The Man Who Survived the Mountains

It was January 2018, the heart of winter in Pakistan, when 29-year-old Shahbaz, a freelance photographer and nature enthusiast from Lahore, decided to travel to the northern areas for solitude and soul-searching.

Recently heartbroken, disillusioned, and creatively burned out, Shahbaz was desperate for a change of scene. He chose the snow-covered valleys of Naran and Saif-ul-Muluk Lake—not for tourism, but for peace. For silence. For answers.

"I needed to feel small again," he later said, "To remind myself that heartbreak wasn’t the end of the world."

Armed with his Canon DSLR, a journal, a thermos, sleeping bag, power banks, and a few food rations, he planned a simple three-day trip. Everyone warned him—locals, shopkeepers, even a chaiwala in Balakot. The mountains were treacherous that season. Snowstorms came without warning. Visibility could drop to zero in seconds.

But Shahbaz wasn’t looking for safety. He was looking to feel something—anything.


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Day One: Into the White Silence

Shahbaz reached Naran around 10 AM on a Monday morning. It was eerily quiet, the streets half-buried in snow. Tourism was off-season, and only a few local families remained.

By noon, Shahbaz began his hike toward Lake Saif-ul-Muluk, 8 km away and 10,578 feet above sea level. The trail was challenging but stunning—virgin snow, towering pines, and nothing but the sound of wind and his own footsteps.

He clicked photos like a man possessed: frozen trees, icicles hanging from branches, footprints in the snow that led to nowhere.

But at 3:30 PM, the sky changed.

Dark clouds rolled in fast. A snowstorm—sudden and blinding—engulfed the entire valley. Within minutes, Shahbaz could no longer see the path. His phone had lost all signal. Panic settled in his chest like cold steel.

“I wasn’t scared of dying,” he later wrote in his journal, “I was scared of disappearing—without a trace.”

He kept moving, hoping to find shelter. Snow clung to his beard, his eyelashes, even his camera lens. Every direction looked the same: white, endless, empty.

By 6 PM, he gave up. His hands were shaking uncontrollably. He found a rocky overhang and crawled underneath, wrapping himself in his sleeping bag. His last thought before sleep was simple:

“Just survive till morning.”


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Day Two: Hunger, Cold, and Clarity

Shahbaz woke up numb. Literally.

His fingers were frostbitten, his lips cracked, and his water bottle had frozen solid. He had some nuts and dry biscuits but couldn’t feel his hands enough to open the pack.

That morning, he yelled for help for the first time. His voice echoed back—mocking, hollow.

He built a crude fire using a small emergency candle, melting snow for water. His sleeping bag was wet. His journal pages were crumpled and stained. Time felt warped. Daylight offered no warmth.

That night, the silence felt heavier than the snow.

He thought of his parents. He thought of the girl who had walked out of his life months ago. He thought of how many times he had ignored love for ambition.

Alone in the wilderness, he finally cried.

And then, he prayed.


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Day Three: The Eyes in the Dark

He hadn’t slept. His face burned from wind exposure. At noon, he heard something—snow crunching behind the rocks.

A pair of yellow eyes appeared.

A Himalayan wolf.

Tall, strong, and terrifyingly calm. It stared at him for what felt like an hour. Shahbaz held his breath, gripping a stick he knew would be useless.

But the wolf didn’t attack. It stared, sniffed the air, and slowly walked away—disappearing into the trees.

That moment changed him.

“If even a wolf could show mercy,” he later said, “then maybe I should too—on myself.”

He decided to follow the direction the wolf had come from. Maybe it came from somewhere lower… warmer.


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Day Four: The Shepherd’s Hut

Hours passed. His legs were barely working. Blisters had burst inside his shoes. But by sunset, he saw something—smoke.

Not from a person, but from an old chimney.

It was a shepherd’s hut, abandoned for winter. The door creaked open. Inside, it smelled of ash and rot, but it was shelter.

There were a few forgotten supplies: a rusted pot, a bottle of kerosene, and some dry lentils. He used the last of his energy to light a fire.

That night, he wrote in his journal:

"If I make it out of here, I’ll never take a single breath for granted."


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Day Five: Return from the Dead

The next morning, he was discovered by a small group of villagers checking on their livestock. At first, they thought he was a thief or a ghost—his face was blackened with frostbite, his lips bloodied.

When he spoke, barely above a whisper, they immediately carried him down on a mule.

At the village clinic, the doctor said he was “minutes from death.”

His first phone call was to his mother. She cried so hard she couldn’t speak. When she finally did, she said,
"Beta, tu dobara kabhi akele nahi jayega."


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The Story Goes Viral

A fellow traveler later shared Shahbaz’s story and some of his journal pages on Facebook. Within days, it went viral.

TV channels called. A documentary crew contacted him. People called him "The Man Who Came Back from the Snow."

But Shahbaz never chased the fame.

Instead, he started a small survival school in Lahore. He teaches others how to survive the wilderness—but more importantly, how to listen to their inner silence.

He still visits the mountains once a year—but never alone.

And he never forgets the wolf who looked into his soul.


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Final Words from Shahbaz’s Journal:

"I went to escape pain. But nature didn’t let me forget. It made me face it—completely.
I found myself not when I was surrounded by people…
…but when I was inches away from death and chose to fight back."