SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 2019
46 BACKPACKER.COMM
Y EYES FLUTTERED OPEN.
The last thing I remembered was
crawling into my sleeping bag,
but now I was standing upright, surrounded
by dark forest. Without my contacts, every-
thing was shadows and blurs. I was in a
sleepy trance, unsure of where I was or
how I got there. I squinted at the thicket
of black trees and made out a ridge ahead.
Something in my foggy, half-asleep brain
thought it had the answers. Right! I’m going
up the hill to those houses to call for help.
I started forward, but my foot collided
with a log and I tumbled face-first into
a creek. My entire body plunged into the
freezing water. I gasped and scrambled out
on the other side. Stumbling to my feet and
now fully awake, I realized there weren’t
any houses up on the ridge. There was noth-
ing but wilderness for miles. The icy water
had yanked me out of my stupor—I was
alone, and I was in trouble.
I hadn’t sleepwalked in over 50 years,
so it was the last thing on my mind when
I made my way out to the Frank Church-
River of No Return Wilderness. I scouted
a campsite for my annual trip with my son,
settling on a spot near a low-traffic dirt road
in the wide valley below Pinyon Peak. Thenext day, I met my son, Jordan, at a nearby
road junction. We drove to camp, drank a
beer, and tucked in for the night. I climbed
into the tent in my long johns, wool socks,
long-sleeve cotton shirt, and a light thermal
layer. Next thing I knew, I was standing in
the dark dripping cold creek water.
I pulled my arms inside my shirt and
hugged myself for warmth. My sleeves stuck
straight out, frozen solid. It was October in
central Idaho at 8,000 feet, and it was about
20°F out. Without shoes, my feet were cold
and tender. The pain distracted me from the
fear that I would freeze to death.
Unsure how far I’d wandered or in what
direction, it seemed fruitless to try and
retrace my steps. Instead, I’d head downhill,
find a road, and orient myself from there.
Minutes later, I emerged on a dirt road. I
didn’t know if it was the one we had camped
along, much less where it led, but I picked a
direction and walked a few hundred yards.
Seeing no sign of camp, I turned and walked
back the other way for about a mile. Still
nothing. I reversed again—maybe I hadn’t
gone far enough in the original direction. I
was soaking wet, freezing, and starting to
panic, but the adrenaline kept me focused.
All I could think about was finding camp.TROUBLED SLEEP
In October 2018, Rob Lundgren, 66, woke
from a dream to find himself in a
nightmare—lost in Idaho’s Frank Church-
River of No Return Wilderness. As told to
Morgan McFall-JohnsenMAX TEMESCUSkill Set
OUT ALIVE
For more real-world survival
stories, listen to Out Alive at
backpacker.com/podcast.