UT/WY Missing Persons Case>WILD

[SumJongGuy]

TBS beat me to it.

Ft Bragg CA is a long way from Ft Bragg NC


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So twice as many bodies in the sticks around them.. The ones on CA probably get burned up every fire season..

[Falcon3]

I worked for a forestry contractor who was prepping logging units for rx burns outside Ft Bragg in Mendocino county. We got a big serious briefing about the heavy presence of organized crime guarding grow-ops…booby traps, spanish-only Mexican gangsters…

I’d be amazed if those woods weren’t full of human remains.

I got drunk in the wrong Ft Bragg bar on a surf trip down the coast and was several sheets in before I realized all the other patrons were heavily involved in illegal grow operations and weren’t all that stoked that my buddy and I had crashed their party. We bought everybody a couple rounds and quietly made an exit.

But yeah Im positive the hills around Ft Bragg are absolutely full of bodies

[Dantheman]

I worked for a forestry contractor who was prepping logging units for rx burns outside Ft Bragg in Mendocino county. We got a big serious briefing about the heavy presence of organized crime guarding grow-ops…booby traps, spanish-only Mexican gangsters…

I’d be amazed if those woods weren’t full of human remains.

Yeah, concensus seemed to be that if you started digging at any random location you might find bones. Supposedly has the highest missing persons per capita in the US by far, and that's just the people who are reported missing.

[JimmyCarter]

Yeah, concensus seemed to be that if you started digging at any random location you might find bones. Supposedly has the highest missing persons per capita in the US by far, and that's just the people who are reported missing.

I don’t know much about this site, but jeeesus

https://crimegrade.org/drug-crimes-fort-bragg-ca/

[TBS]

Yeah, concensus seemed to be that if you started digging at any random location you might find bones. Supposedly has the highest missing persons per capita in the US by far, and that's just the people who are reported missing.

Yup, the store windows from Garberville to Willits are filled with missing persons flyers. In addition to the Sasquatch series, check out Murder Mountain on Netflix. It focuses on the Alderpoint area, north of where the Sasquatch series is filmed.

Collateral damage in the war on drugs…

[Phall]

What I want to know is if it was her van which is what we’re lead to believe (not sure who’s it was/titled to) why he couldn’t have been held on grand theft auto?



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[snowaddict91]

What I want to know is if it was her van which is what we’re lead to believe (not sure who’s it was/titled to) why he couldn’t have been held on grand theft auto?



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Considering they are engaged I'd think any decent lawyer would get rid of that pretty quickly?

[Harry]

What I want to know is if it was her van which is what we’re lead to believe (not sure who’s it was/titled to) why he couldn’t have been held on grand theft auto?



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Because she let him drive it. He is on police bodycam driving it with her permission. To charge him with stealing it you would need her testimony that she no longer gave him permission.


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[Phall]

That’s fair. Just something I thought of. I’m guessing he’s long gone into the wind, or he took his own life. What a sad story, but gripping.


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[MTT]

Just a quick thought

I don’t know what happened

What I do know. Women no matter how vicious a cunt they turn into
Men don’t hurt women
Going out cross country camping. You make sure your women is safe

Trust. You can have the worst blow out fight. But as a man. Job one. Make sure they are always safe. Feel safe and are safe!

Those are old school rules
I just can’t emagine what could have gone so wrong

I just don’t get

[ex-powderbroker]

they had a bad relationship.
they fought and it would turn physical.

then he killed her.

[ill-advised strategy]

It took a whole long day of driving to figure this out, but this is for the trout:

When I was about 6 years old, it was a normal, dark, quiet evening in our small quiet home. My father’s new wife arrived to the front door frantically beating and screaming. We answered the door. She urgently said “you have to hide me! You have to hide me we don’t have much time”

So she was brought across the street to a neighbor, the Hillers, and frantically my mom returned and briefed us that this had never happened. Shortly later, my dad arrived, tweaked-out, looking for her. Storming around the house, questioning us. I was a good little soldier and gave my name and rank and pretty soon it was over.

