Tourist Missing in Ketchikan Forests — Found in Abandoned Tree Cabin 9 Years Later | HO!!!!

By the time the Alaskan summer of 2022 arrived, the legend of Patrick O’Hara had faded into the misty woods around Ketchikan. Locals remembered him as the experienced hiker from Vancouver who vanished without a trace nearly a decade earlier.

His disappearance was one of many mysteries whispered about in the shadowy depths of the Tongass National Forest—a place that welcomes outsiders but is notoriously reluctant to let them go.

But in August 2022, two forestry workers stumbled upon something that would finally, and tragically, answer the question haunting O’Hara’s family for nine years.

The Vanishing

Patrick O’Hara was not your average tourist. At 34, he was an IT specialist who had spent years hiking British Columbia’s rugged backcountry. He was methodical, cautious, and prepared—traits that made his disappearance all the more perplexing.

In July 2013, Patrick arrived in Ketchikan, Alaska, planning a solo trek along a rarely visited section of the coastal route in the Tongass, a wilderness spanning 17 million acres of dense forest, relentless rain, and sudden, disorienting fog.

He was last seen at a local hunting and tourist shop, talking gear with the owner, Gary. Patrick wasn’t a naive visitor; he bought exactly what he needed—gas canisters, freeze-dried food for ten days, waterproof matches, and a new compass. He told Gary his route would take him far from popular trails. Calm, confident, and fit, Patrick paid in cash and walked out, backpack slung over his shoulder. No one saw him again.

On July 12th, Patrick texted his sister in Vancouver: “Heading out on the trail. Everything is according to plan. Next contact in 8 days.” That was the last anyone heard from him.

Eight days passed. Then ten. His family, used to his long silences, waited. But by July 23rd, with no word, his sister called Alaska State Police. The search began.

The Search

Rescue teams, including seasoned locals, combed the area. Helicopters struggled against clouds and tree cover, while ground teams could only move a few miles per day through the dense, rain-soaked forest. They called his name, fired flares, but the woods replied only with silence and birdsong. In Tongass, time is an enemy—a lost hiker can freeze to death even in summer, and the forest is home to grizzlies and other dangers.

After a week, hope was fading. Then, searchers found Patrick’s camp. But instead of clues, it raised more questions. The tent was professionally packed, the sleeping bag and clothes neatly folded, and his backpack ready for transport. There were no signs of distress, no scattered supplies, no blood, and no footprints except those of the searchers. It looked as if Patrick had packed up in the morning, then vanished.

The search continued for another week, but yielded nothing. Eventually, the operation was called off. Patrick O’Hara was officially declared missing, his case filed away as unsolved—a mystery among many in the endless Tongass.

Nine Years Later

For nine years, Patrick’s disappearance became local lore. An experienced hiker who vanished, leaving behind only perfectly packed gear. The forest kept its secret until August 2022.

Mark Collins and Dave Miller, forestry contractors, were assessing trees in an unvisited sector of Tongass, miles from any trail. One evening, Mark looked up and spotted something unnatural—a dark, rectangular shape wedged between the trunks of four ancient spruce trees, twelve feet above the ground. It was a weathered wooden cabin, three meters square, perched on thick beams driven into the trees. There was no ladder, no rope, nothing to reach it.

Professional curiosity took over. Mark, an experienced climber, strapped on his spikes and climbed up. The door was shut tight. After some effort, he managed to force it open. The smell inside was heavy—rot, dust, and something else.

Mark shone his flashlight and saw a figure sitting against the wall, dressed in tattered hiking clothes. The head was tilted unnaturally. It wasn’t a body, but a complete human skeleton, yellow-white bones held together by dried ligaments and scraps of clothing. The skull lay separately, as if placed near the wall.

In the corner sat a modern backpack, almost untouched by time. Nearby was a metal pot containing a petrified lump of food and a rusty radio. The door was boarded up from the inside—thick planks nailed across it, the nails bent inward. Whoever had been here had locked himself in. Fingernail scratches scored the wood next to the door—a desperate, hopeless attempt to escape.

Mark climbed down, shaken. Dave called the police. The gruesome discovery set off a full-scale investigation.

A Grim Discovery

Inside the backpack was an ID card: Patrick O’Hara. The nine-year-old mystery was solved in the most disturbing way imaginable. But new questions emerged. There was plenty of uneaten food and an unopened gas canister. Patrick hadn’t starved. So why did he die? And why had he nailed himself inside?

Forensic experts examined the remains. The bones showed no signs of starvation or disease. Hypothermia was ruled as the cause of death—without his sleeping bag, left at the abandoned camp, Patrick stood no chance against the cold, even in summer. But the most important clue was a thin fracture at the back of the skull—a blow from a blunt object, likely sustained shortly before death. It wasn’t fatal, but could have caused concussion and disorientation.

The evidence suggested Patrick was trapped and injured. The investigators pieced together a theory: Patrick left his camp, perhaps to investigate a noise or for a short walk, without his gear. He stumbled upon the poacher’s cabin, climbed up—maybe the ladder was still in place—and slipped, hitting his head. Disoriented, he knocked the ladder down. Panic set in. He barricaded the door, maybe fearing something outside. Cold and injured, he died slowly.

But two details didn’t fit. Why would an experienced hiker pack up all his gear, then leave it behind for a short walk? And why would he board up the door from the inside, making escape impossible unless he was hiding from someone?

A Darker Theory

The investigation shifted. What if Patrick had encountered someone in the woods—someone who didn’t want to be found? Poachers, perhaps, who had built the cabin. Maybe Patrick stumbled onto their camp, witnessed illegal hunting, and became a liability. A confrontation ensued. He was struck on the head, not fatally, but enough to disorient him. The poachers, unwilling to shoot him, remembered the old cabin. They forced him inside, removed the ladder, and left him trapped. Hearing their voices below, Patrick, terrified, barricaded the door in a desperate attempt at self-preservation. The poachers left, knowing the cold and his injuries would finish the job.

This theory explained everything: the packed camp, the head injury, and the boards on the door. It turned a senseless act into a tragic attempt to survive.

Detectives combed through poaching reports from 2013, interviewed locals, but found nothing. Poachers in such remote areas are professionals—no fingerprints, no shell casings, no DNA. Nine years had erased all physical evidence. The case reached a dead end.

A Haunting Legacy

Patrick O’Hara’s official cause of death: hypothermia, exacerbated by blunt force trauma. The case was closed again, with the heavy realization that those responsible may still be living among the community, their secret safe in the silence of the forest.

The cabin was dismantled, its grim story erased from the woods. Only four old spruce trees remain where Patrick’s prison once hung. For his family, the agony of uncertainty was replaced by the bitter knowledge that justice would never come. They buried Patrick, but the question of who condemned him to a slow, lonely death remains unanswered.

His story haunts Ketchikan—a reminder that the forest keeps its secrets, and sometimes those secrets are more disturbing than anyone could imagine.