Real Survival Stories - Winter Storm: Two Friends in a Swirling Vortex

Episode Date: July 29, 2026

In 2008, James Osborne sets out on his first winter hike, guided by his friend and colleague, Fred. But a combination of bad luck and bad judgement means a simple day trip in New Hampshire’s White Mountains snowballs into a desperate battle against the fury of nature. Caught in the middle of a blistering storm with no tent, meagre provisions and no chance of quick rescue, their only hope is to try to descend back down the mountain. As the cold bites, it isn’t long before things spiral out of control… A Noiser podcast production. Hosted by John Hopkins. Written by Heléna Lewis | Produced by Ed Baranski | Assistant Producer: Luke Lonergan | Additional script editing: Joe Viner | Exec produced by Joel Duddell | Sound Supervisor: Matt Peaty | Sound design by Jacob Booth | Assembly edit by Rob Plummer, Dorry Macaulay | 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

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It's morning. Monday the 11th of February 2008. In the northeastern US, a brutal storm is sweeping through the rugged snow-covered peaks of New Hampshire's white mountain range. Seventy mile an hour winds tear across the rocky slopes, grazing the ground and sending powdery puffs of fine white flakes pirouetting through the icy air. It's agonizingly cold, the temperature hovering somewhere around minus 13 degrees Fahrenheit, minus 25 degrees Celsius. Nothing and nobody should be out here in such inhospitable conditions. And yet, on a wild, exposed ridge snaking through the western heartlands of this spectacular mountain range, there are two sets of scattered footprints punched into the snow. Up ahead, a couple of small, colorful smudges recede into the distance,

a pair of figures battling their way through the gale. 36-year-old James Osborne shivers inside his blue hiking jacket as he urges his aching body onwards, trying to ignore the exhaustion weighing down his limbs. Behind him is his 55-year-old companion, Fred Fredrickson. Fred's hand rests on James's shoulder, and his eyes are closed, frozen shut by the bitter, bone-biting cold. He is walking blind, relying entirely on his friend to guide him. Both men are in a bad way. They've already been out here for more than 24 hours and have had virtually nothing to eat or drink in that time.

They're running on vapors and are already deep in the throes of hypothermia. I don't know exactly how far we walked or the length of time that we walked because, you know, when you're hypothermic like that, you lose that sense of judgment of time and distance. Reality warps and bends as they stumble forwards, so it's impossible to see that. say how long has passed before James suddenly realizes that Fred is no longer behind him. He stops and turns, looking back in the direction he's just come from. And there, collapsed in the snow somewhere off the path, is Fred. I walked back to Fred, and he's laying there, and I kind of shook him, and I said, Fred, you need to get up. We need to keep moving.

But it's no use. Despite James is pleased, Fred cannot move. Racked by fatigue and despair, James staggers sideways. His own hopes of survival draining away at the sight of his friends surrender to the elements. With no immediate prospect of rescue, it seems that both their fates are now sealed. I made my peace with the world and I said my apology to my mother for dying this way, because I knew I wasn't going to survive. 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 James Osborne. In 2008, the outdoor sports enthusiast embarks on his first winter height. guided by his friend and colleague Fred.

With the white mountains on their doorstep, the pair take on a popular, well-trodden loop. But a combination of bad luck and bad judgment means a simple day's hike soon snowballs into a desperate battle against the fury of nature. The real premonition to me was that moment that I looked back, I could not see the trailhead, and I said to Fred,

how are we going to be able to hike down if you can't see the trailhead? Caught in the middle of a raging winter storm with no tent, no provisions, and no chance of quick rescue. Their only hope is to try to descend back down the mountain. But as the cold bites, the two men's decision-making starts to become erratic. And it isn't long before things spiral out of control, leading to devastating, life-shattering consequences. The way hypothermia works, it really affects your cognitive abilities and, you know, your thinking abilities. And I had no sense of how serious this situation was. I'm John Hopkins.

From the Noiser Podcast Network, this is real survival stories. It's early morning on Sunday the 10th of February 2008. In the northeastern U.S. state of New Hampshire, a watery winter sun drenches these snow-shrouded magicians. of the White Mountains. The range sprawls across one quarter of the state and forms some of the most dramatic and rugged scenery in New England. In the west of the mountains heartlands, a bright yellow car heads north along the interstate. Inside it, 36-year-old James Osborne and 55-year-old Lawrence Fredrickson, known to everyone as Fred, talk animatedly about their upcoming hike as the picture a perfect landscape glides past them.

