Real Survival Stories - Car Stuck Off-Road: Just Like the Movies…

Episode Date: August 28, 2024

A family outing takes one wrong turn… literally. In 2016, the Kleins drive out towards the Grand Canyon. But in the height of winter, the roads are deserted and the route is unclear. A small slice of misfortune sends their vacation into a tailspin. As mother Karen heads off alone to find help, she has no idea how close she’ll come to never seeing her family again… A Noiser production, written by Joe Viner. For ad-free listening, bonus material and early access to new episodes, join Noiser+. Click the Noiser+ banner to get started. Or, if you’re on Spotify or Android, 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

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It's 7 a.m. on December the 23rd, 2016. In Kaibab National Forest, Arizona. It's the morning after a blizzard, and the landscape is buried beneath eight inches of snow the boughs of the evergreens slump beneath heavy drifts here and there saplings peek through the blanket of white running through this immense forest is a long serpentine road a highway which leads to one of the most famous sites on Earth, the Grand Canyon. Most of the year, traffic hums along its twin lanes,

ferrying tourists to and fro from the iconic attraction. But not today. Today, the road is closed for the winter. Repeated severe snowstorms have made it impassable, and visitors are encouraged to seek alternate routes. As a result, this ordinarily busy highway is deserted and unplowed. There isn't a tourist for miles around. Except one. In a clearing, curled, shivering beneath a pile of spruce branches, is 46-year-old Karen Klein.

Yesterday, everything started out so normal. She was safe and happy with her family. Now she's deep in the forest, alone, half-frozen, and in desperate need of help. I was exhausted. You know, I was hungry, I was tired, I was cold. My feet, I couldn't feel my feet because my shoes were packed with ice. Delicately, Karen stands, painfully straightening her stiff, icy joints. She begins to stagger forward through the knee-deep snow, the muscles on fire. She is weak and weary, but she has to keep moving.

Because it isn't just her own life at stake. Her husband Eric and her ten-year-old son Izzy are depending on her. Miles away, they too are lost and vulnerable. Karen doesn't have a choice. She must find help. And she isn't going to stop until she does. I was never like, okay, isn't going to stop until she does. I was never like, okay, I'm going to die now.

I have to get help for Izzy. I have to get help for Eric. 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 Karen and her son Izzy. In 2016, the Kleins are and her son, Izzy. In 2016, the Kleins are on vacation in the American Southwest.

From Las Vegas to the canyon lands of Utah, they're ticking sites off the bucket list. Next up is the Grand Canyon, and as the family sets off in their hire car, it's impossible to imagine how abruptly their day will turn bad. Just a small slice of misfortune will send the Klein's vacation into a tailspin. Forced to split up in the middle of nowhere, they have no idea how close they'll come to never seeing each other again. The survival mode kicks in. This is no joke. This isn't some screenplay. Like this is real.

And people die like this. This might not turn out well. I'm John Hopkins from Noisa. This is Real Survival Stories. It's Monday, December 19, 2016, in Las Vegas, Nevada. Amid the bright lights of the hotels and casinos, a family of three wanders down the bustling Vegas strip. They are 46-year-old Karen Klein, her husband Eric, and their 10-year-old son, Izzy. The Kleins are on vacation. They're visiting Las Vegas from Pennsylvania, where Eric is a social worker and Karen teaches environmental science at the local college. Kind, neighborly, and unassuming, the Kleins are your typical suburban family.

