Three hours in the Carpathians; What I learned
about Luck, Light and getting out alive
Just before Christmas, I drove into Romania. Flights were sold out, so I hesitated for a while but couldn't resist the urge to spend time with people I know well. In the end, I hit the road — it all happened very spontaneously.
I had already done a lot of traveling and experienced some wild situations — though not too many. Usually, I was careful: I always tried to check the weather in advance and bring the necessary equipment. It's important to have both knowledge and improvisation skills, because gear can get lost, and when that happens, you need to think fast and be creative — especially when time really matters.
Planning to stick to main highways and roads, I figured it would be easy. If there was a problem, road services could help — or I could just ask someone, right?
Wrong.
We often make assumptions based on what we know — almost instinctively — but that doesn't always work. This trip was exactly such a case.
What I did was hastily pack some water and food, flashlights, car blankets, and a warm sleeping bag. The car's tires were a concern — they were summer tires, and I hadn’t changed them that year because I hadn’t planned to go anywhere by car. My original plan to fly home for a visit had also been canceled.
I figured it would be enough to bring snow chains, a small shovel, and a folding spade. If I got stuck, I’d just dig the car out and continue. I knew slippery roads would be dangerous, but with front-wheel drive, I thought I could make it.
Looking back now, I realize I shouldn’t have done it.
But I had already started the journey.
Up until the Romanian border, everything went well. The roads were mostly clear of snow, and what little there was had been cleared away. But just after crossing the border, things started to change. Road signs were iced over, making them difficult to read — especially in the dim daylight — as I was heading toward Petroșani, planning to cut across the triangle past Sibiu or Craiova.
That’s when it started to get bad.
My handheld GPS had died. This was back in the days when car navigation systems were rare, and I was relying on an expedition-style GPS to find my way. I was one of the first among my friends to have a regular-sized cell phone, but reception wasn’t available everywhere. The snow turned every road and path into a mystery.
Here and there, I saw people walking — some carrying firewood to heat their homes and sheds, others striding quickly with a steady pace, seemingly unconcerned about the car sliding along the road. I passed a group of maybe ten people — men and women — gathered in the yard of a half-constructed house. They were standing around a fire burning in a halved barrel, grilling what looked like an entire pig.
I drove uphill, and then the road became steeper.
Then it happened — just as darkness fell. Somewhere near the Carpathians, I took a wrong turn.
It wasn’t reckless. Just… easy.
The roads were unmarked, the darkness complete, and my phone had no signal. My GPS was still working, thankfully. In brief moments when I caught a weak signal, I managed to call my acquaintances in Bucharest. I explained that I was sort of lost — that there was nobody outside because of Christmas and the freezing weather, and that I couldn’t read the signs.
The snow was deep, and the wind howled through the mountains. I gave them my GPS coordinates whenever I could — every twenty minutes or so, or whenever I had signal, as we had agreed.
I was slowly making my way down a narrowing path. I couldn’t tell if it was paved or just a dirt road buried under the snow. It kept getting tighter. I had to slow down more and more. There were bushes and a mountain wall to my right, and darkness to my left.
Then I noticed the sound — a creek, running just out of sight on the left.
I stopped the car, turned off the engine and the headlights, and waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Gradually, I could make out the faint glimmer of water. Yes, there was a creek flowing to the left.
Was that a little fence? Or something else? No — probably nothing. Across the creek, the mountain rose again, this time more gently, covered in trees and bushes.
I got back in the car and crept forward slowly, hoping I’d find a spot wide enough to turn around and head back to the last village. Maybe I could wait there until morning.
But I couldn’t.
There was no place wide enough to safely turn the car around.
Then the car stopped — dragged slightly to the left.
What had happened?
A worrying moment. Being stuck this close to Christmas could mean serious trouble.
I stepped out of the car to check. I saw right away that the snow chain on the driver’s side had come off.
Worse — it had jammed itself between the brake fluid line and the brake disc. The vehicle was stuck — on a narrow path in the woods, in a dark canyon. I had no idea if the ground beneath me was even paved. So how could I safely remove the wheel? But I had no choice. If I wanted to fix the problem, I had to try.
I got to work.
What followed took nearly three hours. Pulling out the chain without damaging the brake line was a challenge in itself. If the line had broken, that would’ve been the end of the journey — stranded right there, with no guarantee that anyone would come.
Later, I was told I could have been stuck there for three days.
My acquaintances had contacted rescue services and given them my last known GPS coordinates. The rescuers said they knew exactly where I was — and that even in summer, people avoided driving there. The road was too dangerous.
Apparently, I had ended up in a nature reserve — with barely any infrastructure, surrounded by pure wilderness.
And that’s when I heard something.
From across the stream — heavy rustling in the brush.
Not the wind.
Steps.
Heavy steps.
I couldn’t see it, but I knew.
A bear!?
In a split second, I remembered a documentary I’d seen about the rehabilitation of bear and wolf populations in the Carpathians.
Damn. I was in the Carpathians.
I couldn’t drive away. Bears are excellent climbers and swimmers. It was cold, it was dark, and I might as well have been the only open restaurant in the area.
This was not good.
The noises grew louder. Closer.
Heavy stomping. Deliberate.
It was clear — whatever was coming meant business.
The bear was making its way toward me.
Still, I couldn’t see anything. My eyes hadn’t adjusted to the darkness, and my mind was racing in circles — thinking fast, panicking quietly.
What should I do?
What could I do?
Then it hit me: fire. Light. Fear. Animals fear light, right? I could try to blind it — scare it off. I remembered I had a powerful handheld spotlight in the car.
I grabbed it — a one-million-lumen beam. Plugged it into the car, started the engine, laid on the horn for a long blast, and aimed the light straight into the trees, across the creek.
