Real Survival Stories - Alone in Zambia: Scorching Sun, Out of Water

Episode Date: September 10, 2025

Chaz Powell is determined to walk the full length of the Zambezi River, from source to mouth. 2,000 miles through harsh terrain, even harsher weather and some of the hottest temperatures on Earth. After two months, he’s making good headway… until his progress grinds to a sudden halt. Before long, Chaz will find himself exposed on the wide-open savanna. With grim irony, a journey along one of Africa’s longest rivers will transform into a desperate battle against dehydration…   A Noiser podcast production. Hosted by John Hopkins.   Written by Joe Viner | Produced by Ed Baranski | Assistant Producer: Luke Lonergan | Exec produced by Joel Duddell | Sound supervisor: Tom Pink | Sound design by Jacob Booth | Assembly edit by Rob Plummer | Compositions by Oliver Baines, Dorry Macaulay, Tom Pink | Mix & mastering: Ralph Tittley.   For ad-free listening, bonus material and early access to new episodes, join Noiser+. Click the subscription banner at the top of the feed to get started. Or go to noiser.com/subscriptions   If you have an amazing survival story of your own that you’d like to put forward for the show, let us know. Drop us an email at [e-mail] Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

When you're with Amex Platinum, you get access to exclusive dining experiences and an annual travel credit. So the best tapas in town might be in a new town altogether. That's the powerful backing of Amex. Terms and conditions apply. Learn more at Amex.ca. c a slash ymex it's october 2016 on the border of zambia and zimbabwe

on a vast shelf of land overlooking the mighty zambizi river a desolate expanse of bone-dry savannah bakes in the searing heat it is fifty degrees celsius over 120 degrees fahrenheit and rising the sun climbs higher in the sun climbs higher in the sky. Animal tracks baked into the cracked earth in circle desiccated water in holes. The elephants, lions, warthogs and wildebeest long gone in search of shade. Locals call this time of year suicide month, because anybody who steps outside in this heat must surely have a death wish. And yet, there is someone out here. Thirty-eight-year-old, Chad.

Chas Powell is stumbling on the arid earth, fully exposed to the unbearable scorching sun. It's 50 degrees plus heat. I've got no water. I'd start to drink my urine. Out of desperation because I just was so desperate to get some fluid in my body. Chaz staggers aimlessly through the coarse vegetation. The brush is so dense and unyielding. It takes a minute to travel just a few feet.

feet. Thorns tear at his clothes and bite into his blistered skin. The air, dusty and windless, catches in his throat and vibrates with the incessant trill of cicadas. Inside his backpack, his water bottle sits empty. He drained it moments ago, certain that the river was just ahead. But there is no river. Chaz stops, checks the map again. A thin blue line snakes from north to south, a tributary that should lie just a few kilometers away. He shields his eyes and squints towards the horizon. The terrain ripples in the heat. Undulating folds of scrubland that swim in the shimmering haze.

A wave of dizziness sweeps over him. I was completely lost and completely out of my comfort zone. of my depth with the situation I was about to face. Basically got to a point where I fought to myself, you know, this is stupid. Chaz looks back in the direction he's just come. There is at least one river in the vicinity whose existence he can be certain of, the Zambezi. He was there earlier today, walking along its banks. Now he needs to get back to it.

But how? Retracing his steps would take too long. In these temperatures, he wouldn't last. the hour. There is, however, a shorter alternative. Chaz turns his gaze to the south, towards a rocky cliff edge that plunges down into a deep, spectacular gorge. Far below, the Zambezi carries its life-bringing water through this parched landscape. Chaz runs his tongue over his cracked, peeling lips. He needs to hydrate, and if the only way to do that is by climbing down that cliff, then so be it. I honestly thought at the time, you know, this is it. If I don't get back down

there, I'm gone. And that was probably the only time of my life I fought that. If I don't get myself out of the situation, I'm done for. 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 Chaz Powell.

In 2016, the survival instructor embarks on an epic quest. to walk the full length of the Zambezi River from source to mouth, a staggering 2,000 mile long trek through harsh terrain and even harsher weather. By October, Chaz is two months in and making good headway, until his progress grinds to a sudden halt. But what I didn't realize was how difficult it was walking in the gorge. I'm only walking one or two miles a day at this point. I was getting really frustrated at the lack of progress.