Around 8.30 a.m., they turn off the road and pull into a snow-covered car park containing only a handful of other vehicles. Fred kills the engine, and the two men step out into the crisp winter air. When we got out at Trailhead, it wasn't quite knee-deep snow, but it was pretty deep snow. I remember remarking to Fred about how cold it was.

Losing no time, the two friends set about organizing their gear for the day ahead. They're planning to attempt a strenuous nine-mile loop along part of the Franconia ridge, an exposed backbone of rock connecting several major peaks in the area. Their route will see them traverse three of these, Little Haystack, Mount Lincoln, and finally Mount Lafayette. Though it's a tough climb, this circuit is popular, offering exceptional views and providing hikers with the opportunity to conquer numerous summits in a single day. So New Hampshire has 48, 4,000-foot peaks, and one of the things in New Hampshire is you become a peak bagger, if you will, where you hike all 48 peaks, and then also people do them in all four seasons. Fred is among a few to have summited all 48 of the 4,000 footers.

He's also a veteran four-seasons hiker, comfortable in all manner of weather. Though James is less experienced than his friend, his love of outdoor pursuits runs deep, stemming from his childhood. So I spent some time growing up in Colorado as an Army Brecht because my mother was an Army nurse. The vividest memories was going to the mountains and enjoying the mountains and just being outdoors in those mountain settings and hiking and camping and spending time as a child in different state park campgrounds and that sort of thing. I have just vivid memories of how beautiful Colorado is. As James grew up, his interests shifted, and he found himself immersed in city life throughout

most of his 20s. In 2002, his path led him to New Hampshire, where he got a job as a driver for a local bus company. And it was here that his childhood love for the great outdoors was rekindled. All of a sudden, those vivid memories of the mountains, came back because that's New Hampshire. The New Hampshire Mountains and the New England Mountains are very different from the western mountains of the United States. They're not as tall, they're not as steep, but they're equally beautiful, and they offer equally challenging hikes. And I just started doing things outside in New Hampshire. So over the course of a few years, I developed a love for the outdoors in New Hampshire through skiing and cycling.

and hiking. Over time, James formed friendships with a number of work colleagues who shared his passions. Amongst these was Fred. The two men met when Fred drove to pick James up after he became stranded with a broken down bus. We chatted for most of the ride and just kind of discovered that he was a lover of the outdoors and had been an outdoorsman his whole life and had hiked all of the 48, 4,000 foot peaks. We just kind of hit it off in this conversation where we were riding together. He was also kind of a workout freak, constantly going to the gym, ate very healthy, probably had 20% body fat or something like that,

was just a very fit person. And just one of the kindest, gentlest people that I've met. along with a couple of colleagues Fred and James began hiking together on their days off and a strong bond soon formed between them. Though James was the least seasoned hiker of the group and relied heavily on his friends for guidance, his skills improved. And soon it became clear that he was ready for the next step up. One night, after watching a movie together at the local cinema, Fred and James began

discussing the possibility of him tackling something more challenging. We went out for a burrito afterward, and we had a long conversation about winter hiking. And there's an element of me that's like, well, you know, the wintertime is for skiing. So, you know, I'm fine, just skiing. Let's go skiing. And, you know, over the course of that conversation and maybe additional conversation, I agreed to go on a winter hike. And, yeah, let's do some winter hiking.

Over the next few days, James and Fred discussed possible rules. and started making preparations. That weekend, Fred tackled a route he had done many times before along Franconia Ridge. He ended up running into bad weather, but when he told his friends about it later, rather than being distressed, he appeared euphoric. Fred kind of tells us this story of getting caught in this storm and, you know, how great it was to kind of be out in that. What Fred was talking about is he's able to put a foot like over the edge into this void that, you know, that's, you know, this void that is like Mother Nature, and it generates a sense of fulfillment and excitement and completion.

I know as a cyclist doing a mountain descent at 40 miles an hour, and that's not even like nearly as close as what the pros do. But I get that same feeling, right? Taking a step over into this danger zone. Throughout the following week, Fred and James finessed their plan. On Sunday the 10th of February, they've been. would tackle the same Franconia ridge loop Fred had completed in the storm just a week earlier. It's a route both of them already know, and it's considered a great test piece for new winter hikers. We talked about the plans for this hike. As I recall, we briefly talked about the weather.

