Stranded on Ice: Polar Bears Prowling…
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It's mid-August 2000. At the northern tip of Canada, the Firth River flows with ferocity. Its ice-blue waters cascade through granite canyons, slapping against jagged rocks as a freezing coastal wind from the Beaufort Sea stirs up a wicked current. As the pale Arctic sun sets, leaving a lilac sky peppered with wispy gray clouds, a raft appears on the horizon.

It travels slowly along the rolling river, cutting a choppy line as it zigzags from left to right. Inside the raft, trying in vain to keep on course, is 41-year-old Glenn Gantz. His hands are near translucent with cold. He can barely grasp the oars clenched in his fists, but his face is set in grim determination. He has been on the river for almost 12 days,

He's witnessed all manner of conditions. Freezing temperatures, rain, gale-force winds, snowstorms. But now, as his little raft inches towards a finger of land sticking out at the end of the waterway, it's a sign Glenn's struggles are surely coming to an end. If he can just make it to the eastern side of Nunaluk Spit, a plane is due to take him home.

the wind was at that point was coming out of the east and i'm supposed to row across this open water and it's about i think it's about two miles and i'm supposed to row like directly northeast to get to the spit where the rendezvous point is but i could not row to the east the minutes pass and the wind doubles in ferocity tossing glenn and his raft around like toys there's no way he can make it to the correct side of nunaluk in these conditions

No way he can make it to the rendezvous point to reach the plane. So, cutting his losses, he steers to the nearest shore and stumbles out onto the snow-covered banks. Soaked from head to toe, teeth chattering and ears ringing with a constant shriek of the wind, Glenn stands on a small, snowy mound and assesses his surroundings. This spit of land is tiny, perhaps just 100 meters wide.

And then, as he treks through the ankle-deep snow, eyes peeled for somewhere to pitch his tent, he makes a chilling discovery. He isn't alone. I come across some tracks. I've been looking at grizzly bear tracks for 12 days now. I've got a pretty good feel for how big they are. These bear tracks were huge. I mean, they made the grizzly bear track look small, and I was like, "Oh, my. There is a polar bear."

on the spirit. 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 Glenn Gantz, a biologist from Utah who likes to take a walk or a row on the wild side.

In August 2000, Glenn embarks on a daunting, never-before-attempted challenge: a 12-day rafting trip down the perilous Firth River alone. I called the park service and they said, "I got a dumb question, but are there any regulations that say you can't do a solo trip on the Firth River?" What they said was, "No, there's no regulations."

I'm not sure why you'd want to do that, and no one's ever done it, but there's no regulations against it. It was always going to be dicey, paddling through Arctic waters on Canada's northern coast, miles away from civilization. But when Glenn finds himself stranded on a narrow stretch of land in the middle of the night with a polar bear lurking somewhere in the dark, a risky adventure becomes a potentially deadly one.

It scared the bejeebies out of me at that point. I mean, there's like, oh my goodness. Polar bears, they want to eat you. I mean, you are nothing more than food to them. I'm John Hopkins. From the Noiser Podcast Network, this is Real Survival Stories. It's July the 28th, 2000. On a dusty driveway outside a family home in Utah, 41-year-old Glenn Gantz is packing up his car. A large inflatable raft is tied to the roof.

while the trunk is being steadily filled with all manner of equipment: a pair of rubber boots, a waterproof suit, a sleeping bag, and armfuls of food and water supplies. He slots a basic satellite phone into a pocket of a dry bag, then moves everything over as he squashes in the tent, a battered, cheap item bought years ago from Kmart. Glenn climbs into the laden car and unfolds a map next to him on the passenger seat.

He calls goodbye to his wife and two young daughters, who are waving enthusiastically from the doorway. Then he speeds off into the early morning sun. Five long days of driving lie ahead, as Glenn embarks on what's going to be the trip of a lifetime. The plan is simple. Well, in theory. He is going on a rafting expedition down the Firth River in northern Canada. To start, he'll drive 3,000 miles north from Utah to Inuvik in Canadian Yukon territory.

