautious animals. They tend to avoid moving around in blustery weather as the wind makes it hard for them to hear potential threats.

Also, it carries your scent as a hunter. They could be a long ways away and be able to sense your presence because your scent has carried on that wind. And so my plan that day was just to cover ground and see if I could perhaps find where they were bedded down. If he can just find where they're hiding, Josh will be able to keep tabs on the herd. Maybe tomorrow when he's with his son, he can take his shot.

He walks across the pasture, ascends the steep, brush-covered rise beyond, then descends into the valley that runs through the center of his property. But as he treks across the rolling, dun-colored terrain, another idea presents itself.

There's a particular place where there's this great meadow. There's a spring in it and an elk wallow, a place where they'll go to roll around in the mud and cool themselves off. And so that was where I decided, you know, I'm going to go hunt there this morning. Hopefully, when the elk finally emerge from their hiding place, they will make their way down to the water. About half an hour later, Josh reaches the edge of the meadow.

He surveys the sloping grassland and the wooded area beyond. He can feel the wind at his back blowing in the direction of the freshwater spring. This presents a problem. The winds were nowhere near as strong as they were the day before, but they were coming from the wrong direction where I wanted to sit and be able to watch this meadow, especially the spring. The wind would have been blowing right from my back across to where the animals more than likely would have come out of the trees.

The wind, heavily scented with sweat and gun oil, will immediately give away his position and scare off the elk. He needs to gain some elevation so that he can at least see the animals coming before they turn tail. He considers his options. Alongside the elk wallow is a tall pine tree. About 25 feet up its trunk is a tree stand, a small metal platform that Josh installed a couple of years ago to provide a vantage point. So I thought, well, I could climb up in that tree stand

and the wind would be at a better position and I would be located in a spot where I could still see the rest of this meadow and hopefully have an opportunity to see an elk come through. Decision made. Josh walks over to the tree. He drops his pack on the hard ground and peers up through the spindly branches. A shadow of hesitation passes over his face. I don't like tree stand hunting necessarily. I like to move around. I'm

too, I guess, fidgety as a person to sit still for hours at a time. But I told myself, just take it easy. You promised yourself you're not going to overdo it today, so you've still got plenty in the tank for when your son gets here. Josh shoulders his pack and slings his rifle across his torso. He grips the weathered bark in his gloved hands and tests his weight against the nailed-in planks that serve as ladder rungs. They seem solid enough,

He starts climbing, shimmying his way up the rough, moss-dappled trunk. The makeshift steps creak beneath his boots. But soon he reaches the stand itself, a two-by-two-foot platform of latticed metal tethered to the tree by a pair of nylon straps. Josh gives the straps a quick tug. They seem just as taut and sturdy as the day he installed them. Reassured, he perches himself on the stand, legs dangling over the edge. He glances at the ground. It's a long way down.

Since I wasn't planning on being in a tree stand, I didn't bring my harness with me. But I thought, you know what? As long as I'm really careful, I'll be fine. As long as I don't do anything dumb and fall asleep or move too quickly, nothing bad is going to happen. I've hunted out of tree stands my entire life. He leans against the tree and lays his rifle across his lap. Beyond the elk wallow, the terrain dips gently into a patch of scrub and pine.

offering just enough cover for approaching animals, but also enough visibility if Josh is patient. An hour goes by. As the sun climbs higher, it settles into a beautiful autumn morning, cold and crisp. The sky is cornflower blue and brushed with feathery white clouds. Somewhere, a blackbird twitters. A woodpecker rattles the bark of a distant tree. Josh scratches his chin. He stretches his arms out, flexing his fingers inside his gloves to keep warm.

he's starting to feel fidgety getting to his feet he peers into the woodland beyond the meadow scanning the shadows for movement as he does he is oblivious to the nylon straps groaning underneath him their frayed edges straining and quivering i looked at my watch it was nine o'clock and i thought okay i made a deal with myself i'll sit here for one more hour and if nothing walks through

I've rested enough, then I can get down and go for a hike and cover some ground. And I sat back down on the platform and that's when the tree stand broke. Before he knows what's happening, his world becomes a blur. Suddenly the hillside just started moving upwards at a rapid pace and I could feel air rushing across my cheeks. And, you know, it was probably a millisecond, but I realized I'm falling.

