Two Friends Vanished on a 2022 Camping Trip — A Year Later, Their GoPro Revealed Chilling Footage… | HO!!!!

The Pacific Northwest is famous for its endless forests, winding rivers, and the kind of wild beauty that seems untouched by time. It’s also known for its mysteries. But few stories have gripped locals—and, eventually, the entire nation—like the disappearance of Alex and Ryan, two best friends who vanished during a routine camping trip in the summer of 2022.

For months, their families searched for answers, clinging to hope as days turned into weeks and then months. But it wasn’t until a battered GoPro surfaced on a muddy riverbank a year later that the true depth of the mystery—and its chilling undertones—came to light.

This is the story of two young men, a camera, and a forest that seems determined to keep its secrets.

A Weekend Like Any Other

Alex and Ryan were inseparable. At 22, they’d been best friends since high school, balancing each other perfectly: Alex was the meticulous planner, always making lists and checking trail maps, while Ryan was the improviser, cracking jokes even when they were lost. Their adventures were documented on phones and cameras, not for fame, but for the simple joy of remembering.

The weekend of their disappearance started like hundreds before. They packed light—two backpacks, a green tent, snacks, bottled water, and a GoPro they’d promised to use for vlogging.

Early Saturday morning, they piled into Ryan’s old Subaru, music blaring, laughter echoing down the highway. They filmed snippets as they drove, the road winding into the deep green of the forest, Ryan holding up energy drinks like trophies, the GoPro mounted on the dash capturing their banter.

By afternoon, they reached the trailhead, a dirt pull-off where the car would wait for their return. The hike was short, their voices fading into the trees. The campsite they chose was idyllic: a clearing by a river, tall pines rising overhead. They pitched the tent, spread their gear, and set up the GoPro on its tripod.

One recovered clip shows them grinning into the lens, joking about who would catch the bigger fish—though neither had brought a rod. That night, they cooked hot dogs over a small fire. Ryan, ever the music lover, kept one white AirPod in his ear, even as he stirred the flames. Alex teased him about missing the sounds of nature, but Ryan just smiled and tapped the beat of a song only he could hear.

Before turning in, they set the GoPro to record a time-lapse of the fire burning down, the tent glowing faintly behind them. It should have been a weekend like any other. But sometime in the night, everything changed.

The Sudden Silence

When Alex’s parents didn’t hear from him by Monday afternoon, they assumed the boys had extended their trip. By Tuesday, Ryan’s employer called his family to say he hadn’t shown up for work. Unease began to spread. By Wednesday, both families drove out to the trailhead and found the Subaru still parked where the boys had left it.

Inside the forest, searchers found the campsite. The tent was still standing, sleeping bags half-zipped as if abandoned in a hurry. Water bottles, snacks, and a phone charger sat on the picnic table—no phone in sight. The GoPro tripod remained, but the camera itself was missing. The fire pit had gone cold, but not fully extinguished, suggesting it had been left abruptly. One of Ryan’s sneakers was tucked neatly beside the tent, the other inside. A flashlight lay on the ground, its beam pointed into the trees, batteries dead.

The last activity on Alex’s phone was at 11:42 p.m. Saturday—a photo posted to his Instagram story showing the glowing campfire, Ryan in silhouette with his hood up. After that, nothing. Ryan’s phone went dark at the same time.

Search teams combed the area for days. Helicopters circled above, volunteers called their names through the trees. Dogs picked up faint scents near the riverbank but lost them at the water’s edge. Some believed the boys might have drowned, but no bodies surfaced. The river was swift, but it had given up victims before. The complete absence of clothing, backpacks, or even trash made the drowning theory feel incomplete.

The missing GoPro became an obsession. Investigators reasoned that if the device had been recording when the boys vanished, it could hold the only answers. But despite dragging the river, scouring the banks, and checking pawn shops in nearby towns, the camera was never found.

A Year of Rumors and Grief

Weeks became months. The story fell out of headlines, overtaken by new tragedies. Families held vigils, clinging to candles and photographs, their voices breaking as they begged for information. Rumors spread online. Hikers whispered about strange sounds in those woods—voices in the dark that didn’t belong. Internet sleuths claimed the boys had stumbled on something they weren’t meant to see.

