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It's 7 a.m. on December the 23rd, 2016 in Kaibab National Forest, Arizona. It's the morning after a blizzard, and the landscape is buried beneath eight inches of snow.

The boughs of the evergreens slump beneath heavy drifts.

Here and there saplings peak through the blanket of white. Running through this immense forest is a long sappentine road,

a highway which leads to one of the most famous sites on earth, the Grand Canyon.

Most of the year traffic hums along its twin lanes,

fairing tourists to and fro from the iconic attraction.

But not today. Today the road is closed for the winter.

Repeated severe snowstorms have made it impossible and visitors are encouraged to seek alternate routes.

As a result, this ordinarily busy highway is deserted and unplowed. There isn't a tourist for miles around, except one.

In a clearing, curled shivering beneath a pile of spruce branches, is 46-year-old Karen Klein. Yesterday, everything started out so normal. She was safe and happy with her family. Now she's deep in the forest, alone, half frozen, and in desperate need of help.

I was exhausted. You know, I was hungry, I was tired, I was cold, my feet, I couldn't feel my feet because my shoes were packed with ice.

Delicately Karen stands, painfully straightening her stiff icy joints. She begins to stagger forward through the knee-deep snow, the muscles on fire.

She is weak and weary, but she has to keep moving because it isn't just her own life at stake.

Her husband Eric and a 10-year-old son, Isi, are depending on her.

...