Before long, Chas will find himself exposed on the wide-open savannah, with no shade, no water, and temperatures soaring to unimaginable heights. Somehow, with grim irony, a journey along one of Africa's largest sources of fresh water will transform into a desperate battle against dehydration. And, as his body is baked in the eviscerating sun, an awful possibility presents itself, slowly dying of thirst I don't get up now and move I'm not going to be able to do it

I'm going to get weaker and weaker it's going to get more and more desperate at the time I fought myself that I'm fading here I'm John Hopkins from the Noiser podcast network this is real survival stories It's August 2016 in the remote foothills of northwest Zambia.

Thirty-eight-year-old Chas Powell stands in a forest clearing gazing at a Burbank freshwater spring. It might not look much, but this pool of water, partially concealed among a tangle of tree roots, is the source of one of the longest and most important rivers in Africa, the Zambezi. For Chas, this place holds extra significance. This unassuming puddle is the starting point of his quest to hike the length of the Zambizi, from its source here in the forest, all the way to the Indian Ocean, a distance of over 2,000. miles. It's already been quite the journey just to get here. For the last two years, he has been poring over maps, analyzing weather and terrain, gathering

gear, and securing travel permits, all while pushing himself through intense physical and mental training. This is not the sort of trip you undertake lightly. And Chaz isn't doing it alone. He's joined by a friend, a Zambian local, who's agreed to take on the journey as he's as his expert guide. And now, finally, the day has arrived. The planning phase is over, time to put some miles in their boots. But before they even set off walking, Chaz notices something isn't quite right with his companion.

We got to the source of the river, and my friend who was normally really vibrant and really sort of cheery and sort of out there-ish. He'd done really quiet. So I said to him, yeah, is everything okay? And then he said to me, I can't do it. And I was like, what do you mean? I was a bit taken aback, but he said, I can't do it.

And I was like, well, I guess I was speechless. It seems a bit late for Coldfeet. What was the point in all that training and preparation if he's just going to back out now? His friend glances anxiously down at the river's headwaters, trickling through the fallen leaves. It's as if the full scale of the undertaking hadn't dawned until the very last second. It's hardly the vote of confidence Chas needed.

He can be under no illusions that this expedition is going to be easy. But then, doing things the easy way has never really been his style. From an early age, growing up in England's West Midlands, it was clear that Chaz was never going to follow a straight and narrow path through life. At school, he struggled to sit still, always preferring the freedom of the outdoors to the constraints of the classroom. And as a teenager, this restlessness brought him into direct conflict with the authorities. I ended up getting into quite a bit of trouble, the police when I was younger, and when I was 19, I ended up in a younger offender's institution, which was the end of that row for me. I looked back at it and it were all minor offences, but it wasn't something I'm proud of all, and something ever since then, I've sort of been on a path to redeem myself. This redemption lay in exploration, in pushing himself beyond his own.

comfort zone and striving to emulate the achievements of his boyhood heroes. Figures like David Livingstone, the Scottish missionary and explorer known for charting vast swathes of the African continent. After a couple of years working and saving, Chaz went off to travel the world. He backpacked around Southeast Asia, road-tripped across Australia and worked odd jobs in New Zealand. He developed his passion for nature and the outdoors, throwing himself into new challenges, in some of the world's wildest environments. Eight years later, he returned to Britain, where he decided to put his newfound experience to good use.

When I came back to the UK, I started teaching bushcraft and survival. I started working with young people and teenagers and taking them on life-changing adventures, which obviously made me, I guess, balance that side of things out a little bit. Obviously, in trying to inspire people to live more a more adventurous life. It felt good to give back, to share his passion with young people. It felt even better to build a career out of something he loved.

But as the years passed, Chaz started to feel the same restlessness he used to feel as a kid in the classroom. Maybe it's genetic, maybe it's just something that's in me that needs to be outside and needs to be exploring, but even if I haven't been walking for several weeks or months, I get irritable and I feel like I need to be out doing a trek and I need to be out on a sort of journey. And I think that's just something that's always been there, I guess, pinpointing the exact reason why. I guess it's just something within me. And so, two years ago, he decided it was time for another grand expedition.