Things were just pretty normal, you know, just a normal family of three and, you know, we have birds and we have dogs and just what we would say just a typical family. And usually we try to get away for just a nice, fun, light family vacation once or twice a year. After landing in Las Vegas earlier today, Karen, Eric and Izzy picked up the hire car from the airport before checking into their hotel. Though they aren't gamblers, they're excited to sample the many other more child-friendly attractions

that Vegas has to offer. We did things like the Wax Museum. We were going to see the Cirque de la Show. The nightlife of Las Vegas when you're 10 is very interesting. That's all I'm going to say. While his parents follow close behind, Izzy walks out in front. His large brown eyes reflect the dazzling, dizzying array of sights and sounds. For this bright, lively, and inquisitive 10-year-old, adventures with

his mom and dad have already given him some of his most precious memories. My family was very close. Something that we did is that we always had a location that we were going to go to every year. So the year before we went to Montreal, the winter before we went to Liverpool, and we went to London for like Beatles sightseeing. My family is very close. It was very important to me then, and it's very important to me now. Our relationship has always been very much of a team effort as far as our family and raising Izzy. We're both very kind and respectful to one another.

Eric is very generous and very kind, and he was a stay-at-home dad for a little bit for Izzy. So we're very gentle and very positive-minded parents. We're not putative with Izzy or with each other. And just we have a lot of fun. Our mantra is to have as much life experiences as we can together as a family. So very, very close. We're very close. The clients want to make the most of their time in the Southwest. They've got the hire car and with some of America's most famous natural landmarks just a few hours drive away, why not cross a few more destinations off the list? Like there's Zion National Park and Bryce Canyon and the Grand Canyon and thinking

to hit these highlights. Just take just two, three days and just drive and do just a highlight tour. Two days later, the clients check out of their hotel and pile into the car. They enter Bryce Canyon National Park into the GPS and off they go. With tickets to see Cirque du Soleil on the 24th, they're on a tight schedule. They intend to be back in Vegas in three days' time. By then, they should have a few more unforgettable experiences under their belts. It's the morning of Thursday, the 22nd of December. A four-door sedan rolls through the desert terrain of Bryce Canyon, Utah. It's an atmospheric landscape of towering red limestone spires, squats, flat-topped mesa hills, and canyon walls streaked with a dozen fiery hues.

Being midwinter, a light sprinkling of snow covers the ground. Inside the car, Karen, Eric, and Izzy drink it all in. It was like being in a different world, like being on Mars. It was beautiful. I mean, it's the whole area, you know, cliff sides right along the road. And yeah, the rocks are quite orange and red. And the colors were just amazing and just beautiful. With just two days before they're due back in Vegas, the clients don't have time to properly explore these canyons.

But then, even if they did, Eric wouldn't be able to handle anything too strenuous. He's still recovering from a broken back, the result of a road accident last year. Thankfully, the views from the car are astonishing enough. After a whistle-stop tour of Bryce Canyon, the Kleins drive south towards its more famous cousin, the Grand Canyon.

We thought, well, we'll just spend an hour there, which I know in retrospect is kind of ridiculous for anyone who's ever been there. And being somewhat facetious, like go to the gift shop and pick up a refrigerator magnet and get a t-shirt and then drive back to Las Vegas because we had had tickets for a show. So we thought, we'll just pop into the Grand Canyon and come back. As the clients continue their journey south, an alert pops up on the GPS. The main route to the north rim of the Grand Canyon is closed.

Instead, the sat-nav is now diverting them down a minor woodland road. The Kleins turn off the highway and onto the cracked asphalt of Forest Road 22. It isn't long before the landscape starts to change around them. Parched scrub turning to coniferous woodland. Slushy snowbanks line the road, which snakes and weaves through the trees. It starts to drizzle. Through the rain-flecked window, young Izzy looks out at the scraggly, wind-bent evergreens. Their contorted branches stark, almost sinister, against the pale winter sky. It's kind of indescribable, but we were following the bottom of a canyon with lots of twists and turns. Just vast forestry beside us.

I can see the whole thing. It was beautiful. It was one of the most beautiful, terrifying things ever. The Kleins diligently follow directions, driving deeper and deeper into the forest. Since turning off the highway some 30 minutes ago they haven't passed a single other vehicle maybe the cold wet weather has kept the tourists away karen glances at the gps the screen blinks and flickers and then the route vanishes from the map.

