In the jungle after the crash she found the remains of a bank of three seats, like the one she and her mother were sitting in, although this one was rammed head first about three feet into the soil. She has four theories about how she survived the fall: So this was luck, and more luck was to follow. Koepcke had landed about 30 miles from Panguana, and she was attuned to the forest here — the animals, bugs and general feel. She knew instantly that it was important to get out to find help because this was an uninhabited area. She found a stream, as her father told her in the belief that it would lead to a larger river and people.
She knew that piranhas are only dangerous in shallow water, so she floated mid-stream; she knew that much of what grew was poisonous, but the water from the creeks was safe. But the sound was not coming from where she was heading. She was lucky not to step on a stingray; or to get attacked by an alligator; or to catch the poison arrow frog she was so desperate to eat — the poison is normally too weak to kill, but in her state it could have been fatal.
It was pure chance that they came that day. Do you feel lucky, I ask. I cannot push him away.
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But I am healthy and I can do work that I love and this is only possible because I survived — so I am lucky too. By March Koepcke had recovered and was back at school in Lima. Her plan was to study for two years for the German university entrance exam. She loved school and was happy to be back with her friends. But this is when she had another traumatic change. She continued to be besieged by journalists and her father had a panic attack and sent her to Germany to live with his mother and sister Cordula, a journalist and writer.
On top of everything else, Koepcke had lost her home. It took about two years to accept it.
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But fortunately I had a very nice school in Kiel in northern Germany and very nice friends. But with my father it was very difficult. Her feeling of abandonment was to return some 40 years later in , while she was researching her book. Her aunt died that year and while leafing through her papers Koepcke found a letter from her father. This was Christmas He wanted his sister to know that Juliane was forbidden from returning to Panguana.
Juliane burst into tears as she read it. He was paralysed with grief. That Christmas was the first anniversary of her death. He was completely alone in Panguana, alone with his grief, and the last thing he wanted to see in those moments was me because I looked a lot like my mother and that was a problem for him. She says her father never recovered. He never returned to Peru and died in , aged You cannot change it.
I think, what must it have been like for her in those last days there? Panguana had an abundance of vampire bats — one even bit her big toe while she was sleeping as a child. She spent 18 months in her old home and identified 52 bat species. She is still devoted to Panguana, which is poised to become a nature reserve.
She has expanded its size from to 1, acres and is due to sign the papers to make the conservation plans legal next month. She and Erich visit twice a year. Which, of course, means flying. But still she worries that she is not doing enough. Those are great words, but only words and up to now I have been thinking, have I achieved this or not? And that is another way of feeling guilty. It was an important book to write. Get the best at Telegraph Puzzles. The wise move after someone had stolen his gear and he had daddy on the phone would have been to accept the money and fly or ride home.
His decision to go-it-alone with no gear almost cost him his life. William was found about 30 miles further along the river than most casual hikers traveled. To his credit, he survived by foraging roots, eating frogs, and possessing one of the most important pieces of survival gear — FIRE. It can happen to any of us outdoors. Spending the night in the woods unprepared can have dire consequences. Knowledge, gear, and skills are survival aids. Practicing your skills with your gear builds knowledge and confidence. Doing the Stuff closes the gap on sloppy skills making you the luckiest survivor in the world.
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It was before noon on day one of a storm that Alvarenga knew was likely to last five days. Losing the GPS had been an inconvenience. The failed motor was a disaster. Now, without radio contact, they were on their own. The storm roiled the men all afternoon as they fought to bale water out of the boat. The same muscles, the same repetitive motion, hour after hour, had allowed them to dump perhaps half the water. They were both ready to faint with exhaustion, but Alvarenga was also furious.
He picked up a heavy club normally used to kill fish and began to bash the broken engine. Then he grabbed the radio and GPS unit and angrily threw the machines into the water. They turned the refrigerator-sized icebox upside down and huddled inside. Soaking wet and barely able to clench their cold hands into fists, they hugged and wrapped their legs around each other. But as the incoming water sank the boat ever lower, the men took turns leaving the icebox to bale for frantic or minute stints.
Progress was slow but the pond at their feet gradually grew smaller. Darkness shrank their world, as a gale-force wind ripped offshore and drove the men farther out to sea. Were they now back to where they had been fishing a day earlier?
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Were they heading north towards Acapulco, or south towards Panama? With only the stars as guides, they had lost their usual means of calculating distance. Without bait or fish hooks, Alvarenga invented a daring strategy to catch fish. He kneeled alongside the edge of the boat, his eyes scanning for sharks, and shoved his arms into the water up to his shoulders. With his chest tightly pressed to the side of the boat, he kept his hands steady, a few inches apart. When a fish swam between his hands, he smashed them shut, digging his fingernails into the rough scales.
Many escaped but soon Alvarenga mastered the tactic and he began to grab the fish and toss them into the boat while trying to avoid their teeth. They ate fish after fish. Alvarenga stuffed raw meat and dried meat into his mouth, hardly noticing or caring about the difference. When they got lucky, they were able to catch turtles and the occasional flying fish that landed inside their boat.
It was salty but not revolting as he drank, urinated, drank again, peed again, in a cycle that felt as if it was providing at least minimal hydration; in fact, it was exacerbating their dehydration. Alvarenga had long ago learned the dangers of drinking seawater. Despite their longing for liquid, they resisted swallowing even a cupful of the endless saltwater that surrounded them.
He began to grab jellyfish from the water, scooping them up in his hands and swallowing them whole. After roughly 14 days at sea, Alvarenga was resting inside the icebox when he heard a sound: The rhythm of raindrops on the roof was unmistakable. His crewmate awoke and joined him. Rushing across the deck, the two men deployed a rainwater collection system that Alvarenga had been designing and imagining for a week. Dark clouds stalked overhead, and after days of drinking urine and turtle blood, and nearly dying of thirst, a storm finally bore down on the men.
They opened their mouths to the falling rain, stripped off their clothes and showered in a glorious deluge of fresh water. Within an hour, the bucket had an inch, then two inches of water. The men laughed and drank every couple of minutes.
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After their initial attack on the water supplies, however, they vowed to maintain strict rations. They grabbed and stored every empty water bottle they found. When a stuffed green rubbish bag drifted within reach, the men snared it, hauled it aboard and ripped open the plastic. Inside one bag, they found a wad of chewed gum and divided the almond-sized lump, each man feasting on the wealth of sensorial pleasures. Underneath a layer of sodden kitchen oil, they found riches: It was the first fresh food the two men had seen for a long time. They treated the soggy carrots with reverence.
We asked God to forgive us for being such bad sons. We imagined if we could hug them, give them a kiss. We promised to work harder so they would not have to work any more. But it was too late. They were on the same boat but headed on different paths. He gripped a plastic water bottle in both hands but was losing the energy, and motivation, to put it up to his mouth.
Alvarenga offered tiny chunks of bird meat, occasionally a bite of turtle. Depression was shutting his body down. The two men made a pact. His breath was rough. Instead he stretched out. His body shook in short convulsions.
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He groaned and his body tensed up. You have to fight for life! What am I going to do here alone? How was your sleep?
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Have you had breakfast? His clothes were useful, so I stripped off a pair of shorts and a sweatshirt. I put that on — it was red, with little skull-and-crossbones — and then I dumped him in. And as I slid him into the water, I fainted. When he awoke just minutes later, Alvarenga was terrified. Without anyone to speak with?