By summer 2023, the case was cold. Until, in late July, two kayakers paddling a remote stretch of the river noticed a glint of plastic caught in the mud near the bank. Pulling closer, they found a small, weather-beaten GoPro, its casing scarred, moss growing across its buttons. When they pressed the power button, a faint red light blinked once before dying. The memory card inside was still intact.

The GoPro’s Testimony

The discovery reignited the case. Detectives handled the GoPro as if it were made of glass. A technician carefully dried it under sterile lights before removing the tiny memory card. There was a collective breath held as the card slid into a reader. Against all odds, the files appeared—corrupted at first glance, but not erased. The camera had survived a year underwater.

The first clips were harmless, almost cheerful. Alex and Ryan laughing as they hiked, trading the camera back and forth, making faces at the lens, showing off their campsite, panning over the river sparkling in late daylight. Their voices were loud, easy, untouched by the unease that would come later. Hours of footage painted an ordinary camping trip—setting up the tent, arranging snacks, joking about Ryan’s music habits as his white AirPod glowed in his ear. The time-lapse of the fire was there, too, sparks spiraling into night, their shadows stretching against the trees.

But as the files continued, the tone shifted. Around midnight, the camera had been picked up again. The lens showed only black at first, then swayed toward the tent walls, glowing faintly from inside. A whisper—Alex’s voice—murmured something indistinct.

Then Ryan, sharper: “Did you hear that?” The camera jerked toward the woods, nothing but darkness, the occasional gleam of eyeshine from some nocturnal animal. But the microphone, sensitive and unforgiving, picked up something else—a low, almost rhythmic sound. Not wind, not the babble of the river. Something like words spoken too far away to understand.

The footage cut, then resumed minutes later. This time, the boys were inside the tent. The GoPro balanced awkwardly against a sleeping bag, catching them both in frame, faces pale in the dim light of a headlamp. Ryan whispered, “Voices! I swear I heard voices.” Alex tried to calm him, insisting it was just echoes, water carrying sound. But he kept glancing toward the zipper as though he wanted to bolt.

Then came the clip that made even seasoned detectives shift uneasily in their seats. The camera, lying on its side, caught the nylon wall of the tent as something pressed against it from outside. Five shapes—like fingers—flattened briefly against the fabric before sliding away. Ryan gasped, lunging toward the camera, knocking it sideways. The shot spun and landed on the ground, catching only darkness and muffled voices.

After that, the footage grew chaotic. Flashlights swung wildly through trees, beams bouncing off bark. The boys’ voices rose, panicked now, stumbling over each other. “Who’s there?” “We’re leaving.” “Don’t run. Stay together.” The camera bobbed as if strapped to someone’s chest or clutched in shaking hands. Leaves crunched, branches snapped, and always in the background, that low rhythmic murmur—closer now, as if circling them.

The final clip lasted less than a minute. The GoPro tilted downward, pointed at the rushing river, water frothing pale under flashlight beams. Ryan’s voice shouted Alex’s name, desperate. There was a splash. The camera tumbled, and for a moment, the lens caught a blur of water and mud. Then, briefly—just long enough to raise more questions—a pair of boots appeared at the edge of the frame. Not sneakers, not either of the boys. Heavy, dark, unmoving.

And then the video ended.

Fragments and Theories

The footage offered no clear answers. It didn’t show violence, didn’t capture faces—only fragments, whispers, shadows, a hand pressed against nylon, boots at the river’s edge. Enough to terrify, but not enough to solve anything.

Forensic teams dissected the audio, enhancing, isolating, straining to interpret the rhythmic sound. Some swore it was just water and wind distorted by fear. Others claimed to hear words—a chant in some unknown tongue. Online, when snippets inevitably leaked, theories spread like wildfire: cult activity, a stalker in the woods, or something less human altogether.

The families were torn between relief and anguish. Relief that at least they knew what Alex and Ryan’s last hours looked like. Anguish that the footage stopped just short of revealing what had really happened. The GoPro, once meant to capture laughter and memories, had become their only witness. And like any witness, it had chosen silence where truth was needed most.

The Forest Keeps Its Secrets

Search teams returned to the riverbanks, combing for evidence near the spot where the device had been found. Dogs alerted near an eddy where debris gathered, but dredging turned up nothing but logs and stones. If the boys had been pulled into the current, their bodies should have surfaced. They never did.