In the course of his travels, there's one part of the world that has stuck. with him like nowhere else. The continent of Africa is to Chaz, one of the last remaining places on earth where true adventure can still be found. I feel like Africa's still got that edge to it, you know, there's still an element of real wildness where people don't want to go there. You know, they're not sure what is happening in some of these wild places and, you know, learning from these people like David Attenborough and David Livingston that you can go to these

places and they are fascinating. One day, while studying a map of the continent and discussing potential expedition routes with his mate Ian, Chaz's gaze settled on the winding path of the Zambizi River. As he traced its course from the heart of Africa to the coast of Mozambique, an idea formed. So I said to my friend Ian that I was looking at the Zambisi. And I wanted to walk the length of the Zambezi And he's like, no, that's too much That's a step too far

And I thought, well, the more people have asked Obviously, the more interest I've become in it But the more people I'd ask, the more I realised It was probably not safe A lot of people that told me you'll die You're going to die on this river The 3.5,000 kilometres Zambizi is one of the most formidable rivers in the world

It's not just the crocodiles, the thunder, rapids and the precipitous waterfalls. It's also the extremity of the environments through which it flows, ranging from mountainous jungle to swamp land to sprawling savannas that bake in the summer heat. It's little wonder that only one person is known to have ever walked the length of it. But the more Chaz learned about the Zambezi, the more his scheme solidified. If anything, the immense difficulty of the challenge was all part of the appeal. I want to get out my comfort zone here. I want to go on a long track and I want to be in the wild.

I want to be embracing that wild place. I don't want to just know I'm quite comfortable. I want to maybe live as previous explorers did and explore places that are little known about. And I think there is, obviously, the Zambezi tick them boxes for me and that was the main reason. You can get protein at home, or a protein latte at Tim's. No powders, no blenders, no shakers.

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Conditions apply. It's August 2016 in northwest Zambia. Two years since Chas first decided to walk the length of the Zambisi. But now he watches dismayed as his friend and guide turns around and walks back down the forest trail, having just bailed on the expedition at the last second. It's a shock to the system, suddenly facing this daunting task solar. I started tracing the source of the river along this stream, probably for about 100 meters, I eventually just sat down, my head in my hands,

sort of like confused and angry and a bit upset, what the hell just happened? And am I going to be able to continue this walk now on my own? For all his experience, he was counting on local expertise to help him navigate the unfamiliar terrain. He looks at the stream trickling downhill, doggedly wending its way through this dense jungle. Suddenly, a look of determination crosses his face.

He is well prepared, a professional, and so much has already been sunk into this plan. I said to myself with that point, you know, I'm going to do today, I'm going to see how I feel, I'm going to do tomorrow, see how I feel, and that's what it became. It became a step-by-step, day by day, you know, let's see how I get on. And on, and on, and on. On. From its source, the Upper Zambizi cuts through the forests and flooded swamps of eastern Angola. It then flows back into Zambia, meandering through a wide, shallow valley of verdant grassland. Periodically, villages appear along its banks, scatterings of squat, earthen huts.

Chaz is greeted warmly by the locals, who offer him food and a place to pitch his tent. He walks all day, every day, enduring blisters, mosquito bites, and the inescapable ever-present humidity. He passes herds of grazing antelope and buffalo. He descends steep rapids and navigates tricky alluvial plains, where the river splinters into complex systems of channels and marshes. And he doesn't slow down. He can't afford to. Chaz is in a race against the weather. By now it's early October.

In November, the rains will come, and a whole section of the Upper Zambezi. The sprawling Barotsie floodplains will be submerged and completely impossible. One of the reasons I walked when I did was it was the hottest time of year, and it was my only chance to walk through the Baratzi floodplains, which are underwater for about 90% of the year. So I calculated that when I got to the Borozzi flood plains, the water would be as low as it could be

and I'd be walking on accessible paths. After months of rising temperatures and no rain, the water has receded enough for Chas to plot a course through the plains. But of course there's a trade-off. October is the hottest month in this part of Africa. So hot, in fact, the locals have a name for it. The local people call it suicide month because it's so hot. You can't really go outside.

This is for local people. Temperatures are in the 50, you know, 50 degrees plus temperatures at this point. So the Brocci floodplanes, I knew it was going to be hot, but I knew that it was my only chance of getting through that area. While locals keep cool indoors, Chaz forges on across the plains. Conditions are sweltering. Most days, it's well over 40 degrees Celsius or 100 degrees Fahrenheit. But with the river flowing alongside him, he is never short of drinking water. After a few weeks, Chaz reaches a significant waypoint.