The blue arrow representing their car disappears. A message appears on screen. No signal. The three of us are very optimistic people. It was just more of like, oh, heck. Oh, geez. You know, what's, all right, what's going on? And kind of slightly more, I would say, kind of just irritated. You know, okay, we've lost the reception for the GPS, but if we drive a little bit more, surely we'll pick it up again.

Stay positive, a Klein family mantra. But as they continue down these unmarked access roads, their surroundings start to feel even more off the beaten track. After a while, asphalt gives way to gravel. Eventually, we just thought, you know, this just can't be right. Again, excusing our ignorance, but, you know, this is like Disney World, for crying out loud. You know, the equivalent of Disney World. There can't be this, what seemed like a cattle road to the Grand Canyon.

After a brief consultation, Karen and Eric agree they've somehow gone the wrong way. It's time to stop and turn around. They can retrace their route back to the highway. It'll eat into their limited time at the Grand Canyon, but it's better than getting themselves hopelessly lost. Eric slows to a halt. He starts to do a three-point turn, twisting the wheel to the right and reversing. But as he does so, the back tires come off the road and the car slumps into a shallow divot. Eric accelerates,

but the rear wheels can't gain any traction in the mud and slush. So we got out of the car and we did all that we could, you know, as far as trying to get the car out of the mud. We rocked the car back and forth and we put some clothing and tree branches underneath the wheels to try to gain traction. While Eric pumps the gas pedal, Karen and Izzy push the car from behind. But it's no use. The back wheels are firmly lodged in the mud.

They're going nowhere. In one tiny moment, everything has changed. This relaxing, enjoyable, normal day has become something else entirely. You're watching this play out like it's somebody else's scenario. Like this happens to other people, but this doesn't happen to us because, you know, the car got stuck. Well, of course we're going to get the car out because that's what happens when your car gets stuck. You know, that's only in the movies that the car just keeps getting more and more stuck, no matter what you try. And that's when it was more of like, Oh, this is, this is not good. like yourself with podcast advertising from Libsyn Ads. Choose from hundreds of top podcasts offering host endorsements or run a pre-produced ad like this one across thousands of shows

to reach your target audience with Libsyn Ads. Email bob at libsyn.com to learn more. That's B-O-B at L-I-B-S-Y-N dot com. It's 3pm. The clients have found themselves stranded in the middle of a huge, snowbound forest somewhere just north of Grand Canyon National Park. With no cell reception and little likelihood of anyone passing them on this remote backroad, there is no mistaking the gravity of their situation.

But the clients aren't the self-pitying sort. Right away, they start coming up with a plan. Being of a positive mindset, we're very like solutions-based. Like, okay, so what do we do now? And so there was never this defeatist type of wringing of our hands and just sitting and stewing over our misfortune. You know, it was very much like, okay, what are we doing now? Okay, this is how we can fix this. This is what we can do. Based on their last GPS reading, Karen and Eric estimate that they're probably just a few miles from the main road.

If one of them could reach it on foot, they'd be able to flag down a passing vehicle, or at the very least, get a single bar of cell service. As for which of them will go, it's not really up for discussion. Karen is the fitter of the two, a keen runner, and Eric is still recovering from a broken back. It's a no-brainer. It just seemed kind of natural. There was no, like, impending doom. I was like, oh, yeah, no worries.

You know, I'll just run out. And Eric, you stay with Izzy because of your back. And, you know, I'll just run out. And I will, you know, I'll go flag somebody down or I'll get cell phone service. And then we'll just call someone. Karen fills her pockets with a few snacks and a bottle of water. She's dressed in jeans, a fleece, and a lightweight water-resistant jacket. She's also got a woolen hat and a thin pair of gloves.

On her feet, a pair of walking sneakers. It's far from ideal attire for the conditions, with snow on the ground and temperatures barely above freezing. But it'll have to do. Anyway, this shouldn't take too long. Two hours? Three? After hugging Izzy and Eric goodbye, Karen sets off trudging down the road. I didn't have any visions of never returning. You know, of course, I said my goodbyes and, okay, I'll see you later. You know, Team Klein, you know, we've got this. All right, I'll go get somebody.

