In August 2013, the ancient redwood forests of Northern California promised Kalin Vancraftoft, Serena Quaid, and their six-month-old daughter, Isla, a serene escape. The young family, vibrant and adventurous, set out for a gentle hike through the towering groves of Redwood National and State Parks. Kalin, a 33-year-old environmental consultant with a knack for wilderness navigation, and Serena, a cautious 32-year-old graphic designer, planned a relaxed trip to introduce their baby to nature’s grandeur. But when they failed to check in with Serena’s mother, Odilia Hastings, a chilling silence descended. Four years later, a bizarre fungal discovery would unravel a tragedy that turned a family’s joy into a haunting mystery.
The redwoods, with their massive trunks and dense canopy, create a world where sunlight barely touches the forest floor. For Kalin and Serena, it was a familiar playground. Kalin’s expertise ensured they stuck to well-trodden trails, perfect for a baby in a carrier. Their itinerary, left with Odilia, outlined easy routes with no need for heavy gear or a satellite phone. Yet, as evening fell on their return date, Odilia’s calls to their phones went unanswered. Panic set in. By morning, she alerted the authorities, sparking a massive search in the 139,000-acre park, a labyrinth of steep ravines and hidden undergrowth.
A single clue emerged: a photo uploaded to their cloud storage, timestamped two days earlier. It captured Kalin, Serena, and Isla on a dirt trail, dwarfed by redwoods. Kalin’s broad smile, Serena’s protective hand on the baby carrier, and Isla’s pink headband created a picture of happiness. But the photo, taken by an unknown hiker, was their last trace. The family’s car, found locked at the trailhead, confirmed they’d begun their hike as planned. Search teams, K-9 units, and volunteers scoured the forest, but the dense canopy and thick debris thwarted their efforts. No footprints, no dropped items—nothing suggested where they’d gone.
Odilia, heartbroken yet resolute, provided details about their gear: a gray baby carrier, a handcrafted blanket, and Kalin’s backpack with basic supplies. Weeks turned into months, but the forest yielded no answers. The search for the photographer offered a brief hope. Identified as a German tourist, he recalled taking the photo and chatting briefly, noting the family’s cheerful demeanor as they continued down the trail. His account, though vivid, led nowhere. Theories of poaching-related foul play surfaced when signs of illegal redwood burl harvesting were found, but investigations into local timber black markets hit dead ends. After two months, the search scaled back, leaving the case cold and Odilia in despair.
Fast forward to the summer of 2017, when a group of mycology students from Oregon, led by Xander Zeller, ventured into a remote park sector for fungal research. During a break near a rare oak tree, Zeller spotted an eerie growth at its base—a three-foot-wide mass of sulfurous yellow, stark white, and oily black, exuding a putrid odor. Unlike any fungus they’d studied, it resembled chemical foam more than a natural growth. Intrigued, they photographed it extensively, noting its alien appearance against the forest floor. A park botanist, reviewing their images, suggested it stemmed from a buried animal’s decomposition gases fueling a fungal bloom.
Driven by scientific curiosity, the students returned the next day with shovels and sampling tools. Digging revealed a shocking truth: beneath the fungus lay a heavy-duty black tarp, not an animal carcass. As they uncovered it, the stench intensified, confirming a clandestine burial. Cutting through the tarp revealed human remains, heavily decomposed. Shaken, Zeller called authorities via satellite phone. A forensic team, airlifted to the remote site, confirmed the remains were Kalin Vancraftoft’s, identified by dental records. The discovery crushed Odilia but shifted the case from a missing persons mystery to a potential crime.
The autopsy revealed no trauma—no gunshots, stabs, or fractures. But toxicological analysis detected high levels of rattlesnake venom, suggesting a fatal bite. Though rare in the redwoods’ cool shade, it was plausible. Yet, the deliberate burial in an industrial-grade tarp raised questions. Why was Kalin hidden? Where were Serena and Isla? The tarp held clues: volcanic rock dust and diesel fuel traces, not native to the burial site, pointed to a specific origin. Investigators traced the tarp to rural supply outlets and mapped areas with matching volcanic soil and diesel presence, narrowing their focus to isolated properties.
One such property, owned by Whan Yarrow, a reclusive 58-year-old, emerged as a prime suspect. His homestead, eight miles from the grave, was littered with old machinery, diesel tanks, and rolls of the same black tarp. Yarrow, known for his volatile demeanor, was uncooperative during a pretext visit by detectives posing as fire safety inspectors. The matching soil, diesel, and tarp secured a search warrant. A pre-dawn raid detained Yarrow, and a thorough search uncovered a hidden root cellar beneath his cabin. There, partially buried, were Serena’s remains, identified by her clothing and later dental records. Her fractured hyoid bone confirmed strangulation.
In the cellar, investigators found Serena’s blue fanny pack, Isla’s clothing, and a handcrafted blanket, but no trace of the baby. Yarrow’s interrogation revealed a chilling tale. He claimed Serena, lost and hysterical after Kalin’s snakebite death, stumbled onto his property seeking help. Drunk and opportunistic, Yarrow lured her back to confirm Kalin’s death, then forced her and Isla to his cabin at gunpoint. He assaulted and later strangled Serena, burying her in the cellar. Kalin’s body, wrapped in tarp, was buried near the oak tree to avoid detection. Yarrow insisted he spared Isla, claiming he left her at an orphanage in Oaxaca, Mexico, with false details.
Border records and the blanket’s regional style supported his Mexico trip, but tracing Isla in Oaxaca’s sparse orphanage records proved nearly impossible after four years. Yarrow was charged with Serena’s murder, kidnapping, assault, and improper disposal of Kalin’s body. He pleaded guilty, receiving life without parole. For Odilia, the closure was bittersweet. Kalin and Serena were found, their tragic fate revealed, but Isla’s whereabouts remained a haunting question mark, a flicker of hope in an unresolved tragedy.
The redwoods, silent witnesses to this horror, continue their ancient cycle. Odilia holds onto the possibility that Isla, now a young child, might still be alive, her fate a lingering mystery in a case marked by nature’s cruelty and human depravity.