From there, he'll meet a pilot and be flown to Margaret Lake in Iwawik National Park, the starting point of his trip. And after nearly 100 miles of rowing, camping, and trekking, he'll eventually reach the coast, way up on the northwestern tip of Canada. There, Glenn will be picked up by the same plane and flown back. As a wildlife biologist with a taste for adventure, meandering through the empty wilderness of the Northwest Territories sounds like a dream.

I spend a lot of time outdoors. As a background, I have always loved adventures. Being outdoors on adventures just fills my spirit, but allows me to have a happy life. I started

road biking when I was like 12 and I would take off and have to call my dad to come pick me up because it was getting dark and I couldn't get home. And then we started backpacking with my dad around 13 and started whitewater kayaking when I was like 14. I even started doing paraglide when I was about 17. So my whole life I always sought out adventures to build my spirit

All the same, though, he didn't exactly plan to do this rafting trip alone. A year earlier, in 1999, Glenn and five friends heard about the route through the Yukon and hoped to do it together. But as the date neared, people bailed, one by one. The trip was postponed to the following year. Unfortunately, in 2000, Glenn's friends once again dropped out. This time, it didn't stop him.

Also, part of the motivation at that time was I had a very good friend, Scott George, who had passed away. He was 37 at the time. And it really made me realize how precious life is. And, you know, if you don't do it now, you may never get a chance to do it. Tomorrow's not guaranteed and live every day like it's your last. So that was kind of the motivation.

Before taking off though, Glenn had to check whether it was actually viable to do the whole trip solo. Most teams of rafters take between 10 to 12 days to row through the hostile waters of the Northwest Territories. The route is demanding, passing forests and tundra, craggy peaks and meadows, coastlines and ice-filled seas. To do it alone would be dangerous, fearless, possibly even illegal. Cue a bizarre phone call to the Canadian Park Rangers.

I called the park service and I said, "I got a dumb question, but are there any regulations that say you can't do a solo trip on the Perth River?" And honestly, I was hoping for them to say, "Oh yeah, you can't do that." But what they said was, "No, there's no regulations.

I'm not sure why you'd want to do that. And no one's ever done it, but there's no regulations against it. And so it made me think about it, talk about it a little bit more. And then going back to, if I don't do this now, I may never have a chance to do it. After getting the all clear from the Rangers, Glenn ran the idea past his wife, Kathy. It was a big ask. He'd be gone for more than a fortnight, leaving her alone with their two young daughters over the summer holidays. There'd be minimal contact with him.

The wilderness that far north isn't exactly known for its reliable signal, but Kathy was understanding. Trips like this are hugely beneficial for Glenn, and so it was all decided. After researching the route of the Firth River, Glenn estimated that doing it solo would probably take him around 12 days. He'll spend the daytime hours rowing the raft northeast, then set up camp on the riverbanks each night. Before leaving, a quick check of the weather.

The park rangers reassured him that being so close to the Arctic Circle during the summer months promises long hours of daylight. Even better, August, his planned departure date, can almost guarantee glorious conditions. The rangers also laughed off Glenn's questions about polar bears, saying that the animals only travel when there's pack ice, a formation typically found in the dead of winter.

I have to say, I was nervous. I mean, that's a big adventure. You know, of course, I was scared about what could happen and whether I could pull it off on my own.

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The sunny summer skies have been replaced by heavy rain clouds and a damp, howling wind. Not the conditions Glenn was promised. Trying to shake off a dispiriting start, he meets the pilot who will be flying him into the heart of Ivovik National Park. That evening, they fly directly to his starting point, Margaret Lake. The little bush plane glides over enormous stretches of Canadian Delta, great mazes of fresh water leading through the wide landscape.

When they reach Margaret Lake and the tiny aircraft creeps towards its grayish waters, it becomes apparent that this drop-off isn't going to be quite what Glenn expected. Surprisingly, they don't land on land. In fact, what happened was the pilot lands out in the lake and he says, "Well, this is as close as I can get to the shore." I'm like, "What?" So I've got all my gear in there, you know, a couple hundred pound raft and all this stuff. And he said, "Oh yeah,

Most people just, you know, strip down to their underwear and carry this stuff to shore. Due to heavy rain in recent days, the pilot can't get any closer to the river. The lake has widened, the surrounding ground is saturated, and the water is muddy and opaque. The compact aircraft is fitted with pontoons, essentially large floats beneath the fuselage, which allow it to set down right in the middle of the lake.