You know, kind of a yeehaw kind of mentality. It's about two hours later. By now, the drizzle has turned to persistent snow. The wind has picked up too. Flurries whip around Karen's head as she slogs down the road, her hands buried deep inside her jacket pockets. Every few seconds she glances at her phone to see if she's got any reception. No luck. Still, the main road is now just ahead of her.

There's bound to be some traffic. When I got there, the road was plowed and there were tire tracks. So it was, to me, it was clear that it was a road that was traveled. I said, well, I could just stand here and wait for somebody to pass by, or I could just keep walking because, you know, again, with the belief that I would just eventually get at least one bar of cell phone service, you know, and call somebody, call 911 or call somebody. So I started to walk. Continuing along the side of the main road, Karen scours the dusk for headlights. A three-inch layer of fresh snow has now settled on the ground.

She can feel the cold spreading through her feet as the snow soaks into her shoes. I kept thinking, I'm not sure this is going so well, you know, but trying to keep a positive mindset. I kept saying, like'm not sure this is going so well, but trying to keep a positive mindset. I kept saying the same mantra, I've got cell phone service or somebody should drive by. And when it started to get a little dark, that's when I thought it's too late to turn around. And I guess I'll just keep walking. Meanwhile, back at the car,

there is a growing feeling of concern. Night is creeping in and there's still no sign of Karen. Something isn't right. We are both worried. We both want to just know that she's safe because we don't know what's in the wilderness of where we were. We are both worried. We both want to just know that she's safe. Because we don't know what's in the wilderness of where we were. We really didn't know the environment. We did not come prepared.

So we decide to go and look for her. Using the torch on his phone, Eric illuminates the road where Karen's footprints trail off into the darkness. Snow tumbles from the black sky, catching in Izzy's dark curls. The cold stings his cheeks as they trudge forward through the deepening drifts. Now and then they try calling out, but their voices are swallowed up by the trees. We kept yelling for help.

We were yelling if anybody was on the trail. It kind of felt like yelling into an abyss. It could have been a remote island for all I know. That's how little people were on that trail. They struggle on. Izzy peers into the darkness, but all he can make out is the white ribbon of road and the zigzagging trail of his mother's footprints. After three hours, Erik stops. They've gone as far as they can go.

Walking any further from the car would be too dangerous. They're going to have to turn around. It's a difficult decision, but given the circumstances, it's the right one. Karen had a major head start and is likely several miles away by now. Eric's priority is Izzy's safety. They start the long trek back to the car. Wherever Karen is, she's now completely on her own. It's slightly after 9 p.m.

Karen shuffles forward through the gathering blizzard. She's exhausted, her joints ache, and her stomach snarls with hunger. She glances at her phone screen. Still no service. The battery icon glows an unhealthy amber. It has been over six hours since Karen set off walking. Why is there no traffic? Not even a forestry vehicle or a park ranger?

She tries to stay positive. Eventually she's bound to reach some kind of civilization, somewhere she can alert the authorities. Karen bows her head against the wind and slogs on. After a couple more hours, she reaches a fork in the road. The road actually split off into two parts, and both of them were equally as untraveled looking. And again, it was too late to turn around.

And so I'm thinking, okay, I'm not really sure where to go, like, which direction to go, because am I going to just keep walking deeper into the woods? Up until this point, Karen has been following a single path. Now she must choose between two identical tracks. Pick wrong and she could be unwittingly heading deeper into the wilderness. It's a 50-50 gamble, a coin toss. Her faltering breath mists the icy air, left or right. Around her, the snow twists and swirls in eddies. Karen squints into the gloom, and as she does, her fatigued mind starts to find patterns in the flurries. She watches, suddenly transfixed. To the right of me, I saw like a swirl in the snow and I'm like, that's what, what is that? But it kind of looked like cartoonish. It was very odd

and a little animal popped up, like a weasel. It's all because I'm an ecologist so like i study animals and plants and i thought okay that's weird she stares bemused at the hallucination as a scientist karen is a rational thinker what she's seeing is probably a symptom of her exhaustion the figment of a fevered mind. But that doesn't make it any less real. And it looked at me, and it kind of like laughed or chortled or something, and it ran down the one road. And I'm like, okay, so first of all,

