I launched The Long Dark on Voyageur difficulty with the confidence of someone who had watched exactly one survival documentary and thought, “Yeah, I’ve got this.” I didn’t. Not even a little.

Editor’s note: This entry recounts my first-ever time playing The Long Dark, years before I established the permadeath rules for current runs. Everything that happened was real, just with less structure (and more falling into lakes).

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Step One: Make It Harder Than It Needs to Be

The game practically begged me to start in Mystery Lake or Mountain Town. But I wanted an adventure. So, I hit “Random.” I figured, why not spice things up? Worst-case scenario, I get eaten by a wolf. That would’ve been merciful.

Instead, I was dropped into Bleak Inlet—also known as “You Shouldn’t Be Here Yet Bay.” Picture a desolate, wind-scoured wasteland where the trees are tired, the wolves are angry, and the weather is doing its best impression of a meat freezer. I had no map, no shelter, and no clue where I was. Perfect.

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Step Two: Get Lost Immediately

I wandered for a while, mostly in circles. My grand strategy was “head in a direction and hope it works out.” Spoiler: it didn’t. Snow was blowing sideways. Visibility dropped to “guess and pray.” My temperature gauge wasn’t just falling—it was plummeting like a rock.

Eventually, I stumbled onto a frozen river. Did I consider the structural integrity of that ice? No. Did I remember the game has breakable ice mechanics? Also no. I just thought, “Shortcut!”

Cue sound of cracking.

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Step Three: Fall In. Twice.

I broke through the ice and dropped into freezing water. If you’ve never experienced The Long Dark’s cold mechanics, here’s a summary: get wet, get cold, get dead. I scrambled out, shivering and soaked, thinking I could recover. A rookie mistake. I had no firestarter, no dry clothes, and no shelter.

Then—because I’m nothing if not consistent—I fell in again. Same ice. Same mistake. Same freezing regret.

At this point, hypothermia set in. I couldn’t sprint. My vision blurred. My character audibly groaned in despair, and honestly, same.

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Step Four: Denial and Ruined Shacks

Still clinging to the illusion of survival, I limped along until I found what could generously be called a shack. More accurately, it was a few planks of wood pretending to be a building. No fire barrel. No door. Just wind-chill and a growing sense of dread.

I checked my inventory:

One flare

Some cattail stalks

Clothes so wet they might as well have been lake water

No matches

This was not a survival situation. This was an obituary in progress.

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Bonus Step: Existential Reflection

As I sat there, frostbitten and fully aware I was about to die, I had time to think about my life choices. Mainly:

Why didn’t I bring a torch?

Why didn’t I start in Mystery Lake?

Why does the game hate me?

But mostly: Why did I fall in the same ice twice?

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My First Death, But Not My Last

Eventually, the screen faded to black. Cause of death: hypothermia. Time survived: not long enough to justify the bravado I started with. It wasn’t a glorious end. It wasn’t even a dramatic one. It was just wet, cold failure.

But The Long Dark teaches by punishing. And I learned. Next time, I’d check the map. Next time, I’d respect the ice. And next time, I’d maybe, just maybe, not hit Random.

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Switch Controls (For People Who Prefer Not to Drown)

Move: Left Stick (try not to walk into water)

Run: Hold Right Trigger (don’t sprint blindly across ice)

Inventory: ‘X’ Button (check it before you’re soaking wet)

Interact: ‘A’ Button (essential for picking up supplies you actually need)

Crouch: ‘B’ Button (useful for sneaking… or just giving up quietly)

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Takeaways

Mistake Consequence What to Do Instead

Random spawn in Bleak Inlet Spawned in the worst possible region Choose Mystery Lake or Mountain Town
Walked on thin ice Fell in. Twice. Stick to snow-covered paths
No firestarter Couldn’t dry off, froze to death Always carry matches or a torch
No plan or direction Got lost in a blizzard Learn the map or follow landmarks

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Final Thoughts

The Long Dark doesn’t coddle. It teaches with pain. My first run was a disaster—but a valuable one. If nothing else, I now know that ice is not to be trusted, Bleak Inlet is not your friend, and maybe—just maybe—I should listen when a game says, “Start here.”

And yes, I will absolutely be trying again.

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Read More Day One Diaries Here