I don't know that Fred blew off the weather. I certainly relied on my other hiking friends to kind of make the plans, and I just kind of went with it. But the forecast isn't looking good. There is a stormfront coming in, with warnings of high icy winds from 7 p.m. on Sunday evening. Weather patterns in these mountains are notoriously unpredictable, but Fred is certain that he and James will have completed their hike by the time the front hits and will be safely out of harm's way. And when the two men hit the trail at around 8.45 a.m. on Sunday the 10th, there is little indication of anything ominous on the horizon. Their spirits are high. Fred, as usual, is leading, with James following close behind.

They move quickly through the snow, the sharp, crisp scent of pine filling their nostrils. One of the appeals of winter hiking is the lack of crowds, and as they follow the path veering upward through the trees towards the first summit, they encounter a few other people. Despite the nip in the air, the steep gradient soon has both meant sweating, forcing them to remove some layers. Around midday they stopped for lunch And that's when they hear footsteps coming towards them

We encountered this man that was hiking down So he had hiked up He had seen that the summit was socked in You couldn't see anything And he knew that weather was coming And we blew him off We didn't heed his warning Because his warning was

You're not going to see anything Maybe just go up and come back down Or something like that James and Fred are unperturbed by the man's words. After all, the main point of today's expedition is for James to experience his first winter hike. There'll be other opportunities to admire the view. However, as they eat their sandwiches, it doesn't take long before a major chill sets in. I remember in the span of 10 or 15 minutes that we sat there, the temperature probably dropped 20 degrees. And I mean, I feel like I knew that,

You know, this is the sign of an intending front coming in, right? And that was the front coming in. At around 12.15 p.m., James and Fred set off again. They're running slightly later than planned, but still believe they have time to finish their hike before bad weather really hits. As they approach the tree line, they don extra layers, in anticipation of being more exposed to the elements. They emerge from the forest into the barren upper slopes of little haystack.

The cold air is dreary and opaque. The path shrouded in shreds of fog and cloud. As they toil up towards the summit, guided by loose piles of rock cans, a prickle of unease wends its way through James. I remember saying to Fred that, you know, the visibility was so poor. Like, how are we going to tell how to get down? And I remember looking back, and you couldn't even see the top of the trail where we had just watched. from. It was enough of a moment that I did question what we were doing. And Fred said something

to the effect of, we'll be fine. Confident in Fred's judgment and hiking expertise, James follows his friend. Around 1pm, they reached the summit of Little Haystack, the first and smallest of the three peaks they intend to traverse today. They are over 4,700 feet up, but just as they were warned the usually magnificent views are today nonexistent. After pausing to make final adjustments to their gear, they head out across the ridge towards the next peak, trekking into flurries of snow and clouds of freezing fog. Conditions are rough, but not that dissimilar to what Fred experienced when he hiked the route just one week before. So despite all the warning signs, the two friends don't even discuss the

possibility of turning back. I mean, what prompted me to continue, as we hike mountains. That's what we do. And there wasn't any one thing in that moment in time that said we should turn around. It wasn't like there was lightning off in the distance that said we should turn around. There also might be, and I've thought about this a lot over the years, hypothermia can be gradual. I think it can affect you in ways that maybe you don't even realize. and I have always kind of wondered, was it actually starting to set in that early in our hike that it was, you know, affecting judgment

in terms of should we keep going on this height? Fred and James plow forwards along the ridge line, heading doggedly for Mount Lincoln. Despite the bleakness of the weather, they keep up a steady pace, and within an hour or so they're approaching the main climb to the summit. But then, out of nowhere, everything changes. It is truly one of the most remarkable moments in my life

because it was like someone turned on a switch. And you know how you turn on a switch in the middle of the night in the bedroom? And boom, all of a sudden there's more light than you need. It hurts your eyes. It was similar in that someone turned on this switch. And all of a sudden, we were in this 70-mile. an hour wind blowing right into our faces. James and Fred have walked straight into the path of the predicted stormfront.

Squalls seem to attack them from all directions, so strong they nearly knock the two men off their feet. A deafening chorus fills their ears, the winds howling and screaming like banshees. A swirling vortex of snow suddenly swallows the two lone figures on the ridge. In a matter of seconds, their indefiards. entire situation has drastically deteriorated. It instantly cooked your breath away. It instantly made you cold. And right away it made me realize that there is no earthly way that we could endure to continue hiking in this condition.

