Survival Is Earned. Chaos Is Documented.
Tell us about the last thing you got excited about.
Getting my Steam Deck. It’s like handing chaos a second console — now my survival disasters can follow me anywhere. I love my Switch, but the Deck opens the door to even more worlds to freeze, starve, or get eaten in. Excited? Absolutely. Prepared? Not in the slightest.
(Plenty more survival chaos — now on two consoles — at Survivor Incognito.)
Frank earns his stripes. And then some.
📜 Series Hub: SnowRunner Survival: The Permagear Diaries Main Hub
🛠 Rules: SnowRunner Permagear Rules
💡 Why Permagear Works: Read the reasoning behind the challenge
Missed Day Five? Find it here.
It’s Day 6, and I decide it’s time to tackle Pipe Dream—a task that demands the delivery of three items, one of which is a heavy fuel semi-trailer. That’s the heaviest thing I’ve hauled to date, and I’m not about to go in blind.
So, I hop into Red to scout the route. Unfortunately, coming down from the Watchtower, Red seems to channel Scout’s spirit. And by that, I mean he flips. Again. Thankfully, nothing too serious—just a bit of an involuntary nap on his side before getting back on track.
After giving the route a once-over, I park Red somewhere out of the way but within reach. Just in case.
Next up, I jump into Frank and take him back to the garage to slap on the Saddle High. With that done, it’s off to retrieve the trailer.
Now, this is the moment Frank becomes “Certified Beast.”
On nothing but his starter wheels, AWD, and diff lock, he hauls that massive trailer from the fuel station to the factory without complaint. One minor reverse maneuver was all it took to get around a tricky bit—otherwise, he made it look easy.
With the big job done, the rest felt like a cool-down lap. Bricks? Metal beams? No problem.
Except… Frank met his match today. And no, not in the form of water or mud—stones.
Big ones. The kind that wedge themselves under your bumper and whisper, “You’re not going anywhere, mate.”
More than once, I thought I was going to need Red to bail him out. But each time, it was just a matter of nudging past a rock or repositioning. Still, it’s clear: if I want to take Frank into deeper terrain—especially water—I need to raise his suspension and upgrade those tyres.
With Pipe Dream in the rear-view mirror, I took a look at the map. Most remaining tasks are on other maps, but there’s still a wooden bridge in Black River that needs some attention.
That’s a job for tomorrow.
Today belongs to Frank.
He’s earned a break—and maybe a reward. Or at the very least, a long-overdue tyre upgrade.
Want more SnowRunner? Day 7 link coming soon.
Where did your name come from?
Survivor Incognito came from the idea that I’m just an ordinary player fumbling through extraordinary survival scenarios. I’m not the strongest, fastest, or bravest — I’m just trying to make it through without drawing too much attention… which usually fails the moment the wolves show up.
(Plenty more survival attempts — not so incognito — at Survivor Incognito.)
Weather: Clear start → freezing winds → blizzard
Loot Highlights: Survival Bow, cooking pot, skillet
Mood: Excited → frozen → grateful to still have toes
◀ Customloper Diaries – Day 6: Blizzard Send-Off, Ptarmigan Detour, and the Great Cooking Pot Tragedy |
What is Customloper?
Today’s goal was simple: reach the Camp Office without becoming a wolf’s breakfast. That’s really the only bar for success these days. On the way, I spotted one of The Long Dark’s most reliable signals that something is worth investigating: birds circling in the sky, waiting patiently for either my demise or someone else’s.
Luck was on my side for once — it wasn’t my turn. At Max’s Last Stand, a corpse lay frozen in place, and right beside it sat the holy grail of early-game weaponry: a Survival Bow. I snatched it up with the speed and enthusiasm of a raccoon finding a half-eaten cheeseburger.
All I needed now were arrows. With them, I could finally graduate from “rock-throwing medieval PE teacher” to “slightly competent hunter.”
Feeling pretty pleased with myself, I decided to swing by the Deadfall area. That’s when my overconfidence caught up with me. The temperature dropped faster than my optimism during an Interloper run, and I was soon staring at the dreaded red text: Hypothermia.
I lit a fire in the nearby stove, boiled some water, and cooked… something. I’d like to say it was a hearty stew, but given my supplies, it was probably just porridge or whatever counted as “hot food” in my pack. Once I had a bit of warmth and hydration, I grabbed a torch from the fire and pressed on toward my main goal.
Lesson learned: Interloper weather waits for no one, especially those who think they can “just pop over” somewhere.
The rest of the walk to Camp Office was blissfully uneventful — a rare thing in Mystery Lake. Inside, I scored a skillet and cooking pot. Not exactly a rifle or a quiver of arrows, but after yesterday’s cooking pot debacle, I wasn’t about to complain.
Then I made the fatal mistake: I decided to “just explore the area” before settling in. First came the snow. Then came the blizzard. In minutes, visibility dropped to “guess and hope” territory. Navigation became a mix of scent, instinct, and blind luck.
Somehow — and I truly do not know how — I managed to stagger back to the Camp Office without being eaten, freezing to death, or wandering onto thin ice. The blizzard roared outside as I slammed the door shut, my heart still hammering.
Back inside, I set about cooking more porridge, boiling as much water as I could, and letting my core temperature crawl back to something survivable. The bow was now mine. The arrows? Still a distant dream. But tomorrow, I’d change that.