The GoPro had surfaced after a year, but Alex and Ryan remained missing. And in the silence left behind, the forest seemed to grow heavier with secrets, as if guarding whatever it had shown them that night.

The release of the footage split the case wide open. National networks aired blurry stills of the tent wall, fingers pressing into nylon. YouTube channels dissected every frame, enhancing shadows until they seemed to reveal faces that may or may not have been there. Reddit threads swarmed with theories, each wilder than the last.

The sheriff’s office, inundated with calls, tried to temper the frenzy. Officially, they described the video as inconclusive evidence of an encounter with unknown individuals or wildlife. Unofficially, several deputies admitted privately that the boots in the last clip were keeping them awake at night.

Artifacts in the Current

As months passed, the river continued to give up its secrets. In spring 2024, a hiker crossing a footbridge downstream noticed something snagged in the rocks—an Apple AirPod, waterlogged but unmistakable. Ryan’s family recognized it instantly; he wore those white earbuds everywhere, even out in the woods. The serial number, faint but legible, confirmed it. The device was too damaged to function, but its presence carried weight. If it had surfaced a year after the GoPro, lodged in the same current that ran past the boys’ campsite, it meant at least one of them had reached the river.

A torn black hoodie was found half a mile downstream, caught on a branch jutting from the riverbank. Ryan’s parents recognized it immediately—it was the same hoodie he’d worn in the last Instagram story Alex posted. Tests revealed nothing conclusive. No blood, no fibers that could point to an attacker. Just mud, river water, and faint traces of pine sap. The hoodie had been in the river a long time, too degraded for certainty. Yet its presence was undeniable. Another piece of their sons had surfaced, but never the boys themselves.

A Legend in the Pines

The families’ grief grew heavier with each item. It was as though the forest was toying with them, releasing tokens on its own schedule—a camera, an AirPod, a hoodie—always enough to remind them of what was lost, never enough to return what truly mattered.

Investigators expanded their search to the surrounding caves and culverts, recalling how objects could travel miles through unseen waterways. Specialists mapped the hydrology, tracing how items might have moved. The conclusion was sobering: if Alex and Ryan had been swept into those underground systems, their bodies might never return. Still, that didn’t explain the boots, the pressing hand, or the whispering voices.

Interest in the case reached fever pitch. Documentarians pitched series. Podcasters spun theories. Ghost hunters camped overnight, daring the same stretch of river. Most returned empty-handed, humbled by the sheer silence of the woods.

For the families, the footage was unbearable. Alex’s parents kept a copy but could not bring themselves to watch it again. Ryan’s brother admitted he replayed it late at night, searching the static for something new, convinced the truth must be hiding in plain sight.

By 2025, the case had drifted toward the category investigators dread most: unresolved, but unforgettable. The GoPro, the AirPods, the hoodie—all retrieved from the forest as if the land itself were rationing out pieces of a puzzle. Always just enough to keep the story alive. Never enough to close it.

The Forest Remains Silent

In April 2025, a group of campers at the same site reported their own nylon walls bulging inward, as if someone pressed a hand against the fabric from outside. The sheriff noted the account, but no follow-up was possible. The forest remained indifferent, giving nothing more.

For Alex and Ryan’s families, the only certainty was absence. Their laughter, once so loud, now echoes only in memory. Their faces linger in photographs, smiling at a campsite that seemed too ordinary to become the setting of a nightmare.

Their story has become more than a disappearance. It is a legend woven into the pines, a haunting reminder that in some places, the trees listen, the water speaks, and the earth itself keeps secrets far longer than we are willing to wait.

What really happened to Alex and Ryan on that summer night in 2022 remains an unanswered question. Were they simply two young men overwhelmed by nature’s indifference, or victims of something stranger—something the woods itself conspired to hide?

The forest holds the answer, somewhere between the rush of the river and the whispers carried on the wind. But for now, it has chosen silence, leaving behind only fragments—a camera, a hoodie, a pair of earbuds, and the chilling knowledge that sometimes the last thing you hear is not enough to save you.

And so the story endures, not as a solved case, but as a cautionary tale for anyone who dares to listen to the quiet, mysterious heart of the woods.