Glenn has no choice but to lower himself into the shallow, murky water. I jumped in and started carrying my first moat to shore. And I was just sinking in mud up to my knees. And I'm like, oh, this is not going to work. So I walked back out to the plane and I said, well, this isn't going to work. You got to take me back. And he said, well, I can't because there's too much weight on the plane. I can't take off on this length.

If they were on land, the pilot explains, it would be a different matter. They could just take to the skies again and fly home. But somehow, Glenn has found himself in a lake he can't wade through on a plane that can't take off. Not while he and his heavy equipment remain on it, at least. For a few moments, it seems like he's totally stuck. So I was like, okay, stop being, you know, solve a problem here.

So I was like, "Okay, well, I'll just sit on the pontoon of the plane and I'll blow up my raft, throw my stuff in it and paddle it to shore." It's as good a plan as any. After slowly inflating his raft, Glenn says farewell to the pilot and clambers off the pontoon and into his vessel, clinging on to the mildly reassuring promise that the plane will meet him again at the rendezvous point in 12 days' time. Duly lightened, the aircraft soars away and Glenn begins paddling towards the lakeshore.

The first part is easy enough, but when he finally reaches land, there's still half a mile between him and the Firth River. It's a slow, exhausting process, and by the time he's transported all his equipment to the river's edge, it's 2:00 AM. His body is crying out for rest, so he settles down to spend his first night on the Firth, camping on the granite edges of the fast-flowing water, with just a thin tent separating him from the wilderness.

Although he's physically spent, the adrenaline in his veins means it's unlikely he'll get much sleep. When the pilot left, I remember the feeling of, "Wow, I am here all alone. This is terrifying." But it was also exhilarating, too, to think, like, there is nobody else around for hundreds of miles. And, like, this is what you want. This is an adventure.

It's the morning of August the 3rd, and on the desolate banks of the Firth River, Glen Gantz is starting to stir. The morning sun pierces the slender walls of his tent, dragging him out of his slumber. Muscles aching from hauling his equipment across the plains last night, Glen shuffles out of his sleeping bag and unzips the tent. He'll have a quick breakfast, change into his rafting gear, then head out to the river. But when he reaches for his rubber boots, which he left outside of the tent last night,

his outstretched hand grasps at thin air. I wake up and get my boots and they're gone. Now there's nobody around gonna steal a pair of boots off there, right? But I could not find my boots and I know where I left them. Anyway, I started searching for them and it was probably about half an hour I found them. But there were bite marks through the boots, actual punctures going right through the boot and they were covered in hair.

It's a sharp reminder. Glenn is alone in an unforgiving wilderness, crawling with predators.

Rather than hang around and become a sitting target, he swiftly packs up his tent and supplies, slips his feet into the punctured boots, and heads to the river. The ice-cold waters of the Firth splash over jagged rocks and pebbles. The river is fairly shallow, but the white tips that froth on the waves are telltale signs that a strong current swirls below. Glenn clambers into his raft, oars clutched in his hands, and pushes off from the shore with a splash.

With rugged coastlines and evergreen trees bordering either side, the 12-day adventure can now truly begin. As I'm floating down the river, all I could think about is, how lucky am I to be here? Like, oh my God, like, what have I done to deserve this? It was an amazing feeling.

Glenn calmly rows downstream as the hours melt away, passing gigantic cliffs, lush green forests, and miles of barren tundra. At one point, he catches sight of two wolves prowling on the bank, his instincts as a wildlife biologist taking over. He steps out of the raft, sets up his tripod, and watches the creatures play. The animals chase each other through the marshy landscape as he snaps photos.

One wolf continues up the shore and the other one jumps in the river and swims across the river right toward me. I was just amazed. I mean, just total amazement. I had absolutely no fear. I wasn't scared at all. Day one passes without issue and Glenn settles down for a peaceful night on the riverbank. Days two to six of the trip continue in much the same manner as he happily maneuvers his raft through spectacular scenery.

