Weather / Loot / Mood

• Weather: Pre-dawn calm, rising chop mid-crossing, sun blazing by mid-morning
• Loot: One rock (upgraded into a knife), empty shipping container, one near-death experience
• Mood: Optimistic → seasick → suspicious → hogged off the mortal coil

Goodbye, Starter Island

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.

Raft Wrestling & Ocean Gymnastics

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?

New Shore, New Knife, No Loot

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.

The Hog Strikes Back (…Twice, Actually Thrice)

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.

Epilogue: Lessons from the Hog

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.

Continue the Journey

Day 1 |
Day 3 |
Final Day (You Are Here)