I think I'm dying because only dead people start to hallucinate. It didn't feel like a hallucination. And I'm like, I guess I'll follow wherever that weasel goes, you know, like, okay, well, nothing else is making sense. So I'll just follow that animal. With nothing else to guide her, Karen follows a second fork in the road. And just when she's confronted with another make-or-break decision. It's like the weirdest thing. Karen doesn't question her sanity. She just lowers her head and plows on.

The night deepens. After a few more hours, the wind drops, leaving a stillness that seems to wrap itself around her. The silence is all-consuming, numbing. The only sound is the muffled crunch of her footfall through the snow, which is now about eight inches deep. Even her animal guide seems to have abandoned her. Eventually, she arrives at a clearing. Up ahead, silhouetted against the bluish black sky, is a recognizable shape. It was about like two in the morning, and I saw ahead of me a sign, like a road sign, a small one.

And I thought, okay, well, like I was exhausted and I was hungry and it was cold. I had ice packed in my shoes and I said, I just, I have to stop for the night. Karen has been walking nonstop for almost 12 hours. She needs to rest. Fortunately, when it comes to surviving in the wild, Karen does have some experience. Years ago, she worked as an environmental educator for a land conservation group. Part of the job involved teaching school kids basic outdoor survival skills, how to build a shelter which plants are safe to eat. Nothing particularly advanced, but it could just help her survive the night.

I went underneath a spruce tree and, you know, learning, teaching kids how to make shelters. I pulled all the spruce boughs down around me and I put them on the ground and then wrapped them around me. And just, I was afraid to fall asleep because I was afraid I would freeze to death. Wrapped in coarse branches, she hunkers down in the snow. She snaps off a few spruce needles and grinds them between her chattering teeth, anything to alleviate the growing hunger.

With the bitter resin coating her mouth, Karen pulls out her phone. A battery symbol flashes red. Then the screen fades to black. It's a punch in the gut. So my whole justification for getting cell phone service, that was off the table. And now it was just me. And and obviously there were no cars passing by.

And so this is when it's like, okay, I'm not really sure how this is going to go. Karen shivers violently. She's severely dehydrated, but eating snow would only lower her body temperature. Instead, she places two balls of ice inside her cheeks, letting them slowly melt, another survival tip. She knows she mustn't fall asleep. Doing so would lower her heart rate and leave her defenseless against the onset of hypothermia. She guesses that sunrise must be about five hours away. She just needs to stay awake until then.

I kept saying it almost in like kind of an absurd way, like, no, no, no, no, no. There's no way this is the end. I'm not going to die like this. There's no way. This can't be the end of my story. I can't put Izzy and Eric through this. I can't sit here and freeze to death. It's just after daybreak on the 23rd of December. Izzy lies curled up on the backseat of the car. He wakes to the sound of the engine running. His dad has turned the key in the ignition and switched the heating on. Izzy can feel the warm air circulating, the plasticky smell of fake leather rising from the upholstery. He sits upholstery.

He sits up and looks outside. It was this landscape of just a large plain that I now know is called the Lost Canyon. And it was just surrounded by snow. It was just snow everywhere. It was an image that is burned into my mind still to this day eric turns back to izzy his father looks exhausted like he hasn't slept a wink in a clear serious voice he starts explaining what the plan is. The steps they're going to take. First to find help, then to find Karen. Maybe around 7 or 8 a.m. we have a pep talk. And my dad says to run the car,

to keep the heat on, to drink the juice and water we have left, and to not open the doors for anyone unless they had a police or ranger badge. The plan is for Eric to set off walking in the opposite direction to Karen, back north, the way they drove in. Hopefully he'll be able to find some phone service and alert the authorities. Leaving Izzy here alone isn't what either of them wants, but they don't have a choice. Izzy's shoes were damaged during last night's trek through the snow. He had to walk the last few miles barefoot. Sadly, at this point,