But it wasn’t really over, because one day when I was 8, he came over to show us this new car he’d bought. He said “always take care of your mother”… it made no sense, like she takes care of us, she’s our mom. Then he drive that new car he couldn’t afford down to where his new wife was hiding with their 6 month old baby and her sister and sisters guy and their kid, and he shot every single one of them, including the baby, with a hunting rifle, then he shut himself. The little kid my age was in the neighborhood playing and came home to her parents and everyone in the house shot to death.

My dad was a teacher in our small town. and aspects of how every single person in our neighborhood, every teacher in our school system, every parent of a kid my age, every sports coach…they all knew, in ways I didn’t understand as a little kid, that I was damaged goods. Everything about every interaction was then tainted. Some were fearful, some were overly helpful, some just kept an eye on me from a distance. I was told in 2nd grade that I was “above grade level” in my schoolwork and given different textbooks and told to do my own schoolwork with them in the hallway. So I did, I did my schoolwork by myself in the hallway at school.

I got the shit beat out if me by bullies. I wet my bed until I was like 13 years old. It’s so shameful I hadn’t really thought about it until multiple comedians talked about it. Sarah Silverman, Mark Normand…. It’s something to do with being so terrified your brain just breaks.

I never even cried about it. I was a thousand miles away, playing street hockey, riding bikes, doing my paper routes, playing video games. They sent me to a therapist but I told her nothing! I always felt, as a little kid, that his evil soul stole my body that day, and sometime I would break and come apart the way he did. I didn’t think I’d ever live this long. I have no retirement!

I never questioned why I had the same baseball coach my entire youth baseball arc…he was a detective, then he was the chief of police. Keeping an eye on me.

That same year my mom had brought me to a music festival. It was late, I was little and asleep in the car, like a dog. She came back drunk and happy with some guy. They were making out, or whatever, and she was like alright hey my kid’s right here…he pushed on, she squirmed around uncomfortable, she said no stop. I was frozen. Frozen. I remember the trees, I remember the light. I saw this guy’s dick! I freaked out, I scrambled out of the car and ran to the first authority-looking guy I could find and got help. It was a crying seizing mess I can barely remember. I was shaking and my stomach hurt.
That night getting home, it was like nothing had happened. Off to lay awake in bed all night. Next day and forever forward like nothing had happened.
I could not date in a normal way until I met a woman in my 20s who was confident and assertive enough to just show me what to do, and even then, for awhile I was afraid to hurt her or whatever. Before that I had humiliating times when girls wanted to have sex but I had no idea what to do and I just froze.

I pass billboards all the time for Kellie Hillier, who hid my step mom that night. I had a bus passenger recently just start telling me about my dad, even though she didn’t know who I was, she just knew I was about that age and from that neighborhood and it was “remember when that happened”.


That’s why I make jokes. That why I’m an addict and a drunk and a lifelong fuckup. That’s why my responses to these things are probably off. It’s not just from having been jerked around by awful cops a bunch of times and being, like, a dude or whatever. It’s also because these situations produce a hailstorm of mental twists and turns that I struggle to control. I’m working on it, and when I say that, I mean I’m seeing a professional, finally, and trying to figure out how to become a more normal person, but I’m pretty fucking far from that endpoint.

Salve troutus fishicus, you’re not the only one who is affected by domestic violence. The high horse you ride in these situations like we’re all a bunch of duke lacrosse frat boys with no idea the trauma that women go through…that may be right for somebody but lady I’m not that guy. I’ve been on “one day at a time”, “one foot in front of the other” …. Desperate to find the dumb chuckle that numbs whatever has come up…for so long I don’t even know another way.
So save the scolding and the lectures and the sanctimonious bullshit, really…not needed over here.

[mooseknuckle]

Goddamn - that’s some heavy shit right there.