Branches whip his face and tear his skin. His flailing arms shoot up while his legs extend forward in an exaggerated sitting position, his body trapped at a right angle, gathering speed as the ground races up to meet him. I had time to think, "How bad is this?" And I was asking myself, "How bad is this going to hurt?" And I remember really getting partway through that thought, and it was like, "How bad is this going to hurt?" And then I hit.

It's October the 27th, 2022, in the Blue Mountains. Josh Burns lies face down in the dirt at the foot of a towering pine tree. He is motionless. Blood seeps from a cut on his head, pooling in the dusty soil. Assorted objects are scattered around him. A rifle, a camouflaged baseball cap, a pair of scratched sunglasses. The remnants of a morning gone horribly wrong.

25 feet above where he lies, the tree stand hangs flat against the trunk, the ripped nylon straps twisting in the wind. Josh's eyes are wide open, bulging with shock. And then, as the adrenaline fades, he is hit with unspeakable pain. Lying on the ground, the first thing that I remembered was just trying to scream, but this god-awful pain in my chest. And I realized that I'd knocked the wind out of myself.

and that I needed to get off of my chest because it was hurting too bad. With agonizing effort, he manages to flip himself onto his back. He gapes soundlessly, the tendons in his neck popping furiously. The pain obliterates his senses, draining the color from the sky and muffling all sound.

I remember thinking, you're a statistic now. You're one of those people that they talk about when they're encouraging hunters to be safe and wear harnesses even though it's burdensome and cumbersome to carry around with you. And that thought of how much damage have I done, that made me think about, you know, am I actually paralyzed or not?

The way Josh fell meant that he landed in a seated position, his backside and lower spine taking the brunt of the impact. With a creeping sense of doom, he looks down at his legs. He instructs them to move, and after a few nerve-jangling seconds they obey. He's not paralyzed, that's something. Trembling with exertion, he props himself up onto his elbows. He tries to think through the pain. First things first, he needs to find his backpack.

It contains essential medical supplies, including painkillers. Dizzily, he scans around, not seeing it. Then, with a sinking feeling, he looks up into the tree.

My hunting pack, you know, it was full. It was probably 45 pounds. I had plenty of emergency gear. And I remember lying there on the ground, looking up at it 25 feet above me and thinking, well, that's going to do me a lot of good at this point. Without his pack, Josh doesn't have much. His cell phone is in his pocket, but without any service up here, it's useless. Then...

With a glimmer of hope, his hand moves to his hip, his pistol. We have a lot of big predators in our area and so I had made it a practice to carry a pistol with me when I was out hunting. And as I lay there on the ground looking up at my tree stand, I thought, well, I could shoot down my backpack. Maybe I could shoot the peg that it's hanging on on the tree. But even as the idea takes shape, it evaporates just as quickly.

As good a shot as he is, there's a strong likelihood that he'd miss and waste the ammunition. And up here, the ability to defend himself could be the difference between life and death. The Blue Mountains are home to some of America's most notorious predators: black bears, wolves, mountain lions. Just yesterday, Josh came across a pile of half-digested grass, which he recognized instantly as the stomach contents of an elk.

The animal must have been shot there before being butchered by hunters who would have taken the meat and left the carcass. It's not uncommon to find a skeleton picked clean by vultures, but in this case there wasn't a scrap left, not a whisker, not a single fragment of bone. Whatever carnivore happened upon that elk carcass, it was something big, something hungry.

I'm thinking about, you know, was that a bear that took that entire elk carcass and climbed up in a tree with it? Or was it a mountain lion that had stashed it somewhere? Either way, that's less than a half mile from my current position. And that was motivating. I thought, okay, I'm going to have to initiate self-rescue. He needs to find help before a predator finds him. He looks around. The panoramic views across miles of desolate backcountry confirming what he already knows.

He's very much alone. He kicks himself for not carrying some other means of communication. I also should have had an emergency satellite phone or emergency beacon. Those were available. I just never felt like it was something I needed. I was overconfident in my own abilities, I guess, and also just kind of had the mentality of it's not going to happen to me.

There was no one else on the mountain but me and I didn't think there was anyone probably for miles around. So I realized it was going to be up to me to get myself out of there.

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It's a few minutes later.