He floats through the mountains and admires different species of migratory birds. He battles challenging rapids that whisk him through indigenous lands and ancient settlements and squeezes his raft through narrow pinpoints on the river's creeks. The only downside is the physical toll. Glenn is spending most daylight hours on the water. He's reliant solely on his own strength and abilities to navigate. It's becoming apparent that he cannot properly replace the calories he's losing.

Most nights he falls asleep with a painful gnawing in his stomach, but he embraces it all. He rises to birdsong in the mornings, while the gentle chatter of nocturnal creatures provides his evening lullabies. And then, after almost a week of plain sailing, Glenn reaches the gorge. The next part of it is called the gorge, and that's where the river really narrows down

and it goes into a gorge and it's like 200 meters tall, sheer rock walls on the side.

Very few places to pull over. I often describe it as you're getting flushed down a toilet. There's not much you can do. You're at the mercy of the river. You know, you're constantly rowing, pulling away from hitting the walls. And that's where the bigger rapids were. And that's where I was really concerned about maybe flipping the raft and not being able to ever get it back. If anything were to go seriously wrong, Glenn does have a satellite phone on him.

But it's of limited use all the way out here, where the signal is patchy at best. Besides, he wants to save his battery, just in case he runs into an actual emergency. For now, the phone remains in the waterproof bag. Put us in a box. Go ahead. That just gives us something to break out of. Because the next-generation 2025 GMC Terrain Elevation is raising the standard of what comes standard.

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The imposing rock walls and narrow, frothing white water of the gorge run out before him, as if Mother Nature is throwing down a gauntlet. Perhaps there's a way around, but then there's the time issue. He now only has six days to reach the rendezvous point. If he doesn't meet the pilot in time, he'll be left in the wilds. That's one flight you don't want to miss. So the only way is forwards, head on.

Glenn and his raft take a battering as he pummels his way along the narrow, swirling waterway. But his skills as a rafter are strong, and he gets through, a bit bumped and bruised, but in one piece. He remains on schedule for now. It's the evening of August 11th, night nine of Glenn's trip. He's running low on food and water supplies, and his body is showing signs of extreme fatigue. But he only has three days of rafting left, so on he slogs.

When he can take no more, he pulls into a spot on the banks to camp for the night. But as he steps out of his vessel, a sudden, fierce wind hits his body, almost knocking him sideways. He steadies himself by leaning on the raft. All around him, the trees are bending and creaking. The river, rushing faster than ever, is a storm on its way. Ordinarily, Glenn ties his raft up with just one rope, but tonight he lashes another on top of it. Better safe than sorry.

Then, hands numb with cold, he locks his food and water supplies inside the boat and sets up his tent on the rough tundra. I crawled in and tried to get some sleep. Well, the wind just kept getting stronger and stronger to the point where my tent was literally flattened on top of me. And I was just like holding my hands up, trying to have a nice breathing space and keep it off my face.

Somewhere in the middle of the night, the wind was so strong that it literally picked up the tent and me off the ground. And that's when I really was like,

This is serious. Like, this is way serious. There's a risk that this could start blowing me and my tent off this little plateau we're on. So every time I would get a little break in the wind, I would hold on to it and I was like reaching my hand out, like digging up rocks, trying to pile rocks inside my tent to add more weight to it. And so that went on for hours. Of course, I got no sleep.

For this time of year, the heart of summer, a storm like this is extremely rare. The endless night drags on. Even when hours later, the dawn finally approaches, the storm remains vehement. It had turned to snow. And it was about six, eight inches of snow everywhere outside. But another amazing thing happened. About 50 feet from my tent is this pure white doll sheep.

The distant sheep seems unbothered by the cruel conditions. Glenn, on the other hand, cannot leave his tent. Clearly, he won't make it onto the river in such a tempest. He's going to lose precious time, but the only thing for it is to stay put and wait.

The icy winds smother him, and his core temperature plummets as his body grows weaker with hunger. Locking his food and water in his raft seemed like a good idea yesterday evening. But now, famished and faltering, the decision doesn't seem so smart. It remains too hazardous to venture outside.

You're forced in this tent for 36 hours. I mean, I was just worried about the tent blowing away and I was trying to think about what else can I do? How can I make this more secure? At one point I thought about going out and piling snow around the tent, but it's like I didn't have anything to do that with. My mind was just, how am I going to handle this? What can I do to make this situation better or less likely to turn tragic?