the place where the Zambezi plunges sharply off a giant cleft in the earth, crashing into the gorge below in a constant rolling explosion of mist and noise. It was named Victoria Falls by David Livingstone, the first European to lay eyes on it. But to local people, it's Mosioa Tuna, the smoke that thunders. As he drinks in the breathtaking sight, Chazzi, his spirits are high. He's past the Borotzi floodplains, the most challenging stretch of his journey. Next, it's the gorges, the deep basalt canyons through which the Zambezi flows for the next 150 miles. Navigating the gorges won't be easy, but the success of the past two months

is cause for optimism. Though out here, overconfidence can be a very dangerous thing. This walks going well. I've done half the walk in two months and my confidence was high and I was maybe not, I guess, used the word cocky, I don't know, but confident that I could get through really difficult times and I think I overstepped that mark a little bit with my confidence and I think I sort of miscalculated things and that was one of the reasons I think I got myself into trouble. It's mid-October. Chaz has left Victoria Falls behind him and now awkwardly picks his way along the bottom of the gorge.

To one side, the river tumbles down a series of dramatic whitewater rapids. Towering basalt cliffs loom overhead. Chaz scans the ground beneath his feet, though ground is a generous word for these sporadic boulders that provide the only walkable pathway inside the gorge. There are points where the rocks disappear completely, forcing Chas to wade through waste-deep water. And this has slowed him down considerably.

I'm only walking one or two miles a day at this point. And if I've got 150 miles of doing this, I'm in quite a bit of trouble, because I'm not going to have enough feet. I hadn't calculated the right food rations. I hadn't realized how difficult it was. I was getting frustrated. I was getting really frustrated at the lack of progress. Exasperation building, Chas stops to reassess.

He can't go on like this. He's falling too far behind schedule. He's already slipped and hurt his leg, which prompted him to make a social media post, alerting friends to the increasingly precarious position he's in. His injuries aren't serious, just a small strain, and he doesn't expect anyone to come looking for him. But there's some comfort in the fact that, at the very least, his rough location is out there. Chas pulls out his map and scans the flat ground above the gorge.

He'd originally planned to avoid walking along the cliff top. In this heat, being separated from the water seemed like a bad idea. But then he spots something promising on the map. Another river, a tributary of the Zambezi, just 20 kilometers downstream. With a confirmed water source ahead, a new plan emerges. Maybe he can afford to stay high and follow the cliff-top route, rather than remaining down here in the gorge. Chas turns to the cliff.

Luckily, he's in a spot where climbing out of the gorge is possible via a series of slopes and ledges. And so, after filling up his water bottle, Chaz starts to climb. Three draining hours later, he emerges on top of the gorge where the land unfolds in a vast expanse of yellowed, sun-bleached scrub. I calculated that this other river, Colomo River, is about 20 kilometres away. In my head, once again, I've been thinking you could walk four to five kilometres an hour. That's a four-hour trek. Maybe I can make a litre of water to last me four hours, which would be fine a month previous. But at this point, 50 degrees, I soon realized how hot it was.

Up here with no shade. provided by the canyon walls, the heat is almost unbearable. Immediately, the wisdom of this decision is questionable. But then, it's only 20 kilometers. He was doing considerably further than that before he hit the gorges. So, with the mid-morning sun beating down savagely, Chaz sets off walking. He's only a few steps in, however, when another issue rears its head. The cliff-top terrain is anything but flat.

It's a dangerous expanse of hills, dry creek beds and crumbling rock escarpments. It's no place to find yourself walking alone at the heights of the deadly dry season. Soon it will become clear why locals call the Zambezi the river of life. In a place like this, without it, survival isn't just difficult, it's impossible. And I had to keep diverting around these bushes and up and down these bunts. Within an hour of doing that, I was completely lost. This episode is brought to you by Defender. With its 626 horsepower twin-turbo V8 engine,

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Product availability may vary by Regency App for details. It's been an hour since Chaz set off walking along the clifftop. But it feels like much longer. The sun dazzles overhead so bright and powerful that it drains the land of color, like it's sucking the life out of everything it touches. Sweat evaporates as soon as it forms, leaving behind a salty crust that coats his skin, and clings to his wiry, blonde beard.