It simply was not possible. The very air around James seems to roar and shudder as the winds batter the narrow rocky ridge where he stands. Volatile gusts of up to. to 70 miles an hour slam into the ground, scattering handfuls of snow all around. The temperature has suddenly plummeted, the wind chill making it feel even colder. James doesn't know it yet, but in conditions like these, exposed skin will develop frostbite within 30 minutes. A little way ahead, he can just make out Fred's bright yellow jacket coming back towards him, a vibrant speck of color against the whiteout.

When Fred reaches him, he yells into James's ear. trying to make himself heard above the squall. He says they need to turn back towards the safety of the trees further down the mountainside. But when they begin to walk, it quickly becomes clear they're not going to get far. The less experienced James is struggling to make progress against these winds and is finding it hard to keep up with Fred. With his friend falling behind, Fred retraces his steps until he is standing beside James, who now insists on a new course. The wind was so loud that I had to be like mouth the ear and talk directly into his ear. And then he had talked directly into my ear for us to communicate.

And what I said was we needed to seek shelter. I really had no business being up there because I don't really know what to do in that kind of emergency situation. How do you seek shelter on the side of this winter mountain with the... these galforses wins. I don't know. Luckily, Fred does. Persuaded by James' plea, he leads them towards the base of the slope heading up to Mount Lincoln. Within minutes, he's found a rocky outcropping, a little way below the ridge. Here, between a jumbled mass of ancient granite slabs and boulders, is a small, narrow chamber,

just long enough for them to lie in side by side. It's not much, but at least it will provide some respite from the element. It's got just enough room for us to kind of shimmy in there and be out of the direct wind. The problem that I now had come to appreciate is we were laying down on rock without anything between our bodies and the rock. And what I come to read and learn is like in terms of hypothermia, it's one of the worst things you can do. Because something like a concrete or rock surface is absolutely going to drain. his heat out of your body. Fred places himself nearest the mouth of the chamber. His body providing an extra buffer between James and the Maelstrom outside. He seals the exit as best he can

using some of their gear. Then the two men cover themselves with space blankets to try and keep out the worst of the cold. They share a chocolate bar and the remains of some lukewarm tea from a thermos flask and try to formulate a plan. They have little water left and what they do have been frozen solid by the extreme drop in temperature. Their only remaining food consists of a handful of energy bars, and they have no means of starting a fire. Though they are out of direct wind, there is no telling how long they might be stuck here, or when the storm might abate. Assuming there would be no signal in the mountains, neither man has packed a phone, and since both are currently single, there is nobody at home to raise the alarm

if they don't return on time. I think cell phones, like smartphones, had just started to come out. That hike happened today. I would have my phone with me, and I'd probably have a phone battery because you always bring an extra battery if you're going out for one of these all-day adventures. So there's these little quirks of kind of history with the two of us that only compounded the problem, right? There's no way for us to communicate with the outside world. No one had a firm grasp of our plans and knew exactly where we were, exactly when we were going to be overdue, what to do when we were overdue.

You know, we were completely missing that element. It's possible nobody will even notice their absence until they fail to show up for work the following morning. Facing a long, cold night on the mountain, James and Fred agree that they won't fall asleep at the same time. That shouldn't be too much of a challenge. Their lodgings are hardly luxurious. And as darkness descends, sleep is an elusive prospect. In the empty hours until dawn, there is little to do but wait and talk. It was lighthearted at times, and we also had a deeply personal conversation,

you know, talking about our first girlfriends and our first loves. So we had really just this normal conversation of two people that might be stranded and kind of talking about themselves. It could have been a conversation in an airport where you're stranded because of flight delays and just the conversation you have. And then again, mixed in with this kind of crisis management conversation as well. The night wears on as the storm howls outside, yet there is a peculiarly warm sense of camaraderie inside their little shelter. In the inky darkness, Fred recites passages of literature and poetry, whilst James repeats Bob Dylan lyrics. Occasionally they make themselves crawl out into the storm to stretch