It's happened slowly, almost imperceptibly, but the adverse factors are piling up. His body is weakening, the storm is relentless, and if he doesn't reach his ultimate destination, he may never make it out of here. But after another intense, interminable night, dawn creeps over the horizon, and this time, thankfully, the weather gods are on Glenn's side. Though the winds are still strong and snow sparkles on the riverbanks, it all looks just about manageable.

Two days. That's all Glenn has left to reach Nunaluk Spit. Two days, or the pilot may have no choice but to leave him out here. He doesn't have a minute to lose.

It was really, really difficult rowing the raft into the wind. So, you know, spending a lot of energy, burning lots of calories. So I spent that whole day rowing down the river. I did not make it as far as I wanted to because of the wind and just camped in the middle of the river, basically on the gravel. So I camped there that night. Again, it was really windy. A whole 24 hours races passed.

Glenn has made up some ground, but when the next day, day 12, finally rolls around, he wakes up determined to make the most of every hour. He's on the home straight now. He's freezing cold, mentally and physically drained, and his whole body is crying out with hunger. In under two weeks, he's lost so much weight that his clothes are hanging off him. The icy tundra of Yukon country extends on all sides. He is a tiny speck in the expanse as he rows on.

The final section of the trip will take him from the Firth Delta towards the Arctic Ocean and Beaufort Sea. This transition from river to saltwater makes it one of the most challenging sections, as coastal winds are notoriously harsh and unpredictable. There is also the added difficulty of navigating the ever-multiplying channels of the river as they splinter off like infinite branches of a tree.

That was one of the areas that the park rangers said, you know, be really careful because you could wind up on any one of these channels and they just branch off so much that there's no water. You can't float your raft. So, you know, I was constantly making decisions. Should I go right? Should I go left? You know, all the way down. And there were several places where I did run aground, where I had to get out and like drag my boat over the rocks. Again, burning up lots of calories.

In hindsight, I could say that I was not consuming enough calories. And that will come back to bite me the next day here. The end in sight. Glenn clenches his burning muscles and rows more ferociously than ever. It's getting harder with each stroke as the Arctic gales flurry around the raft, constantly turning it this way and that. Nunaluk Spitz is now just ahead. A narrow peninsula painfully close.

And the wind was, at that point, was coming out of the east. And I'm supposed to row across this open water. And it's about, I think it's about two miles. And I'm supposed to row like directly northeast to get to the spit where the rendezvous point is. But I could not row to the east. All I'm doing is kind of moving to the north and west a little bit to keep from just getting totally blown away. Try as he might.

he cannot reach the northeast section of Nuluk Spit. He now has to make a decision. Does he carry on and use all of his remaining energy to battle the Maelstrom and try to reach the rendezvous point on time? Or does he moor his raft on the nearest coast, set up camp for the night, then row across once the wind has died down? If he chooses this, he'll just have to pray the plane waits for him. Glenn makes the call. He abandons the journey for the time being and heads to the nearest patch of snow-covered coastline.

Up close, Nunnalluk's spit is smaller than he anticipated, only a few miles long and no more than 100 meters wide. He steps gingerly from his raft and splashes through the shallows. But as he does so, his boots knock against large shards of ice floating on the surface. Glenn recognizes it as pack ice. Not a good sign. Pack ice forms when currents and winds bring flows together, freezing them into large masses.

Not only do they block sea routes, they're also the perfect hunting ground for polar bears. And if the pack ice is a bad sign, what he sees next is a horrifying one. So about that time there was probably, you know, two inches of snow on the spit covering everything. And as I start walking back toward my camp, I come across some tracks. I've been looking at grizzly bear tracks for 12 days now. I've got a pretty good feel for how big they are.

These bear tracks were huge. I mean, they made the grizzly bear tracks look small and I was like, oh my. There is a polar bear on the spit and it was just here, like within the last hour, walking down through the snow. It scared the bejeebies out of me at that point. I could feel my heart racing now just talking about it again. Grizzly bears, they don't want to have a bad encounter.