He reaches into his pack and takes out his water bottle. He tries to pace himself. He's already gone through more than half of his meager supply, but his dehydration is insatiable. After a few unsatisfying gulps, he returns the bottle to his pack and pulls out his map and compass. frowns. Apparently the Colomo River is still over 10 miles away. He shields his eyes from the sun and looks east. The savannah dips and rises in front of him, endless miles of cracked brown earth, which appears almost unnavigable. But what I didn't take into calculation was the fact that there was a lot of overgrowth, there was a lot of these form bushes, there was a lot of up and

You know, this land wasn't flat. It wasn't a flat pit of land that I could just go on a compass bearing to. Chaz staggers on through the dense, spiky brush, only stopping to sip from his water bottle or check his compass bearing. Another hour passes. The sun reddens in the sky as the thermometer reading ticks ever higher, surpassing 48 degrees Celsius, 49, 50. The scorching air ripples like water, distorting the horizon behind a shimmering wave. Distant rocks and trees appear to float, as if detached from the earth. In 50-degree heat, the human body enters crisis mode.

Excessive sweating, dilated blood vessels, and increased heart rate are all measures designed to stabilize core temperature. If they cannot do so, human physiology starts to break down. Vital organs fail. Neurons misfire as the brain overheats, leading to confusion, dizziness, and delirium. At this stage, without immediate medical attention, the outcome is inevitable. Collapse, coma, ultimately death. Chaz is being slowly cooked. He's now experiencing the unmistakable.

early symptoms of heat stroke, a throbbing head, a pounding heart, blurred vision. Sunni is forced to confront a grim fact. Basically got to a point where I fought to myself, you know, this is stupid. I've covered no ground. I need to get back down to the river. I'm not going to be able to do what I thought I was going to do. Chaz staggers over to a stunted tree. He squats in the scant shanked.

cast by its skeletal trunk and takes out his now empty water bottle. He upturns it, trying to shake one last drop onto his tongue. But it's no use. He sits there, the brim of his hat pulled low over his face, and lets the reality of his predicament sink in. He is now several kilometers from the place where he safely climbed out of the gorge early this morning, and still a significant distance from the other river marked on the map. on the map.

He can't carry on, but he can't turn back either. So I made a decision, you know, at the time was to activate the SOS on my satellite phone. And just in my head at the time, it was like, okay, I've never used this satellite phone for emergency. I've never activated the SOS, let's see if I can get some help and advice. Chaz sends out his emergency signal. Moments later, a voice crackles through his. crackles through the receiver. Chaz explains the situation, how he's become lost and severely dehydrated somewhere on the savannah above the Zambezi Gorge. He gives

his coordinates and waits for a response. When it comes, it's not the one he needs. The control sentence, so basically we can't get anyone to help you, but we can send you a helicopter and it's going to be later in the evening. And I said to them hands down, I'm not going to be alive. I'm not going to be alive that time of day. I already know that I'm in a lot of trouble here. They're startling words to say out loud, but it's true. The heat is killing him.

If he doesn't find a way to get to water soon, then this is where his journey will end. He scratches at the dusty, baking earth, trying to dig for water. He even consumes his own urine, but nothing helps his agonizing thirst. Over the past couple of hours, Chaz has been walking parallel to the cliff edge that runs alongside the Zambezi. The cliff is over 100 metres tall and completely vertical. Until now, attempting to climb back down to the river below hasn't even been something worth contemplating. But as all other solutions fall away, is left with only one.

I said to myself, you know, I need to go back to this cliff. I need to have a look at this cliff. I need to see, is there a way down to the river? I don't want to sit here and die. I want to see what I can do to get myself back down to the water. I honestly thought at the time, you know, this is it. If I don't get back down there, I'm gone. And that was probably the only time of my life I've thought that.

If I don't get myself out of this situation, I'm done for. Chaz stumbles dizzy through the undergrowth towards the cliff edge. He can hear the rumble of the river below, millions of liters of water coursing and tumbling over the rocks. He inches to the precipice and peers over. It's a terrifying drop. over 400 feet and practically sheer, with just a few jutting ledges and tufts of vegetation. He can't climb down that. It'd be suicide. Maybe it would be easier just to give up, to lie here and wait for dehydration to take him.

But as soon as the temptation of surrender rears its head, it's swiftly repelled by an even stronger instinct. think about friends and family and I did think about, you know, if I don't do something in this moment, then I'm not going to see them again, you know, that'll be it. That'll be it for me, you know, and I think all that stuff does come to you. You start to think, okay, this is my last chance possibly to do something about it. And I also felt like I don't want to be that selfish person who sits there and does nothing. I want to get up and try to do something. I just I did think to myself, I'd rather die climbing down that cliff than sat there. Chaz edges closer to the precipice and looks at the cliff again with a more critical eye.