their aching, freezing limbs and assess the weather. But no opportunity for escape presents itself, and each time they're forced back into their shelter. All their clothes are soon damp, and their energy bars frozen solid. The chill of the stone beneath them penetrates deep into their bodies, leaching any remaining warmth from them. By the time the six Blackly gray dawn starts to creep into the sky. Neither man has eaten or drunk anything in 12 hours, and both are bone cold. At around 6 a.m., they agreed to step out of the chamber

and check conditions again. With any luck, the storm should have eased enough that they can make a dash for it. However, when Fred moves their gear to slither out of the exit, he soon discovers another problem. What happened overnight was that crawl space got completely socked with snow and it was snow that was packed in. This is very dry kind of fine snow

and it will pack itself into little spaces and it can be really hard to get out. Trapped inside the chamber by a dense wall of tightly packed snow, Fred and James have no choice but to try to dig their way out. Fred scrabbles at the compacted snow but there is nowhere for it to go except behind him. In the gap between his,

his body and James. Even as Fred makes progress towards the outside world, he is burying his companion deeper inside the cave. Eventually Fred makes it out and quickly turns his attention to freeing James. By the time both men are out, they have expended a huge amount of energy and are exhausted. There is some good news though. The sky is surprisingly bright, and although the wind is still strong and bitterly cold, the worst of the storm appears to have passed. It's the best opportunity they've had so far to make a break for it. But as they prepare to head back to the ridge, it becomes evident quite how badly the cold and the lack of nourishment are affecting them. Once I got out, it was apparent, definitely, as I look back on it now, that, you know,

frostbite and hypothermia had really set in because tying the laces of my boots, was an absolute struggle because my fingers just would not function. I didn't have the strength to pull the knot tight. You know how you make the two loops and pull them tight? I absolutely couldn't do that. Fred and James slowly managed to get themselves ready. With painful, lethargic movements,

they trudge back towards the ridge, their lungs stinging with a raw cold air. Though they are both drained and exhausted, in weather like this, they should be able to make it off the mountain fairly quickly. But as soon as they reach the ridge line, it's a different story. Here the two men are hit again by the full strength of brutal hurricane force winds at a steep sudden drop in temperature.

They pulled their goggles down over their eyes, but find they're frozen and are impossible to see through. Squinting against the icy gusts, they start tramping through the snow back towards Little Haystack. If they can make it to the trees, the carpet, the peaks, lower slopes, they'll at least have some shelter from the squalls. But that is easier said than done. Clearly, hypothermia had set in,

and the way hypothermia works, it really affects your cognitive abilities and your thinking abilities, and I had no sense of how serious this situation was. Hypothermia is a stealthy, silent killer. Left untreated, it shuts down the body and slows brain activity, leading to confusion and poor decision-making. And in high winds and low temperatures, this process can happen with lethal speed. Even as James and Fred drag their weary bodies across the ridge, their pace is growing sluggish, every footstep becoming an effort. Their grasp of reality begins to slide.

I don't know exactly how far we walked or the length of time that we walked. because, you know, when you're hypothermic like that, you lose that sense of judgment of time and distant. What I do know is as we walked, our conditions worsened. The hypothermia got worse. The frostbite got worse to the point that, you know, the side of Fred's face was red with frostbite and clearly was burned with frostbite. And part of this eyebrow was like even turning a little white. which is very serious frostbite. But they have no choice except to keep going.

By around 9 a.m., they're less than half a mile from the tree line. It's a distance which under normal circumstances would pose them no problems. But in current conditions, it feels like a marathon. Exhausted, they pause to rest briefly in the lee of a large rock. Here, Fred turns towards his friend and in a solemn voice tells him, they are in serious trouble. So he clearly was starting to recognize that we needed help. And then the wind picked Fred up.

It's one of the most amazing things I've seen. It was very gentle. It wasn't dramatic. He didn't like tumble through the air like you would see like in the movie for a tornado or something. You know, he picked him up, gently set him down. And then when it set him down, he was missing a snowshoe. James manages to retrieve his friend's snowshoe before. it flies away, but when Fred takes off his mitten shells to try and reattach it, they are snatched by the wind

and blown off the mountainside. His fingers are so stiff that he cannot get the snowshoe back on. Walking will now be even tougher for Fred, but the trees are close, and so the two friends trudge onwards. I was always the slowest hiker in the group, and Fred was always out front, and Fred was the leader. and in this moment, Fred was no longer the faster hiker. I was the faster hiker. I was out in front. His eye now got so bad that it had closed up from the frostbite. Soon, both of Fred's eyes are frozen shut by the cold,