he'd only slow his dad down. After some final words of reassurance, Eric climbs out of the car and sets off up the road, leaving his son behind. He watches as his dad slowly disappears from view. Alone, young Izzy struggles with the enormity of the situation. In my 10-year-old mind, I was pretty much coping with how am I going to live my life without parents. I had very weird panic attacks from my perspective in the car. Like, I kind of just, I kind of lost all hope. Izzy's parents have taught him breathing techniques, something to calm him in stressful moments. He starts inhaling through his nose and exhaling through his mouth. He blasts music through the

car stereo, screaming along to the lyrics. But while this helps him release some tension, it does little to forestall the mounting dread. Time drags on unbearably, each minute feeling like an hour. I decided to pray. I wanted to see my father before 2 p.m. or I was going to collapse into the snow and meet my mother the way that she must have gone hours ago. So I was already contemplating ending my life because I didn't want to live without my mother who had must have died.

But 2pm comes and goes and still there's no sign of his father. Despite his ultimatum, Izzy waits a little longer. Something keeps him hanging on. It was just, I was holding out hope. There's something in me that knew that my mom could make it. But it just wasn't coming to the surface. I was clouded with hopelessness. But the waiting a little longer, it always...

To me, it was just hope peeking out. Izzy watches the minutes tick by on the dashboard screen. 2.15, 2.30, 2.45. His dad has been gone for nearly seven hours. It seems increasingly likely that something terrible has happened. The quiet, frozen wilderness engulfs Izzy as he waits and waits. Until, finally, in the distance, he hears something. Wiping his glassy eyes, Izzy stares through the windscreen.

Just about visible in the distance is a pair of blue flashing lights heading his way. His dad must have done it. Help is here. Meanwhile, about twenty miles southeast, Karen picks her way unsteadily through the ten-inch deep snow that carpets the road. She's trembling. Her lips are blue and cracked from the wind exposure. Alarmingly, she's missing the shoe on her left foot.

It had become so saturated with snow, she decided to remove it. She limps along, dragging her numb left foot behind her. Suddenly she loses her balance. Sprawled in the snow, Karen plants her gloved hands against the frozen ground and heaves herself back up again. She grits her teeth. She has to keep going. It's psychological. It's mindset. You know, they even say like running a marathon or any sports, like so much it's how much percent is psychological versus like your physical skill. I was kind of raised in this do your best and stay positive and fight, fight, fight, and you've got this and kind of cheerleading type of a mentality. In the morning, when the sun rose, Karen went to look at the road sign she'd stumbled upon the night before. It said, Grand Canyon Visitor Center, six miles. Just six miles. It was the boost she needed. With renewed determination, she set off walking.

Yesterday's blizzard had cleared, leaving blue skies and bright sunshine. Maybe, just maybe, everything would turn out all right. But as the morning wore on, Karen's stamina declined sharply. Every step has become harder than the last. Now it's mid-afternoon and she can't have traveled further than three miles. Pewter gray clouds have returned to the skies. Snowflakes churn around her face, clumping in her eyelashes. Her body throbs with muscular fatigue. Karen decides to break the journey down into manageable steps, walking for just twenty seconds, then collapsing into the snow to rest. She carries on like this all afternoon,

the hours stretching out in front of her like this seemingly never-ending road. She hardly notices the light fading as evening draws in. Then, at around 6pm, she senses the trees thinning out around her. She lifts her head and is greeted by a welcome sight. A gate and a scattering of wooden huts and cabins. When I finally got to the gate, there were some outbuildings, and then there was a ticket kiosk, maybe 50 meters ahead of me. And I called out, I said, is anybody here? And I didn't see anybody. And I saw though,

to the left that was kind of tucked in the woods. It was a cabin and it was still light enough to see. And there was a pickup truck in the driveway and a snowmobile. And I'm like, oh, okay, well, it's like a park ranger. You know, somebody has to be here. Karen staggers up to the door of the cabin. She waits, but there's no answer. She tries again, pounding with her cold, stiffened fists. But it seems nobody's home. Looking around for alternative ways in, Karen spots a window. She'll have to break in. Given the severity of the situation, its needs must.