Maybe there is a way down. I was looking at the roots hanging out the side of the cliff. I was looking at the different ledges, the different sort of bits that stick out. This was sharp rock that I was trying to climb down, but it was just port to myself, yeah, let's go for it. Chaz turns around and gingerly eases himself over the edge. He hooks his fingers into a groove in the dark, jagged basalt and blindly kicks around for footholds.

It quickly becomes clear, however, that slow and steady isn't going to work. There's just no way to descend in a controlled fashion. His only option is to jump. from ledge to ledge, grabbing hold of whatever he can to stop himself from plummeting to his death. Chaz peers down to a ledge a few meters beneath his feet. Without pausing to deliberate, he lets go. This is one of the things now that feels a bit like a blur, like a blur of adrenaline. And I just ended up just jumping down.

and grabbing these branches on the side of this cliff edge and I was scraping down the side of these rocks and my hands were bleeding. I had cuts all over my hands and I was scraping down these rocks. Chaz keeps going, hurling himself from ledge to ledge, letting gravity and desperation guide his descent. He clutches at leaves and branches to slow his fall. At one point, two fistfuls of foliage come away in his hands and he free falls for ten feet landing in a crumpled heap on a jutting ledge he doesn't get up not immediately he just lies there halfway down the cliff blood dripping from his nose but again the inner drive kicks in if i don't get up now move i'm not going to be to do it. I'm going to get weaker and weaker. It's going to get more and more desperate at the time

I fought himself that I'm fading here. Chaz continues his wild descent, scraping and sliding, grabbing it anything he can, gravel cascading down around him. After a few more meters, he hits something more solid. I reached a more substantial ledge, which relaxed me a little bit, but then I stood up and fainted. I fainted at this point. I was just so, I was just so out of it. Chaz comes too. But his world is slipping in and out of focus. He tries to stand, but again, darkness overwhelms him. He's on the brink, teetering on the verge of collapse. But even now, His will to survive cuts through. He blinks up at the sun, letting the burning brightness sting his retiners and shock him into consciousness.

He pushes himself upright and staggers to his feet. He drops down to the next ledge. And the next, the frayed skin of his palms, leaving bloody smears down the rock. But on he goes, on and on, until... His boots slam down onto a boulder at the bottom of the gorge. He turns, and there it is, the river. And I just dropped myself into the water. I must have drunk about five metres of water in about ten minutes.

It felt like I was just drinking and drinking and drinking. It's about an hour later. Chaz lies on a rock, half submerged in the cool, rushing water. He's holding up a video camera, into which he is recounting the dramatic series of events that led him here. Waves of conflicting emotion crash over him. Relief, yes, but also guilt, regret, and self-recrimination. I was crying. I was like, you know, the reality of the fact that I nearly died.

and I felt selfish, you know, I felt really selfish that I put people through that. And I said that on camera, I said to myself that I just feel really selfish and I'm so sorry to everybody that I put through that, you know. This is me talking to myself here, but I'm expressing that I nearly died, you know. I could have killed myself, I could have died. So, yeah, it was a tough moment. In extreme environments, the margin between life and life. death is very fine. This time, through a mix of luck, courage and experience, Chaz found himself on the

right side of that margin. But it could so easily have gone the other way. I actually said to myself at that point, I'm quitting. I'm not going to continue. That was it. You know, I said to myself, I'm not going to do it anymore. Oh, hi, buddy. Who's the best you are? I wish I could spend all day with you instead. Uh, Dave, you're off mute. Hey, happens to the best of us.

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he's decided to call it quits. He's heading back up river, back in the direction of Livingstone, the town nearest to Victoria Falls. Three long days, later, he climbs out of the gorge and emerges onto a road leading into town. After a few kilometers, a white, dust-covered SUV appears up ahead, rippling in the hazy air. Chaz waves, and the vehicle comes to a stop. When the driver gets out, there is a surprise. It's a friend of his who lives out here in Zambia. Apparently, when Chaz made that social media post after hurting his leg, his pal saw it and immediately launched into action. Found out my friend was out there searching. There was a search party that had been looking

for me for however many days and when I got back to this road, they were there, they were there waiting for me. It's an enormously welcoming sight. Chas thanks his friend profusely, then climbs wearily into the back seat, letting his eyes fall shut as they make the short drive back to Livingstone. Over the next few days, he focuses on recovery, resting, rehydrating and replenishing his strength. Feeling immensely better, it's not even a week before he finds himself reconsidering his earlier promise to quit. I've got clarity at this point. You know, I'm thinking straight now. I know how to do this now.