his eyebrows and lashes crusted with snow. With Fred, now virtually blind, James guides his friend's right hand onto his left shoulder. Together, they move slowly forwards, falling frequently, the strength of the wind sometimes forcing them to crawl. Even though they're on the home stretch, just 1,000 feet or so from the tree line, it feels like a Herculean distance to cover. Both are well and truly in the grip of hypothermia,

and their perception of time is hazy and warped. As such, it isn't clear how long has passed before James realizes that Fred's hand has fallen from his shoulder. He turns to see his friend has swerved off the point. path and is now crawling through the snow, lost and disorientated. James struggles back towards him, but by the time he gets there, Fred has stopped moving and is curled up in a fetal position. I walked back to Fred and he's laying there and I kind of shook him and I said, Fred, you need to get up. We need to keep moving. At first, Fred doesn't respond. But when James,

urges him again to get up, he stretches out his clenched fists with an anguished cry. He kind of rolled over for a moment and he looked up at me and he says, oh my God, they're going to take my hands. Because what he knew was the frostbite was so bad on his hands, he was going to lose his hands. James implores him once more, begging him to get up and keep walking. But he gets no response. Fred is too deep in the throes of high. hypothermia, he can't get up.

For James, the distressing sight of his friend succumbing to the elements is overwhelming. Dizzy, he stumbles sideways, unsure of where he's going. Only one thing now appears certain. I made my peace with the world and I said my apology to my mother for dying this way because I knew I wasn't going to survive. Invelected in the gale, James veers aimlessly across the ridge, tripping over the uneven ground as his own body starts shutting down. His vision darkens and his knees suddenly buckle, giving way beneath him.

He collapses into the snow and finally gives him to the inevitable. It wasn't painful. It wasn't regretful in a way that, you know, I was a bad person or that I was somehow lacking as a human being. I mean, the regrets were things like, you know, I never had a child. I never got to be a father. They were regrets over things I didn't get to do that I wanted to do in life. They were regrets to my friends and family that I knew I was going out this way. This is not the way I wanted to go out.

I didn't want to leave them with this is their last memory of me. But as I said, I mean, it was peaceful in a way that I was comfortable. with that moment and I was comfortable with this was the end for me. I mean, I wasn't upset with anything. I wasn't mad at Fred. I wasn't mad at myself. I wasn't mad at the weather. But I would always come back to that it was an incredibly peaceful moment.

It was a moment of even clarity. I mean, there is even clarity about, you know, knowing that this was the end and knowing I wasn't going to make it out of this one. I mean, I knew that. It is the evening of Monday the 11th of February. In the dark, snow-churned skies of New Hampshire, a Black Hawk helicopter flies south, away from Franconia Ridge. Its team has been looking for two missing hikers,

but after a long, fruitless search, conditions have got too bad to carry on, and it's being sent back to base. On the trails leading up towards the ridge, several groups are still combing the mountainside, scanning the snow for any indication of the hiker's whereabouts. Although the alarm was raised when the two men failed to show up for work this morning, bad weather and lack of detail about their plans mean it's taken rescuers hours to get to this point. And despite all their efforts, there is no sign of the two men. The storm is raging, and with the onset of darkness, it's getting virtually impossible to carry on safely.

Soon they'll be forced to call off the search. And then, on the slopes of Little Haystack, one of the rescuer's headlamps catches on something in the snow. A brief, reflective flash. Careful to keep his gaze locked on the sight, he tramps forwards until he finds himself kneeling beside a motionless figure curled up on its right side. It's the body of a man. A little way away, another rescuer has spotted a set of frozen footprint. He follows the tracks, and there half buried in snow is another man. He is completely motionless.

It seems he must be dead too. Then he makes a noise. And then there I was sitting in the snow kind of hunched over, making some kind of non-human animal sound. And they put me in a bivisack to keep me warm. They formed a human wind block to keep me out of the wind. and then they recalled the helicopter from Concord. With tremendous difficulty, James is airlifted off the mountain and taken to hospital.

Without the efforts of the rescuers, I would not be here. I wasn't going to walk down that mountain. I wasn't going to survive except for the efforts that those people made. So, I mean, I owe them my existence today. So I'm truly grateful for, you know, their efforts. efforts as rescuers. It's considered a miracle that James has survived long enough for rescuers to reach him. But initially it isn't clear whether he'll live.