Unable to call for help, Josh has settled on the only conceivable plan. Somehow, he's going to have to get himself back to his truck and then attempt to drive down the mountain to the nearest town. The journey back to his workshop is about a mile. In his current condition, that is a marathon. It's not even clear if he can walk. The damage to his body is unknown. The broken bones, the torn ligaments, the internal injuries. He's still bleeding from a gash to his head.

and his chest feels like it's been stoved in with a shovel. Every breath sends fire coursing through his lungs. "Once I had gotten my breath back, I had not stopped screaming. It was just a constant scream and it was odd to me because I couldn't control it. I couldn't make myself stop. And it didn't sound like any noise I'd ever made before. You know, just these guttural screams." Josh shuffles himself into a sitting position,

He pulls his knees into his chest, then, with gritted teeth, pushes down against the ground and straightens his legs at the same time. For a moment, he stands, teetering from side to side. Then he puts some weight down on his right leg and collapses in a heap. What follows is even worse than before: burning flashes of agony.

If you see the video of a battleship when it's firing off a salvo and all the guns on one side of the ship shoot at once and these big fireballs go across the side of the ship, that's what it seemed like in my brain. Like my TV screen inside my head was just like fireballs constantly erupting. Trying to compose himself, he swivels his gaze up to the edge of the sloping meadow where a logging road leads back to the workshop.

back to his truck. I was just telling myself, like, you have to get up. You have to move. If you can't walk, crawl. And so I started crawling up the hill. There was a trail from where this tree stand was. It was a game trail up the hill, not too steep of an angle that I couldn't crawl up it, thankfully. And it intersected with one of the logging roads that runs across our property. So I started crawling and

Josh worms his way up the hill. He digs his fingers into the frost-hardened soil and pulls, shunts, and wriggles. Spasms shoot through his lower back, but he goes on, inch by inch. Despite the strenuous effort, he is soon shivering as the ice from the ground transfers to his body. He glances up. Something's off with his vision. The trees at the top of the hill seem to multiply, blurry shapes overlapping, splitting, and doubling. His pulse quickens.

If I'm in shock and I lie here and lose consciousness and I freeze to death, like, I don't want my family to have to find me tonight. If they showed up and it was dark and it was cold, that really concerned me. I didn't want my family to have to find me dead. At last, Josh makes it to the top of the hill. From here, the flat, level logging road leads back to the workshop. Through the fog of pain, there is a surge of optimism.

This is progress. It's enough of a boost for Josh to attempt to stand again. He repeats the same maneuver as before, and this time, he keeps his balance.

I could put just enough weight on the toe side of my right foot that I could slide my left foot out just inches and then put the weight back on my left foot and then drag my right foot back towards it. And so that was how I was able to, I guess what I would call a drag shuffle. It wasn't a walk, but I was able to start shuffling down the logging road

After 30 excruciating minutes, Josh rounds a bend, and there at the bottom of a slope to the left of the road is his workshop and truck. He is almost there, but now he has a decision to make. He can follow the logging road back to the workshop, which would add half a mile onto the journey, or he could cut down this steep 400-meter slope. If I...

go off-road there's a greater chance I might trip and fall but if I stay on the road it might take another hour plus for me to get to the vehicle and there are places where the road is steep also and I thought there's no guarantee I might not fall at that position so I made the decision to take the shorter route and go down the hill off the road delicately Josh starts picking his way downhill

The slope is bristly with juniper bushes and tufts of sagebrush. Hidden boulders and branches lurk in the vegetation like tripwires. Suddenly, a wave of dizziness crashes over him. He collapses onto a boulder and leans against the tree behind it, his breath ragged and shallow. My vision went just black, and I was looking down at the ground just through pinholes.

And from my survival training in the military, I remember that tunnel vision was a sign of losing consciousness. And it seemed like just that momentary rest had allowed the adrenaline in my system to subside enough that deep shock was setting in. And that scared me. He's got to keep moving.

With an almighty effort, Josh gets back to his feet, eyes fixed on the ground as he hobbles downhill, his tunnel vision obscuring everything beyond his peripheries. Eventually the ground levels out as he reaches the bottom of the slope. He staggers over to his truck and slumps against it, then sinks down until he's sitting on the ground propped up against the driver's door. Closing his eyes, he draws in a few slow, steady breaths. It may seem that the worst is over,

But even at this stage, nothing is simple. And so I'm sitting there next to the truck. I've made it this far. And I remember thinking, OK, you have to get in this pickup. That has to happen. And so I used both hands. And with a broken back and a broken chest bone, I just knew it was going to hurt. And so I pulled as hard as I could on the door. And it popped open. And I kept screaming. Josh forces the door wide enough that it won't swing back again.