Polar bears, they want to eat you. I mean, you are nothing more than food to them. As a biologist, Glenn is acutely aware of the dangers posed by the world's largest land predator. If they pick up his scent, he'll be easy to track down. Most female polar bears weigh at least 200 kilograms, while males can weigh up to 800, nearly a ton, and grow up to 10 feet long. And on this narrow stretch of land, there really is nowhere to run.

But Glenn has no choice but to hunker down. The weather is too punishing, and so he sets up camp on the spit and waits for the storm to pass. Inside his flimsy tent, he pulls a journal out of his dry bag. Though his hands are numb, he tries writing a few sentences. In these extreme conditions and severely malnourished, it's important to keep his brain alert. Night falls, and then he hears something. A low rumble, just outside.

I'm actually laying in my tent and I'm writing in my journal and I hear somebody mowing the lawn outside my tent. I mean, it's a lawnmower that's going back and forth. It made me stop. Am I losing my mind? Have I lost my mind? So reassessing my whole situation, am I too cold? Am I too hungry? What do I need to do here? I was questioning my mental status.

I knew I was hungry. I knew I was lacking calories, desperately lacking calories from two days previous of not being able to eat for 36 hours, just being in this storm again and not being able to eat. So physically, I felt like I'm hanging in there, but barely. Of course, there's always the possibility that the sound was actually the low growl of a hungry apex predator.

In the early hours of the morning, Glenn bites the bullet. He reaches into his dry bag and pulls out his satellite phone. He switches it on and checks the screen. Thankfully, the battery's full and it's registering a signal. It's time to call Kathy. At that point, I was starting to question, how much longer can I do this? I don't know. I really started questioning myself that I may not be able to survive this much longer.

And I did bring a satellite drone for that reason. And so I decided to call my wife and just let her know what's going on. And I got through to her and I said, I'm out here. I made it out to the spit. The weather's been horrible. I am wet. I am hungry.

And she said, "Are you dangling on the end of your rope?" And I said, "Oh, I am dangling on a thread on the bottom of that rope right now." Even with a line of communication established, there are still no guarantees anyone can reach Glenn or that he can reach the meeting point. Ever the voice of reason, Kathy remains calm, says she'll try calling the pilot, and hangs up. Sometime later, Glenn's sat phone rings. Kathy has got through to the pilot.

but it's not the news they wanted. He says it's too dangerous to fly right now to Glenn's location. The best they can hope for is that he may be able to collect him tomorrow in 24 hours time. I'm okay right now, but in another 24 hours, I may not be. A day is too long. There is another long shot he can try, calling the park rangers. In this vast wilderness, it's highly unlikely they'll be able to get to him any faster than the pilot. But at this point,

best to spread his bets. "I knew I was out there and I was just calling them and I said, 'Hey, this is my story. Things aren't going well and I'm concerned for my survival for the next 24 hours.'" A team of park rangers is actually closer than Glenn could have hoped for. They're sheltering on Herschel Island, a barren landmass in the Beaufort Sea, around six miles away.

As the closest people to Glenn, the Rangers promise they'll try to arrange a rescue mission as soon as possible. But it will be a challenge. With the weather showing no signs of improving, and separated by stormy waters and rough land, it will be a long, arduous journey. The stranded rafter doesn't hold his breath. When I heard that they were going to try to come out, you know, emotionally it was like, "Yay!" You know, there's a silver lining, so maybe

But on the other hand, I knew how bad the weather was. I don't want people risking their life to save me. It's not fair for anybody to do that. Get into your body's vitals with the Vitals app on Apple Watch.

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Morning arrives, then afternoon. With his provisions decimated, Glenn's stomach gnaws away at him. Hypothermia creeps closer. He stays inside his tent as its sides flap in the gale. Icy puddles start to form around him. The wait continues for someone or something to arrive and one way or another put him out of his misery. As evening comes, Glenn forces himself to collect more rocks to secure his tent.

And then, as he unzips the flaps, he sees an amazing sight. I saw someone walking down this bit. They had what they call an immersion suit, water rescue stuff. They had this orange immersion suit on. And I remember thinking when I saw them, it's like, I never knew that God wore orange immersion suits. Finally, mercifully, help is at hand. The rescuers shout to him through the storm that he needs to walk towards them.