Against all the odds, he pulls through, though he does not escape unscathed. He spends three months in hospital and undergoes eight surgeries. The first of these is an operation to amputate his right leg below the knee due to extreme damage from frostbite. alongside all the physical strife, James also tries to mentally process his ordeal and come to terms with the death of his friend. I certainly suffered from symptoms of post-traumatic stress. I don't know that I was fully aware of the extent of my injuries or appreciated the extent of the injuries. I also don't think that I appreciated the efforts of the rescue community.

You just don't realize the... things in that situation. It's just very hard to think beyond kind of this moment of I'm barely alive and I think the brain just shuts down and I didn't appreciate again my injuries and the people around me and what they were doing to support me. Now I certainly do but I mean there's some distance there in terms of time and also some time to process you know kind of the rational side of you know, what happened. Several months after Fred's death, his ex-wife and their two sons

scatter his ashes on Mount Washington, the highest peak of the White Mountains. As for James, even whilst his body heals, his life will never look the same again. The activities and hobbies that bring him the most joy suddenly appear under threat. I can remember being in a hospital in that period of time,

you know, kind of wondering what does skiing look like now and if I would be able to return to skiing, I wasn't sure about that. And I remember being sad about that. Just, you know, boy, it's ever going to happen while I ever ski again. With the help of a prosthetic, James begins to recover.

It's a long, hard road. But two years after his accident, he goes for his first adaptive skiing lesson. It was remarkable the change that it made in my thinking, Being able to see outdoors again and being able to enjoy the outdoors like that, but to be able to do something physical that I enjoyed was very cathartic. Almost two decades on from the events that changed his life forever, James is now thriving. He is in a long-term relationship with one of the nurses he met during his recovery.

And he is back doing what he loves, cycling and skiing regularly. It helped me redefine like what athlete means. Sometimes people get hung up on, you know, an athlete as a professional that goes out and does basketball or soccer or American football or baseball or whatever it happens to be. And that certainly is a definition of athlete. But there's also a more personal definition of athlete and that is what you decide to do with it. Hiking, however, remains problematic. Hiking is very difficult for me because it's. just kind of beats up my body a little bit.

And it's particularly challenging to go downhill because they don't have an ankle on the right side. And I don't know that there's, you know, there might be an emotional side to hiking that I have learned and accepted to put that, you know, that part of my life behind me. I mean, I miss it dearly. I certainly miss Fred.

I miss a camaraderie that every Saturday we went out, we hiked, you know, in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. James acknowledges that mistakes were made during the fateful Franconia Ridge expedition. Now he is able to see the key moments when he and Fred could have called off the hike. All of those things like looking back on it now, those all should have been clearer warning signs. All of that should have added up to, you know, Fred, maybe we should just hike back down and call it a good day. We very well could have changed our plans to hike up and then hike back down the same trail. right and you know potentially both survive and dead height would just be an afterthought

but despite the tragedy of Fred's death and his own injuries James doesn't look back on the experience with anger or recrimination but rather with acceptance and a desire to learn from their mistakes I don't want to blame Fred for what happened I went along willingly it wasn't like I was a hostage and you're going on this height it wasn't that situation. But I will say that at that time in my life as a hiker, I was reliant on other people to kind of make the plans. And I followed along. You know, if there's a place to put blame, I would look at myself and go, you needed to be better prepared, right? Artini says, I didn't really survive. People rescued me. The survival came after. And in some respects to me, my story is as much about

what happened since then and being an advocate for adaptive sports, I think everyone has in their heart the ability to survive, and I think everyone has in their heart the ability to succeed, and I think it's a matter of finding that. Next time on real survival stories, we meet 21-year-old Tammy Ennis. One Sunday, in August 1981, Tammy is part of a small group who set out on an impromptu sailboat trip around the coastal waters of Volusia County, Florida. It's an idyllic way to spend a sunny weekend. But then things start to unravel. One small setback snowballs into a series of escalating disasters that will ultimately leave Tammy and the others stranded miles offshore clinging to the

underside of their sinking boat. Trapped, the group will have to make an impossible choice. Stay where they are and face the possibility of drifting further out to sea or try to swim to land through a stretch of water known as the shark-bite capital of the world. That's next time on real survival stories. Listen today without waiting and without ads by joining Noiser Plus.