I know how to not put myself back in that situation. I need to now go forward and do things properly. And so that's what he does. He embarks again, making sure that this time he doesn't stumble into any avoidable mistakes. I need to plan things properly. I need to stop being so cocky and confident. I end up taking an over-run route through villages and sticking nearer villages, sticking near a roads and every time I saw a gorge from that point on I said that I'm not

walking down in that gorge I'm going to stick the walk through the villages the heat remains sweltering but there's a sense now that it can't last that sooner or later all this hot humid air will have to break and sure enough come November it does the rainy season arrives bringing daily downpours that drench the parched land and soak chas to the bone. But he struggles on through this new adversity. As he walks, the main thing that inspires him to keep going is the fortitude of the local people who live here. No matter how bad it gets,

you can always draw strength from their resilience. There were so many things, insects, you know, everywhere. I went, there was a scorpion, there was spiders, the mosquitoes, the diseases. There was so many things every there. I thought, you know, I'm just surviving here. Anything and everything is trying to kill me. But then in the same aspect of that, I thought people are living on this river every day.

They're living with these things every day of their life. This stuff, you know, these people in Africa, along the Zambezi, that's their daily life. You know, these animals, these diseases, the insects, the heat, the environment. And why am I any different, you know, let's get myself through it? Even more striking is how, despite the challenges the local people face every day, they still find the time to show kindness and generosity to a stranger. You know, the people along the Zambezi, you know, saved my life many times, helping me with food, accommodation, navigation, you know, telling me the way,

getting me across the tricky part of the river, you know, from one bank to the other. These people were good people. In January 2017, after 137 days and over 2,000 miles, Chaz reaches the sprawling mangrove swamp, where the Zambizi then spills into the Indian Ocean on the coast of Mozambique. He pushes his way through the brackish wetlands, eventually reaching a narrow sandy beach, his journey's end. Very much relieved, very happy to have finished obviously what I set out to do, very proud of myself.

So it was a great moment. After becoming only the second known person in history to hike the entire length of the Zambezi, Chaz returns home to the UK. But he doesn't stay put for long. Just two years later, he's back in Africa, this time trekking the length of the Gambia River. Then he leads a team across Madagascar, following the country's longest waterway, the Mongokie, from source to sea. By completing these journeys, Chaz becomes the first person in history to hike the length

of all three of these major African rivers, a feat that earns him the title of Explora of the Year from the Scientific Exploration Society. After a brush with death, like the one Chaz experienced, some people might hang up their walking boots. But for him, the most important thing is to carry on, taking valuable lessons along with you. That's what I've learned through life, whether it's from when I was young and I was in trouble to pushing myself out of that situation, moving forward away from that situation. If I'm in any kind of negative environments, you know, pushing yourself forward away from that environment, I think just moving forward in life in general is always a positive.

Since his African expeditions, life has changed pace for Chaz. He's started a family and now lives with his wife and child in Scotland, where he works as a forest ranger. These days, the adventures he faces are of the domestic variety, fatherhood, marriage. But he has found that the same core belief that helped him to survive can be applied everywhere. That no matter what obstacles you're up against, one thing remains universally true, you have to keep going. If anyone ever feels like they're struggling in life,

just have a look at your situation and move forward, move out of it and especially in a survival situation, you know, there's always a way out of things. There's always a way to survive, you know, just have to figure out what it is. So I thought I was gone, I thought I was dead. And coming out of that,

knowing that I can get myself out of that situation obviously makes me realize that I'm capable of doing such things and I'm capable of surviving, and I'm capable of much more than I think I am. Next time on real survival stories, we meet Nikki Daniels. A keen, amateur diver, Nikki is never happier than when exploring life within the open seas, in Britain and far beyond. In the summer of 1999, she goes on an expedition. with her diving club. It's the kind of thing she's done dozens of times before.

50 feet underwater is her home from home. But one wrong move turns her happy place into the scene of potential tragedy. Trapped within an upturned World War I ship at the bottom of the sea with low visibility and scant supplies of oxygen, Nikki will need to think and act fast if she's going to solve this deadly puzzle. And in order to to escape, putting herself in even greater danger may be her only option. That's next time on real survival stories. Listen right now, without waiting and without adverts, by subscribing to Noyser Plus. Click the link in the description, or head to noisor.com forward slash subscriptions.

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