[BmillsSkier]

It took a whole long day of driving to figure this out, but this is for the trout:

When I was about 6 years old, it was a normal, dark, quiet evening in our small quiet home. My father’s new wife arrived to the front door frantically beating and screaming. We answered the door. She urgently said “you have to hide me! You have to hide me we don’t have much time”

So she was brought across the street to a neighbor, the Hillers, and frantically my mom returned and briefed us that this had never happened. Shortly later, my dad arrived, tweaked-out, looking for her. Storming around the house, questioning us. I was a good little soldier and gave my name and rank and pretty soon it was over.

But it wasn’t really over, because one day when I was 8, he came over to show us this new car he’d bought. He said “always take care of your mother”… it made no sense, like she takes care of us, she’s our mom. Then he drive that new car he couldn’t afford down to where his new wife was hiding with their 6 month old baby and her sister and sisters guy and their kid, and he shot every single one of them, including the baby, with a hunting rifle, then he shut himself. The little kid my age was in the neighborhood playing and came home to her parents and everyone in the house shot to death.

My dad was a teacher in our small town. and aspects of how every single person in our neighborhood, every teacher in our school system, every parent of a kid my age, every sports coach…they all knew, in ways I didn’t understand as a little kid, that I was damaged goods. Everything about every interaction was then tainted. Some were fearful, some were overly helpful, some just kept an eye on me from a distance. I was told in 2nd grade that I was “above grade level” in my schoolwork and given different textbooks and told to do my own schoolwork with them in the hallway. So I did, I did my schoolwork by myself in the hallway at school.

I got the shit beat out if me by bullies. I wet my bed until I was like 13 years old. It’s so shameful I hadn’t really thought about it until multiple comedians talked about it. Sarah Silverman, Mark Normand…. It’s something to do with being so terrified your brain just breaks.

I never even cried about it. I was a thousand miles away, playing street hockey, riding bikes, doing my paper routes, playing video games. They sent me to a therapist but I told her nothing! I always felt, as a little kid, that his evil soul stole my body that day, and sometime I would break and come apart the way he did. I didn’t think I’d ever live this long. I have no retirement!

I never questioned why I had the same baseball coach my entire youth baseball arc…he was a detective, then he was the chief of police. Keeping an eye on me.

That same year my mom had brought me to a music festival. It was late, I was little and asleep in the car, like a dog. She came back drunk and happy with some guy. They were making out, or whatever, and she was like alright hey my kid’s right here…he pushed on, she squirmed around uncomfortable, she said no stop. I was frozen. Frozen. I remember the trees, I remember the light. I saw this guy’s dick! I freaked out, I scrambled out of the car and ran to the first authority-looking guy I could find and got help. It was a crying seizing mess I can barely remember. I was shaking and my stomach hurt.
That night getting home, it was like nothing had happened. Off to lay awake in bed all night. Next day and forever forward like nothing had happened.
I could not date in a normal way until I met a woman in my 20s who was confident and assertive enough to just show me what to do, and even then, for awhile I was afraid to hurt her or whatever. Before that I had humiliating times when girls wanted to have sex but I had no idea what to do and I just froze.

I pass billboards all the time for Kellie Hillier, who hid my step mom that night. I had a bus passenger recently just start telling me about my dad, even though she didn’t know who I was, she just knew I was about that age and from that neighborhood and it was “remember when that happened”.


That’s why I make jokes. That why I’m an addict and a drunk and a lifelong fuckup. That’s why my responses to these things are probably off. It’s not just from having been jerked around by awful cops a bunch of times and being, like, a dude or whatever. It’s also because these situations produce a hailstorm of mental twists and turns that I struggle to control. I’m working on it, and when I say that, I mean I’m seeing a professional, finally, and trying to figure out how to become a more normal person, but I’m pretty fucking far from that endpoint.

Salve troutus fishicus, you’re not the only one who is affected by domestic violence. The high horse you ride in these situations like we’re all a bunch of duke lacrosse frat boys with no idea the trauma that women go through…that may be right for somebody but lady I’m not that guy. I’ve been on “one day at a time”, “one foot in front of the other” …. Desperate to find the dumb chuckle that numbs whatever has come up…for so long I don’t even know another way.
So save the scolding and the lectures and the sanctimonious bullshit, really…not needed over here.