She smashes the pane with her elbow. Then, using her jacket to cover the broken glass, she crawls through the window and collapses onto the hard wooden floor. She lies there for a few minutes, catching her breath, before managing to get back to her feet. She tries to turn on a light, but there doesn't seem to be any electricity. As her eyes adjust to the gloom, Karen sees that the cabin is comfortable and well-appointed. Clearly somebody lives here year-round.

Having not eaten since her meal of spruce needles last night, Karen hobbles to the kitchen in search of food, her stomach growling. She opens a cupboard and pulls out a few tins. But, cruelly, she can't find a can opener. She searches high and low, her vision blurring as she frantically rifles through drawer after drawer. I couldn't focus. I couldn't, you know, when I looked around, it's like kind of the room was like kind of shaking. Like if you were, okay, you're a filmmaker, the person is delirious, so you're looking at it through their eyes. Make the camera move around like they're incapacitated

or drunk, like wobble around and move the camera around. That's the way I was seeing things, that way. Giving up on her search, Karen drops the sealed tin and lurches across to the wood-burning stove. If she can't find food, at least she can get warm. Her hands shake as she fumbles around in the darkness for matches, but again, her search

is fruitless. Eventually, she opens a cupboard and finds a pile of woolen blankets. She wraps herself up and lies down on the sofa, her knees tucked into her midriff. Exhaustion engulfs her. I don't remember falling asleep. I know I must have passed out. I could feel my heart beating very, very fast. And I was breathing heavy. But my thoughts again were, okay, in the morning, what I'm going to do is I'll go to that ticket booth and I'll see maybe if there's a phone or something. So it was always like, never like, okay, I'm going to lay down. I'm going to die now. And it's like, I have to get help for Izzy. I have to get help for Eric. Even now, Karen remains absolutely focused on her mission.

Izzy and Eric must still be waiting for her back at the car, helpless, stranded, possibly buried under several feet of snow. Time to help her family might be running out. The truth is, time is running out. But not for Izzy and Eric. Karen has just walked 26 miles through a blizzard, and her body is nearing breaking point. Her muscle tissue has broken down to a dangerous extent, with kidney failure an acute threat. She's suffering from stage four frostbite,

which, if left untreated, could lead to gangrene and sepsis. In reality, Izzy and Eric are now safe, already in the care of the search and rescue team. Unbeknownst to Karen, it's her time that is rapidly slipping away. It's 2 a.m. on Christmas Eve. Karen wakes from a fitful sleep to the sound of voices outside the cabin. Shaking, she tries to get her bleary eyes to focus. Torch beams flicker through the curtains.

Somebody is here. I heard yelling outside and I heard a pounding at the door. And I thought, oh my gosh, the police are here. I'm in trouble. I broke into this cabin and they said, can you come to the door? I said, yes, yes. And I opened the door and I put my hands in the air, like, you know, because I watched, I guess, too many cop shows.

And I said, please don't arrest me. I broke the window. I promise I'll pay for it. I'll pay for the window. But it's not the police. It's the search and rescue team. Five park rangers who quickly reassure Karen that they've come to help her, not arrest her.

The rangers immediately begin warming her up. One takes Karen's feet and presses them against his bare stomach, letting his body heat thaw her frozen limbs. Another hands her a granola bar, instructing her to nibble it, slowly. Disorientated by the attention and the commotion, Karen manages to ask the most pressing question of all. Where are Izzy and Eric? Are they safe? Karen is quickly reassured.