This done, he flops against the frame. His energy is utterly drained. He can feel the bone and cartilage scraping together inside his leg and chest, like his body is made up of wooden blocks that don't quite fit together. With a grimace, he plants his hands against the doorframe and tries to haul himself up into the driver's seat. It takes several attempts, but eventually he manages to get himself seated. The windscreen is still iced over from the night, so he reaches over and pushes the defrost button.

As he waits for the air to warm up, he sees something in one of the mirrors. The trailer attached to the back of the pickup. I sat there for a second and I was like, I really need to unhook that trailer. I was really concerned about if I needed to turn around or if something happened and I momentarily passed out and went off in the ditch, like that trailer might mean that I was stranded because I wouldn't be able to unhook it at that point and get the pickup out.

With this new objective, Josh clambers back out of the truck and stumbles around to unhook the trailer. It's hard for me to describe what the pain was like, but it was, you know, just constant and it went in waves of extreme pain to spikes of indescribable pain. But I got down out of the pickup and shuffled back to where the trailer connects to the hitch on the pickup and started the process of unhooking it.

Josh removes the safety chains and starts trying to unhook the trailer from the tow bar. But no matter how hard he tries, he can't lift the heavy metal hitch. There's only one thing for it. He'll have to use the landing gear, two retractable legs that support the trailer when it's unattached from the vehicle. With the legs extended, the trailer should lift off the ground enough for him to detach it from the tow bar. With grim-faced determination, Josh starts lowering the landing gear.

He can't bend over without agony. So in order to turn the crank, he has to squat down on his haunches while keeping his back ramrod straight. Trembling, sweat stinging his eyes, he rotates the crank. The trailer starts to slowly lift. He's almost done it. And then... Finally, it got high enough that the...

trailer disconnected and the pickup sort of dropped into its shocks the way they do. And I thought, "Okay, that's one less obstacle. Let's get out of here." Josh returns to the driver's seat. He turns the key in the ignition and gently presses the accelerator. The truck creeps forward. I remember thinking, "Okay, I'm going to make it. This is great.

I pulled out onto the county road. It's a dirt road, and it's about a mile out to the highway. And I started driving very slowly, and all of a sudden, I was aware that I had stopped screaming. His vision has cleared up, too. Signs that just maybe this nightmare might soon be over. He eases his foot down on the accelerator, impatient to reach the highway. But as soon as this flicker of hope appears, his hands clamp tighter around the wheel.

His eyes widen with alarm. Something is wrong. He can't breathe. It felt like my chest was in a vice and breathing is a really a subconscious activity. You don't have to think about it most of the time. But even thinking about it, I couldn't make myself inhale. Josh pulls over to the side of the road, pinned back against the seat. He silently heaves and gasps. But it's no use. He is suffocating.

right here in his truck.

It's late morning. Inside his truck, Josh sits very still, eyes closed, jaw slack.

Sweat clings to his pallid, gray skin. For a moment there is silence, and then a barely audible shiver passes his lips.

that little sip of breath was like a sip of water after you've been in the desert. It was a very refreshing sensation in the sense that, wow, I was really missing this. And I was careful not to overdo it. I didn't want to gasp and inflame my chest more. So I just sat there for a while, taking very shallow, slow breaths,

Seemed like my lungs reinflated and I could breathe again. The tightness in my chest relaxed. I felt like I was okay to start driving again. Josh gets back on the road and soon reaches the highway. The nearest mountain town is about 35 miles from here. Can he make it that far?

It takes 45 minutes to get to the mountain town. That's too far. That's probably too big of a goal. And then I recalled there was a county park, a camping area, like an RV park, about seven miles down the highway. And it was open seasonally. And I knew this was the last weekend that it was open of the year. With a new destination to aim at, Josh presses on.

He turns on his hazards in case another vehicle passes him, but none does. He drives at a snail's pace, nudging the steering wheel around the mountain roads, twists and switchbacks. Eventually, he reaches the campground and pulls into the deserted parking lot. Put the vehicle in park, and then I just started pressing the horn. I just laid on the horn, thinking that, you know, somebody will hear this and want to know what's going on. It seems like nobody is around.

