“Between Jungle, Survival Skills, and Science – A Conversation with Hazen Audel”
He is no ordinary television star: Hazen Audel, known from the acclaimed National Geographic series Primal Survivor, lives the kind of life most people only dream of—or fear. The American biologist, adventurer, and ethnologist has spent years traveling to the most remote corners of the planet, living with indigenous communities, learning ancient survival techniques, and documenting the fragile relationship between humans and nature.
With remarkable physical endurance, scientific curiosity, and deep respect for other cultures, Hazen has earned an international reputation as a boundary-crosser between civilization and wilderness.
In this interview, he talks about his most unforgettable experiences, the responsibilities of modern science in the age of climate change—and why the greatest adventure sometimes begins within ourselves.
P: Hazen, as a child, you were already fascinated by nature and survival in extreme environments. What sparked your passion for this way of life?
H: From my earliest memories, I was lifting up bricks and rocks, looking for bugs, catching critters—just trying to learn about every living thing I could find. That curiosity became the core of who I am.
It didn’t take long for me to expand beyond my backyard. David Attenborough’s documentaries, National Geographic magazines and books—they opened my eyes to a world filled with scaly, slimy, glittery wonders. I dreamed—no, visualized—myself in those wild places, discovering nature firsthand.
Who isn’t mesmerized by an emerald tree boa coiled around a blooming Cattleya orchid thirty feet above the jungle floor?
My childhood bedroom was like a miniature biosphere—terrariums chirping with frogs, aquariums recreating global ecosystems down to the right moss or substrate. Eventually, I had to move into the basement because the weight of my aquariums was making the house bend!
I only ever knew one way to live—with animals, with plants, with nature. I wanted to be like Tarzan, surrounded by my jungle friends.
P: Before diving into the world of adventure shows, you worked as a biologist and teacher. How did those experiences shape your perspective?
H: My mother always knew I had to be a biologist. I was the first in my family to go to college, but my excitement quickly faded. I wasn’t learning about snakes or jungle flowers—instead, I was memorizing the Krebs cycle and slogging through organic chemistry. Within six months, I dropped out.
I had saved $680 in a chrome coffee kettle from my lawn-mowing business. I bought a one-way ticket to Ecuador and had $73 left. I thought, I better see if I can handle the tropics before I commit ten years to studying them in textbooks.
So I went. Backpack, tent, stove, 20-pound bag of rice. I figured I’d fish and live on the riverbank until the money ran out.
Then I saw them—three kids fishing on the far side of the river, catching way more than I was. Eventually, I crossed paths with them. Even with a language barrier and a decade between us, we became companions. I learned more from their small, practiced hands than any class could teach me.
They invited me to dinner, and I followed them upriver. On the way, they collected plants—one for foot fungus, one for vision, another for stomach pain. Ten plants in ten feet of trail. I was stunned by their knowledge.
Their home—a traditional Quichua house—was all jungle materials, no doors, no windows. The father came home, shirtless, with a freshly speared wild pig slung on his back. He dropped it by the fire, and the family immediately started preparing it.
That night, they said, Mi casa es su casa. They didn’t want me walking back in the dark. I slept on the floor with them, ate breakfast with them. The next morning, they asked me to stay.
I stayed for eight months.
No electricity. Learned two languages. Stopped wearing shoes. Fished like a pro. It changed everything. I knew I could never learn that in school.
That short trip turned into the foundation of the life I still live today.
P: What were some of the most challenging or frightening experiences you’ve had in extreme environments?
H: One of the most terrifying experiences was with the Inuit in the Arctic. The cold was overwhelming, and hunting had failed. Our only option for food was to go under the sea ice—over 20 feet thick.
We waited for the tide to drop, when the ice rested on the sea floor, and then excavated a tunnel beneath it. It was pitch black, a maze of crevices, megatons of ice above us. The sound of cracking and shifting was constant and eerie.
We had to keep track of time and our exit route, or we’d be trapped and drowned. It was the most nerve-wracking moment of my “Survive the Tribe” experience. The fear of getting lost—or crushed—still sends shivers down my spine.
P: Indigenous communities have a deep connection to nature. What have they taught you about the world?
H: Humans have lived on this planet for millions of years, surviving from what the Earth provides. That connection is in our DNA.
Today, most people can’t tell you where their food comes from, except the grocery store. That disconnect is a dangerous anomaly—a blink in human history that might be our undoing.
In Indigenous cultures, I’ve learned the importance of sharing, of living for the community. Their wisdom is deep, their traditions are tested. They know how to live, how to grow old, and how to protect the land. They live in harmony with nature, not above it.
That’s something we can all learn from.
P: Surviving in remote places must take serious physical and mental preparation. How do you get ready for such demands?
H: Honestly? I don’t prepare—I live ready.
I move all day, every day. That’s the human way. No gym routine—just life. I sleep deeply because my body is worn out from actual work. I wake up ready to hunt, climb, run, swim—whatever the day demands.
At home, I live on a farm. I’m building my own house. It’s constant movement, labor, and purpose. People call me and I’m out of breath just talking on the phone. That’s when I remember—oh yeah, I work hard all day long.
It’s just who I am—ADHD, farm-fit, travel-ready, in fighting shape.
P: Mental strength is just as important as technical skill in survival. What qualities do you rely on most in tough situations?
H: Resilience. I’ve had to learn it the hard way.
At 20, I was lost in the jungle for six days—just a pair of shorts, a machete, and a flashlight that died after the first few hours. I’ve hung off ice walls with no way up or down. Been trapped in boats during deadly storms. Had heartbreaks that felt just as fatal.
But I made it. I found rivers, built rafts, kept climbing, kept going. Every scar teaches you something. Every challenge reminds you there’s light at the end of the tunnel.
The worst moments shape us. Wisdom doesn’t come by choice—it’s earned through pain, failure, and growth. And I wouldn’t trade it.
P: How do you balance modern technology with the authenticity of raw adventure?
H: It’s a different world now—and honestly, I think it’s a little sad.
When I first started traveling, it was impossible to contact home. My parents wouldn’t hear from me for months. My mom’s clairvoyant and could sense when I was okay—but that’s about all they had to go on.
I was alone in frontier towns, bush planes, unmapped rivers—rolling with the punches. Now, it’s all satellite phones, GPS, and social media. It makes things easier, but something gets lost too.
The mystery. The rawness. The silence.
Technology has its place. I use it to educate, to share. But I never let it dull the edge of the wild.
In the end, Hazen Audel leaves the impression of a man who is not only a naturalist, but also a storyteller, a boundary-crosser, and a bridge-builder between worlds.
He lives what he teaches: a deep respect for nature, genuine awe for indigenous knowledge, and a willingness to trade comfort for insight.
What began with frog terrariums in his childhood bedroom has become a life lived on the edge—immersed in the wilderness and in close connection with the people who have understood it for generations. For Hazen, survival isn’t a performance—it’s a way of life. One shaped by curiosity, adaptability, and unshakable resilience.
And even though his adventures now reach millions, there is nothing contrived about him. On the contrary: anyone who listens to him quickly realizes that between the jungles of South America and the Arctic, there are not only harrowing experiences—but profound truths about humanity, responsibility, and what ultimately connects us all.
Perhaps the greatest adventure in Hazen Audel’s life isn’t surviving in extreme environments—but his relentless quest to remind us of where we truly come from.
Fotocredit: Hazen Audel