They've been found, and they're currently recuperating at a nearby hospital. Just absolute 100% relief. Just so relieved and almost like you know your body's tense your body's tense and then like i heard that and then i just kind of like melted like in exhaustion like okay this is over none of us are dead no we all made it. Karen is driven to a hospital in nearby Kanab, where her son and husband are waiting. To find rescue, it turns out,

Eric overcame a mammoth trek of his own. After leaving Izzy alone in the car, he walked for 20 miles back up the road. Eventually, he was able to get some cell service and call the emergency services. Shortly after that, the search and rescue team jumped into action. They picked up Izzy and Eric and took them to a hospital to treat their mild frostnip. Meanwhile, the rest of the team set out to find Karen. They tracked her footprints to the Grand Canyon Visitor Center,

which is where they noticed the cabin with the smashed window. Realizing my mother was alive was one of the most alien feelings of happiness that I've ever experienced. My mom was out in the snow for like 36 hours. Everybody said it was a Christmas miracle. It's marketed as a Christmas miracle because of the time that it happened. It felt like it. It felt like I was put in this event, this catastrophic event, and then it stopped. I didn't know how bad my mom's condition was at the time, so I wasn't fearful of that. I just knew that she was alive.

It's an emotional reunion, but bittersweet because it soon becomes clear that Karen's condition is critical. After running tests, the doctors explained that her blood contains shockingly high levels of creatine kinase, an enzyme that is generated in response to muscle breakdown. Right now, Karen is showing creatine kinase levels of 55,000, 50 times that of a marathon runner following a race. If they don't operate immediately, her organs will start to shut down. They said, had they not found me, that I would have died by that afternoon if I had not been found because those conditions are the life-threatening ones. Not the frostbite, but those conditions were the ones that would have killed me. Karen is transferred to a larger hospital where the surgeons work quickly to stabilize her condition and save her life.

Additionally, they manage to treat her frostbite and avoid amputation. After five days recovering in hospital, the Kleins returned to Pennsylvania. Karen suffers several months of excruciating muscle regrowth as her frostbitten foot slowly heals. But there is something even harder than physical pain to deal with. I feel a lot of guilt. How could I have done this to my family? How could I have put them through all of that?

And I can't believe that I just didn't. You know, when the GPS blanked out, we should have just turned around. Why't we do x y or z ultimately every decision karen and eric made seemed like their only option at the time after a while the guilt fades in its place karen's near-death experience has left her with a renewed appreciation of the simple and the everyday even the ordinary in one's life is extraordinary. Like sitting down and having a cup of tea and just like looking at the birds in the morning is a profound experience and not trivial. And, you know, your friends and your family, if you live from like big, big shiny object to big shiny object, you're kind of missing out on what's really important in life. And you're missing out on like how much you can embrace all of the beauty and the happiness and joy that is around you.

As for 10-year-old Izzy, his terrifying ordeal alone in the car was a formative moment in his young life. He has suffered from anxiety and panic attacks ever since. But with the help of a therapist, he says he has learned to manage the trauma. And there are also positive ways in which the experience impacted him. The family are closer than ever. And he says he'll never forget the lengths his parents went to. It's something that still inspires him. What my mom did was, it was just what she would always do. She is one of the most positive, the strongest people that I know. And if my dad didn't act at the time he did, in the way he did, and at the efficiency that he did, then my mom would have died and I would have lost hope. I think this event brought my family so much closer together in an odd way. The things that we do to survive are a reflection of how we feel every day.

Like people love each other so much that at any time they will walk 26 miles in three feet of snow to save you, or they will walk with a broken back to save you next time we meet german friends wolf and joh and Johannes as they throw themselves deep into the wilds of Canada. In the summer of 2017, the pair embark on a canoeing expedition along the enormous Hayes River of northern Manitoba. It's a welcome departure from their corporate jobs back home. But the Canadian backwoods are a treacherous place, with whitewater rapids, dense forest, and boggy marshland. And when disaster befalls their canoe, Johannes and Wolf will find themselves forced into a different kind of journey, not away from civilization, but desperately seeking a way back to it. That's next time on Real Survival Stories.