Yeti:

Thanks for sharing, as hard as that may be. I know we've heard and known the general bits here and there, but in full candor I don't think I'm understating things by saying that is chilling, and that none of us can fully grip what those events have meant to you and your life.

I'm happy to hear you're talking to someone. Not to preach or cheapen anything, but it's suicide prevention month (as if such a thing should be limited to a month, but hey), and I happen to think that any step that any one person can take to avoid harming themselves, or God forbid, others, mentally or physically, is a good step. Good on ya.

Senseless loss is just that, we all process the lack of rational answers and the accompanying torture, no matter how slight, differently.

Peace to you and to anyone else dealing with their own fight.

[tetzen]

Seriously, that is some rough stuff IAS. Certainly wasn’t easy to read and undoubtedly difficult to live.

[bennymac]

We don’t know each other - but thank you for sharing. You should be proud of yourself for taking the step of seeking professional help. Godspeed on a journey you didn’t deserve to be on.

[BC13]

It took a whole long day of driving to figure this out, but this is for the trout:

When I was about 6 years old, it was a normal, dark, quiet evening in our small quiet home. My father’s new wife arrived to the front door frantically beating and screaming. We answered the door. She urgently said “you have to hide me! You have to hide me we don’t have much time”

So she was brought across the street to a neighbor, the Hillers, and frantically my mom returned and briefed us that this had never happened. Shortly later, my dad arrived, tweaked-out, looking for her. Storming around the house, questioning us. I was a good little soldier and gave my name and rank and pretty soon it was over.

But it wasn’t really over, because one day when I was 8, he came over to show us this new car he’d bought. He said “always take care of your mother”… it made no sense, like she takes care of us, she’s our mom. Then he drive that new car he couldn’t afford down to where his new wife was hiding with their 6 month old baby and her sister and sisters guy and their kid, and he shot every single one of them, including the baby, with a hunting rifle, then he shut himself. The little kid my age was in the neighborhood playing and came home to her parents and everyone in the house shot to death.

My dad was a teacher in our small town. and aspects of how every single person in our neighborhood, every teacher in our school system, every parent of a kid my age, every sports coach…they all knew, in ways I didn’t understand as a little kid, that I was damaged goods. Everything about every interaction was then tainted. Some were fearful, some were overly helpful, some just kept an eye on me from a distance. I was told in 2nd grade that I was “above grade level” in my schoolwork and given different textbooks and told to do my own schoolwork with them in the hallway. So I did, I did my schoolwork by myself in the hallway at school.

I got the shit beat out if me by bullies. I wet my bed until I was like 13 years old. It’s so shameful I hadn’t really thought about it until multiple comedians talked about it. Sarah Silverman, Mark Normand…. It’s something to do with being so terrified your brain just breaks.

I never even cried about it. I was a thousand miles away, playing street hockey, riding bikes, doing my paper routes, playing video games. They sent me to a therapist but I told her nothing! I always felt, as a little kid, that his evil soul stole my body that day, and sometime I would break and come apart the way he did. I didn’t think I’d ever live this long. I have no retirement!

I never questioned why I had the same baseball coach my entire youth baseball arc…he was a detective, then he was the chief of police. Keeping an eye on me.

That same year my mom had brought me to a music festival. It was late, I was little and asleep in the car, like a dog. She came back drunk and happy with some guy. They were making out, or whatever, and she was like alright hey my kid’s right here…he pushed on, she squirmed around uncomfortable, she said no stop. I was frozen. Frozen. I remember the trees, I remember the light. I saw this guy’s dick! I freaked out, I scrambled out of the car and ran to the first authority-looking guy I could find and got help. It was a crying seizing mess I can barely remember. I was shaking and my stomach hurt.
That night getting home, it was like nothing had happened. Off to lay awake in bed all night. Next day and forever forward like nothing had happened.
I could not date in a normal way until I met a woman in my 20s who was confident and assertive enough to just show me what to do, and even then, for awhile I was afraid to hurt her or whatever. Before that I had humiliating times when girls wanted to have sex but I had no idea what to do and I just froze.