Find arrows. Or a rifle. Or, failing that, a pointy stick and a really bad attitude.
◀ Customloper Diaries – Day 6: Blizzard Send-Off, Ptarmigan Detour, and the Great Cooking Pot Tragedy
Customloper Diaries – Day 8 ▶
What motivates you?
Curiosity. In survival games and in life, I want to know what’s over the next hill — even if it’s just another wolf or a flooded road. The promise of discovery (and the chance to laugh when it goes wrong) keeps me moving forward.
(Plenty more curiosity-fuelled chaos at Survivor Incognito.)
Difficulty: Normal
Optional Features: Permadeath enabled (naturally)
“They say the sea is unpredictable. Turns out the real danger was bacon on legs.”
I woke before sunrise, sipped the last drips from my water still, and realised food was once again my biggest problem. My emergency coconut stash stared back at me like an unsolvable puzzle — great for hydration, but without a knife, they were just spherical disappointments. The conclusion was obvious: this island had given me all it could, and it was time for me to move on.
Two new islands called from the horizon, their silhouettes promising fresh loot and maybe, just maybe, an edible dinner. I picked one, whispered a fond but brief farewell to my starting island, and began the process of leaving. This was a mistake — not the leaving, but underestimating how much my raft had bonded with the beach.
Step one was prising the raft off the sand. The thing behaved like it had signed a long-term tenancy agreement and was not about to leave voluntarily. Once I freed it, I faced my next foe: the paddle, which seemed determined to stay attached like a stubborn remora. Then came the ocean itself.
Within minutes, my crossing turned into an impromptu extreme sport. I capsized more times than I care to admit, each time righting the raft while muttering things not suitable for a survival diary. The swell toyed with me, and every few waves I was convinced I’d see a shark fin break the surface. But eventually, the new island came into focus — and with it, signs of potential treasure. A red shipping container sat on the shore, while offshore, a wooden pole jutted out of the water. Wreckage? Supplies? Or just an elaborate distraction?
Landfall came with an overwhelming sense of relief. First priority: tools. I grabbed a rock, worked it into a knife, and set out to investigate the shipping container. The excitement lasted right up until I swung the door open to reveal… absolutely nothing. No food, no tools, not even decorative debris. My mood sank faster than my raft had earlier that morning.
Still, the island was bigger than it first appeared, with palm trees casting long shadows across the sand. Somewhere out here, there had to be food. Or at least something less likely to stab me in the stomach than my own hunger.
That’s when I saw it: a hog. Large, broad-shouldered, and wearing the kind of expression that suggested it already hated me. Before I could take a step back, it charged — no hesitation, no negotiation, just a blur of tusks and fury.
Desperation kicked in. I fought back with my newly crafted knife, scoring a few hits before it bolted into the undergrowth. Victory? Not quite. As I turned to check my surroundings, I spotted a snake winding its way across the sand. Excellent — protein! I lunged, only for the hog to return for round two. We clashed again, my health dropping with each collision.
By the time round three began, I was already bleeding and winded. I’d love to say I managed a heroic counter, but the truth is the hog bowled me over like I was nothing more than driftwood in its path. The world went dark, the game flashed its verdict, and my save was gone. Just like that.
So ends my Stranded Deep run — three days according to the game, four by my own count. I learned a lot: coconuts are useless without a knife, rafts are stubborn, and hogs are nature’s way of telling you to keep your distance. It was a short ride, but fun. Next time, maybe I’ll survive long enough to cook that bacon instead of becoming it.
What do you enjoy most about writing?
The connection. Writing lets me share survival chaos with people who get it — those who know the panic of wolves howling in The Long Dark or the joy of finally finding duct tape in Stranded Deep. It turns solo survival into a shared adventure
(Plenty more shared survival chaos at Survivor Incognito.)
What do you love about where you live?
Loving where I live is easy — mainly because I don’t need a campfire and a hunting knife just to make it through the week.
The weather. Specifically, that it isn’t as brutal as the survival games I play. Sure, it rains more than I’d like, but at least I don’t have to fight off wolves on the way to the shops or light a campfire just to boil tap water.
(For harsher climates and questionable survival tactics, Survivor Incognito has plenty.)
Two big refreshes: the Survivor’s Dread hub gets a makeover with clickable images and new content, and the Rules of Survival page is sharper, broader, and now includes Day One Diaries.
The horror corner of Survivor Incognito has had a makeover. The Survivor’s Dread Hub is now cleaner, more visual, and easier to explore:
The Rules of Survival (According to Me) page also got a major refresh. It now serves as the central rulebook across all my permadeath runs and diaries, and includes:
If you’ve ever wondered what invisible rulebook guides my permadeath chaos, this is the place to look.
These refreshes make the site easier to navigate, clearer for new readers, and a stronger foundation for the survival chaos to come. Whether you’re following the horror diaries or the more traditional survival runs, you’ll know exactly what rules I’m following, what’s changing, and where to dive in.
What positive emotion do you feel most often?
Amusement. Usually at my own terrible survival decisions. If I can laugh after freezing to death in The Long Dark or being headbutted by a doedicurus in ARK, then I’m probably doing alright.
Because if I can’t laugh at freezing, starving, or being eaten by wolves, what’s the point?
(Plenty more questionable decisions and laughs at Survivor Incognito.)
Survivor Incognito 