He Tracked a Giant Into a Deadly Whiteout, only to Reappear Three Years Later on a Peak

The legends of the American West are often written in the silence of those who never returned. In the shadowed expanse of the Medicine Bow National Forest—a sprawling 2.2 million-acre wilderness bridging Wyoming and Colorado—the mountains do not forget. They hold memories in the broken stillness between wind and tree.

On October 19, 2019, a veteran hunter named Mark Trick entered those mountains alone. He was a man of the woods, experienced and sturdy, yet he was haunted by something most men refuse to believe in. He would never walk out again—at least, not in one piece. This is the complete, bone-chilling narrative of the Mark Trick disappearance: a story of a hunt that turned into a harvest, and a relocation that defies every law of biology and physics.

I. The Hunter and the Haunted

Mark Trick was not looking for deer that morning. At 5:30 AM, captured by a grainy convenience store camera, he looked like any other outdoorsman in his camo shirt and orange wool cap. But his 13-year partner, Kelly, knew better. For months, Mark had claimed he was being shadowed by something “armored and primal”—a creature that threw stones from the ridges and howled with a frequency that vibrated in his marrow.

That morning, Mark called Kelly. His voice was devoid of humor. He told her he had nearly shot a “Bigfoot.” Kelly, concerned by the incoming blizzard, begged him to come home. The line went silent, then cut.

By nightfall, Mark’s white pickup was found at the junction of Forest Highways 801 and 803. Snow was already burying the tires. Inside the unlocked truck lay his phone, wallet, and survival gear. Nothing was broken. No struggle. But his shotgun and backpack were gone. A final text arrived on Kelly’s phone shortly after: “Almost got it.”

II. The First Relic

The search was launched into a wall of frost and shifting ice. For weeks, trackers found nothing. Mark Trick had seemingly dissolved into the timber.

Exactly one year later, a tourist found a pair of binoculars and a shotgun leaning against a tree just 600 meters from the truck. The shotgun was loaded, but a single shell remained in the chamber, unfired—as if the hunter had been interrupted mid-thought. There were no bones, no clothes, and no footprints. It was as if the forest had decided to return the tools, but keep the man.

III. The 17-Mile Impossible

The case turned from a disappearance into a haunting in October 2022. Nearly 17 miles away from the truck, near a jagged peak known as Rock Mountain, a hiker’s nephew spotted a weathered backpack. Inside was Mark’s hunting license.

Nearby, searchers found the remains: shredded clothing, a folding knife (locked open but unused), and scattered bones—ribs and a mandible. The location was 3,000 meters above sea level.

The distance was the first impossibility. To reach that peak from the truck, an elite athlete would need six hours in perfect weather. Mark had disappeared during a blizzard with no food or shelter. Furthermore, the autopsy revealed blunt force trauma severe enough to liquefy internal organs and fracture heavy bone, yet there were no tooth marks, no claw scores, and no signs of scavenging.

IV. The Circle on the Ridge

How did a man with no supplies travel 17 miles through a whiteout to a vertical peak? The working theory among investigators was a terrifying one: Relocation. Mark hadn’t walked there; he had been moved.

Search teams near the remains found massive, inhuman prints in the fresh snow leading uphill. They were too large for a man and too widely spaced for a bear. They moved with a singular, chilling intent toward the summit.

Two hunters, Jacob and Cameron, later came forward. They had seen Mark on the day he vanished, walking upward into the storm. When they yelled for him to turn back, he looked at them with “wild, disturbed eyes” and muttered about “getting proof.” He was a man chasing a shadow, unaware that the shadow was already behind him.

V. The Final Note

The most disturbing evidence was found in a zippered compartment of the recovered backpack. A weather-faded note, written in Mark’s slanted, cold-shaken handwriting, contained only four words:

“Greater than… not animal.”

Forensic experts noted the lack of scavenging on the remains. In the wilderness, a body is usually scattered by coyotes and birds within days. Yet Mark’s bones were found largely intact and “placed,” almost as if they had been displayed.

Missing 411 researcher David Paulides noted that Mark fit a terrifying profile: vanishing near boulder fields just before a storm, only to reappear in an impossible location years later.

Conclusion: The Unfired Shell

Today, the shotgun sits in an evidence locker, the final shell still waiting in the chamber. Mark Trick proved himself right, but the cost was his soul. He went into the blizzard to hunt a legend, only to find that the legend had been hunting him all along.

The mountains of Medicine Bow are quiet now, but the hunters who still go there tell a different story. They say that if the wind shifts and the animals go silent, you shouldn’t look for tracks. You should look up. Because somewhere in the deep quiet, Mark Trick’s final steps are still echoing—and whatever was watching him is still there, waiting for the next man who wants “proof.”