I pass billboards all the time for Kellie Hillier, who hid my step mom that night. I had a bus passenger recently just start telling me about my dad, even though she didn’t know who I was, she just knew I was about that age and from that neighborhood and it was “remember when that happened”.


That’s why I make jokes. That why I’m an addict and a drunk and a lifelong fuckup. That’s why my responses to these things are probably off. It’s not just from having been jerked around by awful cops a bunch of times and being, like, a dude or whatever. It’s also because these situations produce a hailstorm of mental twists and turns that I struggle to control. I’m working on it, and when I say that, I mean I’m seeing a professional, finally, and trying to figure out how to become a more normal person, but I’m pretty fucking far from that endpoint.

Salve troutus fishicus, you’re not the only one who is affected by domestic violence. The high horse you ride in these situations like we’re all a bunch of duke lacrosse frat boys with no idea the trauma that women go through…that may be right for somebody but lady I’m not that guy. I’ve been on “one day at a time”, “one foot in front of the other” …. Desperate to find the dumb chuckle that numbs whatever has come up…for so long I don’t even know another way.
So save the scolding and the lectures and the sanctimonious bullshit, really…not needed over here.

Yeti,

You are making it 1 day at a time like many others. I remember the first time I you shared that tragic story. I was unable to imagine going through any of what you did and I worried if you would stay the course of working to heal yourself and let go of the awful burden that should never have been yours to carry.

Here you are, still working on yourself and still making headway. Life is not easy. Marriages are hard, jobs often suck, some people are dicks and our bodies wear out. Those things weigh down lots of us. It's really inspiring to see you working to make each day better and not giving up.

Most of us never had anything close to what you've experienced heaped upon us. Yet many of us struggle as we age. I've talked to several friends who acknowledge feeling like they can just never "get ahead" or feel like they are just "gerbils on the wheel" and fear working until they need walkers.

You are fighting the good fight and are strong enough to share that with others. Your story is inspirational.

You also have a real gift for writing. If you enjoy it, you should definately find outlets for it.

Keep on keeping on...

Sent from my SM-G950U using Tapatalk

[ill-advised strategy]

We’re the survivors.

We made it all day with no dying.

Tiny celebrations! High fives!

[Toadman]

We’re the survivors.

We made it all day with no dying.

Tiny celebrations! High fives!

Mic drop.

[Buster Highmen]

Little steps.
Trying not to barf over not understanding an event, trying to keep some momentum. I get it and try to stay ahead.

I don't usually read these threads.
Anyway, props IAS.

[uglymoney]

Jesus Yeti. That connects some dots for me.

You know I lost my sister a couple years ago and I worry about those whispers. It's different at 50 though. Like I have perspective and tools to deal with it. You don't have that when you're a kid.



Sent from my SM-G991U1 using Tapatalk

[berko]

Holy shit, yeti. Im so sorry that youve had to go thru all that. Best wishes.

[jono]

We’re the survivors.

We made it all day with no dying.

Tiny celebrations! High fives!

Truth. Thanks for the writing and the work you've obviously done to get even more honesty in there. Hope it helps you, too.

[billyk]

I had a pretty fucked up childhood (mother went crazy). But every once in a while I read stories like what yeti went through, and realize I didn’t have it nearly as bad as that. Sympathies, bud.

[skifishbum]

It took a whole long day of driving to figure this out, but this is for the trout:

When I was about 6 years old, it was a normal, dark, quiet evening in our small quiet home. My father’s new wife arrived to the front door frantically beating and screaming. We answered the door. She urgently said “you have to hide me! You have to hide me we don’t have much time”

So she was brought across the street to a neighbor, the Hillers, and frantically my mom returned and briefed us that this had never happened. Shortly later, my dad arrived, tweaked-out, looking for her. Storming around the house, questioning us. I was a good little soldier and gave my name and rank and pretty soon it was over.

