Coming up on the final days of summer 2026, I was reminded recently of the need to take common sense with you when you travel into the backwoods of Oregon--or anywhere else. On a hike a few weeks ago, a companion and I encountered a man in shorts and a t-shirt carrying no water or a backpack. His face was sweaty and turning red; he looked hot, miserable, and ill-prepared for a hike. When I inquired about how he was doing, he said he was trying to catch up to his family, who he expected to be hiking out of the park that day. I tried to offer him a bottled water, but he refused. He left me with an uncomfortable feeling that I would see him again on the evening news. I remember passing a search-and-rescue team once as I was heading out, and they were heading in; there is something a bit sobering about seeing the column of young, fit people with stern expressions, followed by deputies. Of course, it's even more sobering when the rescue team is there to extricate a loved one. As a guy who has had to hike out of the Mt. Jefferson Wilderness in the dark with a barely working flashlight after my father broke his leg on an upper trail, take it from me: you need to respect the wilderness as much as you appreciate its beauty.
It occurred to me that I was perhaps somewhat close to being one of those lost in the great outdoors, too. When I was a young boy, my mother took me car camping in Washington State Dungeness Spit State Park. I somehow managed to squeeze out of the backseat of her Vega and open the front door of the car in the middle of the drizzly night. I sleepwalked from one side of the park to the other. I recall my wool socks splashing in big puddles in the pitch-black of the night. I recall waking up just enough to decide on directions before falling back asleep. I even remember standing at the top of a high bluff overlooking the ocean and staring off at distant twinkling lights across the water (Port Angeles, I think). I am not sure how close I came to the edge, or even where I precisely was. Despite it being too dark to see the parked cars in the campground, I don't recall being afraid. I didn't wake up until I returned and opened the car door, giving my mother a scare she would not soon forget.
To give a taste of the unusual disappearances and attacks in Oregon, I am sharing a few links below.
Article detailing national park murder of the Cowden family in Southern Oregon (along with many other missing cases). (Go to the Carberry Creek incident.)
Below is a segment from David Paulides of the CanAm Missing 411 Project. This incident starts around the 47-minute mark.

