In the dense, unforgiving wilderness of Alaska’s Tongass National Forest, where trees tower like silent guardians and the air carries the weight of untold stories, a lone hiker’s disappearance in 2013 left a family in endless torment. Patrick O’Hara, 34, an IT specialist from Vancouver, set out for a multi-day trek, only to vanish without a trace. For nine years, his fate remained a mystery, a cold case filed away like so many others. Then, in 2022, two forest workers uncovered a chilling secret: a cabin suspended 12 feet in the trees, containing a skeleton sealed inside by boards nailed from within. What unfolded was a tale of isolation, injury, and inhumanity, revealing a poacher’s deadly trap. This is the story of a man who walked into the wild and never walked out, and the horrifying truth that emerged from the treetops.
A Planned Escape to the Wild
Patrick O’Hara was a man who found solace in the unknown. A Vancouver IT specialist, he craved the quiet of nature to escape the city’s hum. At 34, he was no novice—years of hiking in British Columbia’s forests had honed his skills. He navigated with precision, packed with purpose, and always shared his plans. In July 2013, he chose Alaska’s Tongass National Forest, a 17-million-acre expanse of dense conifers, constant rain, and grizzly bears. Locals call it a place that “welcomes strangers but doesn’t let them go.” Patrick knew the risks but embraced them.
His route was ambitious: a coastal path far from trails, through mist-shrouded woods. He stocked up in Ketchikan’s harbor shop, buying gas canisters, freeze-dried food, and a new compass. The shopkeeper, Gary, remembered Patrick as confident, chatting about seeing “real wild nature.” He texted his sister, Emily: “Heading out on the trail. Everything according to plan. Next contact in 8 days.” That was the last message. Emily, used to his adventures, waited. When July 20 came without word, she gave him the two-day buffer he’d requested. By July 22, silence turned to fear. On July 23, she called Alaska State Police.
The search launched immediately. Rangers and volunteers combed the area, knowing time was critical—hypothermia could kill in Tongass’ cold nights. Helicopters scanned the canopy, but fog and trees hid everything. Ground teams pushed through devil’s club shrubs, shouting Patrick’s name. The forest answered with rain and wind. Days passed with no sign—no camp, no gear, no footprints. “It’s like he dissolved,” one searcher said. Hope faded; the wild had claimed another soul.
A Camp That Defied Logic
On the seventh day, a team found Patrick’s tent in a streamside clearing, half a mile off the main trail. It wasn’t a distress site—the tent was rolled, backpack packed, sleeping bag folded. Everything was ready for departure, as if Patrick had breakfasted, tidied up, and stepped away—never to return. No struggle, no animal damage, no fire remnants. “He planned to leave,” a ranger noted, puzzled. Why abandon it all without essentials like water or a map? The phone in his backpack had battery but no calls. The scene screamed anomaly, not accident.
The search intensified, but yielded nothing. After two weeks, it scaled back. Patrick’s case became “unsolved,” a legend whispered by rangers: the hiker who packed up and vanished. Emily, devastated, hired private investigators, but the forest kept its secret. “He’s out there,” she told friends, her voice breaking. “I feel it.”
A Gruesome Treetop Find
Nine years passed, and Patrick’s story faded, a cautionary tale for hikers. In August 2022, forest workers Mark Collins and Dave Miller, assessing trees under a U.S. Forest Service contract, ventured into a remote sector. Seven miles from trails, through windfalls and swamps, they spotted a dark rectangle 12 feet up, wedged between four spruce trees. It was a cabin, built from weathered planks, moss-covered and ladderless, like a forgotten relic grown into the branches.
Curious, Mark climbed with spikes, peering through slits. The air reeked of decay. Pushing the door, he found it boarded shut—from inside. Breaking through, his flashlight revealed a skeleton in tattered hiking clothes, leaning against the wall, head bowed. A backpack, pot with dried porridge, and a rusty radio lay nearby. The door’s nails were bent inward, scratches on the wood like desperate claws. Mark descended, pale: “Call the police.”
A Puzzle in the Sky
Police and forensics arrived, climbing to the cabin. The skeleton, mummified by dry air, was Patrick O’Hara, confirmed by DNA. The cabin, a poacher’s hideout from the 1980s, was designed against bears—no permanent ladder, just a rope pulled up. But Patrick died of hypothermia, with a head wound suggesting a blow. Food in his backpack ruled out starvation. Scratches on finger bones showed he clawed at the walls. “He nailed himself in,” a detective said, “but why?”
The theory: Patrick stumbled upon poachers, witnessing their illegal hunt. They struck him, disorienting him, and dragged him to the cabin. Forcing him inside, they removed the ladder through a hidden exit, leaving him trapped. Injured and cold, he boarded the door in panic, thinking they’d return, sealing his fate. No tools were found, but the poachers likely took them. The investigation closed without arrests—the poachers long gone—but the horror lingered: a man left to die in a treetop prison.
A Forest’s Silent Warning
Patrick’s story is a stark reminder of the wild’s dangers and human cruelty. Emily founded “O’Hara Trails,” educating hikers on remote safety. The cabin was dismantled, its site reclaimed by the forest. Tongass, with its mist and grizzlies, remains a place that “welcomes strangers but doesn’t let them go.” For those who venture deep, Patrick’s fate whispers: some secrets are best left undiscovered.