It could be he's got it wrong and the park has closed early this year. But then you see someone emerging from a building. This older hunter, this guy all dressed in camouflage, finally came out of the restroom with this very confused look on his face. And he looked at me and I stopped honking and I tried to mouth the word help. Like, help me, please.

The hunter cautiously approaches Josh's truck, who manages to roll down the window and croak out an explanation: that he's been in an accident and he needs urgent medical help. Comprehending, the older hunter rushes over to the campsite office and disappears inside. A moment later, a grizzled, white-bearded man wearing the logo of the county park comes running out of the building.

He came to my side of the pickup and he said, son, I understand you're hurt. I've got emergency services on the line. They want to know what happened. And so I told them who I was, where I had been, what happened. They asked what the extent of my injuries were. And, you know, I didn't know at the time. I said I was certain I'd fractured my sternum. Something was really wrong with my back. And I think I had a concussion. The operator assures him that an ambulance will be there soon. He just needs to hang on.

He nods weakly and slumps back against the headrest. He overhears the operator telling the campsite official to keep him awake. If he slips from consciousness, he might not wake up. Over the course of the next hour, the campsite official, whose name Josh learns is Bob, sticks diligently to his brief. I don't think he stopped talking the entire time until the ambulance arrived, and it was about an hour. So I learned all about, you know, Bob's interests and his hobbies.

We shared a love for off-roading. He really liked Ford Broncos. That was his favorite vehicle of choice. Eventually, the sound of an ambulance siren interrupts Bob's anecdotes. It's then that the older man's tone changes. His voice becomes gravelly serious as he locks eyes with Josh and speaks from the heart. He looked at me and he said, son, I have a boy about your age and I'm sure you have a dad about mine.

And he said, you've got to be more careful when you're running around up in these mountains. You need to have some way to call for help. And he said, I'm guessing there's way too many people who care too much about you for you to die up here by yourself. He said, these mountains don't care about you at all, but people do. And, you know, what could I say? I just looked at him and mouthed, yes, sir. And that's when the ambulance pulled up.

After being rushed to the nearest hospital, Josh learns that, while serious and extensive, incredibly none of his injuries are going to require surgery. As suspected, he shattered his sternum in the fall as well as fracturing his right ankle and sustaining a bad concussion. He is lucky. Had he landed differently, he could have damaged his spinal column and been paralyzed or worse.

But after some initial scans, a torso brace and a demanding regimen of physical therapy are the doctor's orders. He spends the next week in bed, but within a couple of months, he's nearly back to his old self, walking and hiking and playing with his kids in the backyard. Still, not everything is the same as before. I hurt every day. You know, I wake up in the morning and I'm just really stiff.

And it's painful to get out of bed. But I have learned, you know, I do yoga five or six times a week. I get up immediately and stretch out. There are certain types of exercise that I can no longer do. But I've learned that it's really important to, you know, keep as fit as possible so that I'm not restricted. He has also taken Bob's cautionary words to heart.

These days, when he goes into the wild, Josh makes sure he is prepared for any and every eventuality. My pack probably weighs more now than it did before my accident because I'm even more cautious and I do have a communication device and I am making sure that if something else happens, I'm going to be able to deal with that. Important lessons about safety aside, he also learned something about himself, about resilience, grit, and the will to survive.

qualities that to Josh's mind speak to something universal. Since my accident, we live in a pretty small community and lots of people found out about it. So I've had to tell this story

many times and lots of times people say, well, there's no way I could have done that or I would have just laid down and died or hoped that help arrived. And I don't really think that's the case. I think the instinct for survival is pretty strong in all of us. In the next episode, we meet John Moore out in the rural expanse of South Africa. It's a tough life for a farmer. John has spent years battling thieves who pilfer his livestock.

One day, he takes a bold step, chartering a plane to search for some missing cattle in the Drakensberg Mountains. He hopes it'll give him the upper hand, but in the end, everything comes crashing down. When he and his companion Mark find themselves stranded and hurt somewhere in the huge range, the focus of John's mission will switch from recovery to rescue. And he'll have to rely on instincts and ingenuity if he's going to pull them both through. That's next time on Real Survival Stories.

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