They've got a truck. They can take him and all his gear to Herschel Island. Obediently, Glenn starts to pack up his kit. It's all too much for his ravaged body. I literally collapsed. I fell down. I could not get back up. And I was just sitting there like just shaking and totally wasted. And that's at that point is when I realized how close I had really come to maybe not make it.

It was the most horrible feeling in the world. Now it's like physically, I am gone, wasted, shot, nothing left. I can't even stand up myself. Glenn is wrapped in blankets and piled into the ranger's truck, where they feed him hot coffee and sugar-rich cookies. He's been found just in time. As they drive away, bumping over windswept tundra and icy tracks, the rangers explain that they were actually on this very spit two days ago.

Having heard about Glenn's solo rafting trip, they worried for his safety when the weather turned, so took their boat around the peninsula to check on him, but they couldn't see him. It's likely that the snow Glenn packed around his tent to keep it secure hid him from view. Their story also clears up another mystery: the odd noise Glenn heard in the night. It wasn't a lawnmower or a polar bear, it was the ranger's boat. If he'd stuck his head out of the tent, they may have spotted each other.

Glenn is taken to Herschel Island, where he spends three days convalescing. As the snowstorm rages on and he gradually builds strength back up in his body, he and the rangers exchange more stories. They're able to tie up another loose thread: what happened to the polar bear. The rangers explain that when they drove past the island, they saw an enormous whale carcass not far from where Glenn pitched his tent.

The carcass would have been an easy meal for the wandering beast and far more appetizing than Glenn. It's an unbelievable stroke of luck. I'm absolutely positive that that whale carcass was tastier than I am. I was starving. I was just a skinny, starving human. There's no fat on me. Thankfully, that whale carcass was there and that holer bear had something to eat besides me.

Three days later, the arctic storm has finally cleared enough for the pilot to collect Glenn. He thanks his rescuers profusely, promising to stay in touch, then loads his equipment into the plane and begins the long journey home. The small craft flies low over the barren lands of Yukon country. The ice-blue waters of the Beaufort Sea lap against the rocks as the Firth River meanders through the rugged landscape. Glenn stares out the window at the winding route of his solo adventure.

An adventure which showcased some of the most spectacular sights in all of nature, which also came so close to taking his life. What got me through that whole experience was several factors. One is the background of doing adventures, you know, since I was a young teenager. And the biggest thing was having the confidence that I know I could do this. I know I can survive this.

I know I haven't eaten, I know I'm cold and wet, I know I'm getting hypothermia, but I can survive this if I have a positive mental attitude about it. That's where I focused my mental energy at that point was staying positive, looking for solutions to keep my mind occupied and not going down that spiral of doom. When he finally returns to the sunny skies and dusty roads of Utah, it's as though he's entered a different world.

it's so far removed from the hostile wilderness of his trip. Glenn slowly settles back into normal life. But even now, nearly 25 years later, with the memories more distant, he says the lessons learned from his ordeal are never lost. Not least, that the romance of time alone will never surpass the joy of time spent with family. This trip has a long-lasting impact on me. It makes me live my life

better not wasting any moment of it. So I still seek out adventures. I went back to this river in 2011 with my daughter. It was completely different weather-wise. And actually my two daughters and I are doing another trip in the Arctic this coming summer. So it made me realize that if you're going to do these adventures,

there's going to be adversity and it's overcoming that adversity. And what I've learned is that you keep a positive mental attitude. And if you're doing a trip with other people, the people that are there is the most important thing. The weather, the wildlife, none of that is as important as the people. Next time on Real Survival Stories, we meet Rachel Kalenza.

a climber and adventure enthusiast whose life is thrown into the balance during a first date for the ages. In October 2003, Rachel is asked out by fellow climber Jeremy. But rather than dinner and a movie, they're off to Switzerland. And as they ascend a notorious alpine peak, the weather takes a terrible turn. The pair will find themselves 3,000 meters high at the mercy of lightning, snow, and twisting gales.

With no shelter on the mountainside and the weather too extreme to coordinate a rescue, this first date threatens to become their last day. That's next time. Listen right now without waiting a week by subscribing to Noisa Plus. Click the subscription banner at the top of the feed or head to noisa.com forward slash subscriptions to find out more.

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