But it wasn’t really over, because one day when I was 8, he came over to show us this new car he’d bought. He said “always take care of your mother”… it made no sense, like she takes care of us, she’s our mom. Then he drive that new car he couldn’t afford down to where his new wife was hiding with their 6 month old baby and her sister and sisters guy and their kid, and he shot every single one of them, including the baby, with a hunting rifle, then he shut himself. The little kid my age was in the neighborhood playing and came home to her parents and everyone in the house shot to death.

My dad was a teacher in our small town. and aspects of how every single person in our neighborhood, every teacher in our school system, every parent of a kid my age, every sports coach…they all knew, in ways I didn’t understand as a little kid, that I was damaged goods. Everything about every interaction was then tainted. Some were fearful, some were overly helpful, some just kept an eye on me from a distance. I was told in 2nd grade that I was “above grade level” in my schoolwork and given different textbooks and told to do my own schoolwork with them in the hallway. So I did, I did my schoolwork by myself in the hallway at school.

I got the shit beat out if me by bullies. I wet my bed until I was like 13 years old. It’s so shameful I hadn’t really thought about it until multiple comedians talked about it. Sarah Silverman, Mark Normand…. It’s something to do with being so terrified your brain just breaks.

I never even cried about it. I was a thousand miles away, playing street hockey, riding bikes, doing my paper routes, playing video games. They sent me to a therapist but I told her nothing! I always felt, as a little kid, that his evil soul stole my body that day, and sometime I would break and come apart the way he did. I didn’t think I’d ever live this long. I have no retirement!

I never questioned why I had the same baseball coach my entire youth baseball arc…he was a detective, then he was the chief of police. Keeping an eye on me.

That same year my mom had brought me to a music festival. It was late, I was little and asleep in the car, like a dog. She came back drunk and happy with some guy. They were making out, or whatever, and she was like alright hey my kid’s right here…he pushed on, she squirmed around uncomfortable, she said no stop. I was frozen. Frozen. I remember the trees, I remember the light. I saw this guy’s dick! I freaked out, I scrambled out of the car and ran to the first authority-looking guy I could find and got help. It was a crying seizing mess I can barely remember. I was shaking and my stomach hurt.
That night getting home, it was like nothing had happened. Off to lay awake in bed all night. Next day and forever forward like nothing had happened.
I could not date in a normal way until I met a woman in my 20s who was confident and assertive enough to just show me what to do, and even then, for awhile I was afraid to hurt her or whatever. Before that I had humiliating times when girls wanted to have sex but I had no idea what to do and I just froze.

I pass billboards all the time for Kellie Hillier, who hid my step mom that night. I had a bus passenger recently just start telling me about my dad, even though she didn’t know who I was, she just knew I was about that age and from that neighborhood and it was “remember when that happened”.


That’s why I make jokes. That why I’m an addict and a drunk and a lifelong fuckup. That’s why my responses to these things are probably off. It’s not just from having been jerked around by awful cops a bunch of times and being, like, a dude or whatever. It’s also because these situations produce a hailstorm of mental twists and turns that I struggle to control. I’m working on it, and when I say that, I mean I’m seeing a professional, finally, and trying to figure out how to become a more normal person, but I’m pretty fucking far from that endpoint.

Salve troutus fishicus, you’re not the only one who is affected by domestic violence. The high horse you ride in these situations like we’re all a bunch of duke lacrosse frat boys with no idea the trauma that women go through…that may be right for somebody but lady I’m not that guy. I’ve been on “one day at a time”, “one foot in front of the other” …. Desperate to find the dumb chuckle that numbs whatever has come up…for so long I don’t even know another way.
So save the scolding and the lectures and the sanctimonious bullshit, really…not needed over here.

man thats aints not heavy but
youll always be my brother
keep on
keepin on