The mountains of Colorado can feel like a sanctuary, a place of peace where the air is crisp, and the trails whisper secrets of ancient pines. But in the autumn of 1999, they held a far more chilling story, one that began with a child’s laughter and ended with a silent, baffling void. Three-year-old Jared Adaro was a bright-eyed boy who loved the outdoors, a fearless little explorer who was born to run ahead on a path. On a fateful October morning, he was hiking with a group from his father’s church.
One moment, he was there, a flash of white shirt and blue jeans. The next, he was gone. A single, piercing scream echoed through the woods and then silence. What happened on that trail that day remains one of the most unsettling mysteries in modern history, not just because a boy vanished, but because when he was finally found, the truth made even less sense than his disappearance.
Jared Adaro’s story is inextricably linked to his father, Alan, a man who had left the city’s fast pace for a more intentional life in the serene Pudra Canyon. A single parent, Alan was committed to raising his son and daughter, Joseline, on his own, fostering their love for the natural world he so cherished.
He was a youth mentor, guiding others through nature, and as a member of the Christian Singles Network, he found a community of like-minded people. It was this trust in his friends that led him to allow Jared and Joseline to join the group on what was supposed to be a simple, safe outing to a state fish hatchery. No one could have foreseen that this seemingly innocent plan would take an unauthorized detour onto the Big South Trail, a scenic but treacherous path with steep drop-offs and narrow, uneven terrain.
As the group spread out along the trail, Jared, full of the boundless energy of a three-year-old, wandered ahead. Witnesses—two fishermen casting lines nearby—later recalled seeing a small boy in a Walmart t-shirt walking alone, calmly and without any signs of distress. It would be the last confirmed sighting of Jared Adaro.
Moments later, a high-pitched scream, sharp and sudden, cut through the quiet. According to Joseline, it was ambiguous—it could have been a cry of fear or a sound of playful excitement, like a game of tag. The scream lasted only seconds and was followed by an eerie silence. Panic quickly set in. The group realized Jared was missing. But in a baffling, crucial misstep, they did not immediately contact authorities. Instead, they fanned out, searching on their own, their desperate calls carried on the cold autumn air, returning only silence.
Back at the mountain resort, Alan Adaro remained blissfully unaware. Hours slipped by before someone finally returned to report the devastating news. The father’s reaction was gut-wrenching. He broke down, screaming and beating his chest, a primal cry of anguish that echoed his heartbreak. “They lost my baby,” he cried repeatedly, a statement that would define his struggle for years to come.
With the sun setting, emergency responders were finally notified, and a massive, coordinated search effort began. Local law enforcement, search and rescue teams, and federal agencies descended upon the forest. Retired Under Sheriff Bill Nelson, who led the initial search, was confident they would find the child quickly. He expected to find a scared, crying boy within a few hours, but as the night wore on, that hope began to fade. The search was hindered by the unforgiving terrain and, soon, by a calamitous turn of events that no one could have anticipated.
Disaster struck the rescue mission in the most dramatic way possible. A UH-1N Huey helicopter, a military aircraft dispatched to aid the search, crashed into the rugged mountain forest. The thin air combined with a heavy fuel load caused the helicopter to stall. As the rotors clipped treetops and blades shattered, the aircraft broke into three pieces. While the military crew survived with injuries, a member of the Larimer County Search and Rescue team, Mark Sheets, was thrown from the wreckage and nearly killed.
Pinned and unconscious, he suffered a severe concussion, multiple fractures, and a thirteen-inch gash that exposed his femur bone. His sacrifice, a result of his selfless decision to help find a missing boy, became a tragic footnote in an already horrifying story. The crash, with its deafening engines running for hours, brought a new, chaotic energy to the search site.
The national media swarmed in like a second storm, turning a local tragedy into a national spectacle. Seventeen TV satellite trucks lined the highway, anchors in fur coats roamed the trails, and the disappearance of Jared Adaro was being compared to the infamous, unsolved murder of JonBenét Ramsey.
With the media came a parade of bizarre distractions—psychics offering tips, a man with a donkey claiming he could track the boy, and Native American spiritualists conducting rituals. The situation had spiraled into a surreal circus. In the middle of it all was Alan Adaro, watching helplessly as the search for his son was consumed by chaos and spectacle. Instead of receiving sympathy, he was subjected to harsh public scrutiny and accusations of neglect. The pain of losing his child was compounded by the cruel whispers and letters from strangers.
Months turned into years, and the trail grew cold. The media moved on, and the public’s attention faded. But Alan Adaro never stopped searching. For him, it was a lifelong mission. He plastered missing posters everywhere, speaking at every opportunity to keep his son’s story alive.
He followed every tip, no matter how small or unlikely, pouring his pain into a relentless pursuit of the truth. His refusal to give up was unwavering, even in the face of dwindling hope. Then, four years after Jared vanished, a stunning discovery reignited the case. In 2003, two hikers stumbled upon partial human remains, including a skull fragment and a cluster of clothing, in a narrow ravine near the Big South Trail. The items—a brown fleece sweater, blue trousers, and Disney’s Tarzan sneakers—were all identified as Jared’s. DNA testing eventually confirmed it with 100% certainty.
The discovery, which should have brought closure, only deepened the mystery. Initially, investigators leaned toward the familiar explanation of a mountain lion attack, a theory that made surface-level sense given the cougar population in the area.
But it quickly unraveled. Forensic experts raised red flags: Jared’s clothes showed no signs of claw marks or tearing, a detail that was expected from a predator attack. The remains hadn’t been scattered but were found in a concentrated area, a detail also inconsistent with a mountain lion’s behavior. Most chillingly, the clothes were arranged unnaturally, and the boy’s pants were found turned inside out, a detail that baffled forensic anthropologists.
But the most perplexing inconsistency was the location itself. The remains were found hundreds of feet above the trail—nearly 500 vertical feet—on extremely steep and rocky terrain. It was an impossible climb for a three-year-old child wearing tennis shoes. This geographical puzzle led to a new, more sinister theory: that Jared’s remains were not found where he died, but where they had been planted years later.
The theory of abduction re-entered the conversation, suggesting that someone had taken the boy and, for unknown reasons, returned his remains to a spot meant to confuse or mislead. The lack of trauma to the bones, the pristine clothing, and the inexplicable location all pointed to a carefully staged scene rather than a tragic accident. The case, once a mystery of a missing child, became a baffling riddle of a body with no clear explanation for its final resting place.
To this day, the Jared Adaro case remains officially unsolved. The theories—a tragic accident, a mountain lion attack, or a sinister abduction—all have glaring holes. As one former search coordinator put it, “This case doesn’t have closure because it doesn’t make sense. Every theory breaks down at some point.” Yet, in the midst of this enduring mystery, Alan Adaro found a purpose that transcended his pain.
He refused to let his son be reduced to a cold case file. He wrote a book, became a tireless advocate for child safety, and used his story to expose the flaws in emergency response systems. He fought for better safety protocols and accountability, ensuring that his son’s tragedy would not be in vain. His relentless fight led to Colorado Governor Bill Ritter declaring September 8th as Recreational Safety Awareness Week in honor of Jared. Alan Adaro’s story is one of unimaginable heartbreak, but it is also a testament to a father’s enduring love and a powerful call to never stop seeking the truth.