I could hear the puffing and chuffing, closer now. Still, nothing visible — just sound and instinct and fear.
Then the beam cut through the darkness like a blade. It lit up the trees like fire. And then —
A crash. A rush. The sound of a heavy body tearing through brush, breaking branches, snapping saplings.
Running.
Then silence.
After a long few minutes, I steadied the torch, aimed it toward the bushes, and — with the engine running and the headlights on — I returned to work, trying to free the jammed chain and get the car moving again.
The headlamp saved the night.
It allowed me to work with both hands in the freezing cold. No frozen fingers — I had packed well. Good gloves, good planning.
The bear never came back.
I was incredibly lucky.
Why?
Because my acquaintances had called the road service after I missed my check-in. They were told:
“Even in summer, that area’s dangerous. In winter? Nobody goes in there.”
And certainly not during the three days of Christmas.
No one was coming.
I had to get out — alone.
I had to be ready for more encounters with wildlife — wolves, maybe even another bear.
Eventually, I freed the chain. But the road was too narrow to turn around.
I had no choice but to reverse — for kilometers — through falling snow that never stopped.
When I finally reached a steep hill, a few locals appeared from nearby shacks. Without hesitation, they started helping me push the car up. No questions asked — the situation spoke for itself.
They threw hot ashes in front of the tires and said something about “the quchook” — the grip of the wheels.
Yes. I was driving through that entire region on summer tires.
Not clever. Not at all.
I learned the hard way:
👉 Knowledge and experience matter. But they don’t beat preparation.
👉 A few small tools can literally mean the difference between life and death.
🔦 Handheld spotlight – Not just to see, but to defend and deter.
This flashlight is remarkable not only because of its bright and long-range beam, but especially due to its compact size and
unique shape. Its performance compares favorably to much heavier handheld spotlights, offering impressive results for its size—
even the lower models in the same
range are superb.
I’ve used it on many occasions and often carried it in my pocket. One day, after charging the battery,
I forgot to put it back in place in my adventure-style Camel winter outdoor jacket. That night, I was
involved in a dangerous situation: my car almost caught fire after spilling oil at high speed. In the dark,
I was trying to quickly remove my belongings from the car. I didn’t see the extension cable running
from the cigarette lighter in the front to the trunk, and I tripped over it, crashing onto the asphalt.
The accident left me with injuries that required several months of medical treatment. Beyond the
physical pain, the medical costs were also significant.
Another great feature of this flashlight is how practical it is in emergencies. It can be charged via a USB-C connection within minutes, providing enough power for several minutes of light—often ten minutes or more from just a couple minutes of charging. This works with any power bank or compatible device, making it extremely convenient when time and power sources are limited.
🔦 Handheld spotlight hero – One of a hell of a bear
This spotlight turns night into day. But be cautious in those first moments — the edges of its beam can create blind spots. Without care, something could jump out at you before you even realize it.
If you have time, clear the area first. If not, step slightly to the side and quickly sweep the nearest bushes and trees with the beam. Then turn back and scan them again. If something — or someone — managed to stay hidden the first time, they might now move, or rush you. Or… let your imagination fill in the rest.
In upcoming posts, I’ll share thoughts on how to stay alive by being a little bit of a coward. Next up: axes and knives. 😄
Anyway, seeing 9000 lumens in action — compared to even a very good 1700-lumen pocket light — is something else. It cuts into the night like a razor, lighting up whatever stands in its way. If there's an animal approaching at 50 or even 100 meters, this beam gives you a real sense of safety.
In an emergency, it becomes your number-one defense tool at night. An attacker — human or not — can’t see where they’re going, what’s ahead of them, or what you’re holding. A shotgun? An axe? A crossbow? A camera lens? Or maybe just a frying pan? They won’t know — and that uncertainty can be powerful.
As for animals, bright light might work like fire: confusing or deterring them because they suddenly can't see. I can't speak for every species, but I’d guess that if a bear is truly charging, the distance matters. If it's far enough to reconsider, it might retreat. But from close range, the momentum — and instinct — could push it to finish what it started, whether it’s after a meal or reacting to a perceived threat.
💡 LED Headlamp (Hands-Free) Crucial for night repairs. Let me use both hands to fix the car while keeping my eyes on the task.
This headlamp tells its story just by looking at it. Back in the day, along the riverbed — where I once almost
encountered a bear — I had a headlamp powered by AAA NiMH batteries. They took time to recharge once
empty, but the advantage was that I could carry spare batteries and simply swap them out. It’s similar with
this model, though the battery needs to be purchased separately and isn’t usually available in ordinary stores.
However, this is easily compensated by its usability and powerful light.
It doesn’t directly compete with the torch mentioned above, but it’s not far behind in brightness. In fact, its
combination of a wide beam and focused ray of light meets many needs when walking in the wild or in
situations that require hands-free lighting. From my experience, both are essential — they complement each
other rather than replace one another.
The tactical beam of the torch above, with its intense ray of light, is ideal for revealing detail at both short and
long distances — and even for defense in the dark. Meanwhile, this headlamp is perfect for walking with a diffused
mid-strength light, for use inside a tent, or during uncertain emergency situations when you want to conserve power.
When more illumination is needed — like while crossing a tricky or dangerous path — you can briefly switch on both lamps together.
It fits comfortably on a helmet or directly on the head. Very useful — I always carry it in my bag or clothing when going out or traveling. Even for car repairs or unexpected issues, it’s invaluable, since your hands remain free. And I’m sure you can think of many other situations where it comes in handy: a narrow, slippery trail in the mountains? A power outage at work during the late hours of a winter evening?