Vanished in 1993 – Tourist Discovered with Broken Neck and Giant Footprint Clue
The Himalayas have always been a place of legend—a land where the boundaries between myth and reality blur beneath the towering peaks. Tales of mysterious creatures and unexplained disappearances echo through the valleys, whispered by locals and trekkers alike. But in February 1993, a tragedy unfolded in Nepal’s Langtang Valley that would send ripples through the mountaineering world and leave behind a mystery that refuses to fade. It began with the arrival of Peter Webb, a young Englishman drawn by the call of the mountains, and ended with a single, enormous footprint in the snow.
Arrival in Langtang
Peter Webb was not a novice climber. At 29, he had already conquered the rugged slopes of the Scottish Highlands and the icy faces of the Alps. Driven by a thirst for adventure and a fascination with the unknown, he landed in Kathmandu on February 12th, 1993, his mind set on exploring the Langtang Valley—a place renowned for its beauty and tranquility.
Peter’s preparations were meticulous. In his backpack, he carried a Garmin GPS, a sleeping bag rated for extreme cold, a five-day supply of gas for his burner, and an emergency radio beacon. His diary, found later at base camp, revealed a man both cautious and determined. He planned to acclimatize in Langtang before attempting more challenging climbs, choosing a well-marked route through the valley to ease into the high altitude.
On February 14th, Peter registered in the village of Lancisa Karka, securing permission for a three-day trek to the Langtang Glacier. The trail was popular among tourists, its highest point reaching 4,200 meters. The weather was stable, the air crisp, and the snow untouched except for the footprints of those who had passed before.
The Disappearance
Peter set out early on February 15th, aiming to reach the village of Kanjin Ga by nightfall. The journey was expected to take no more than five hours, following a well-trodden path through the valley. But as evening descended, Peter did not arrive. The locals, used to tourists changing plans or lingering for photographs, were not immediately concerned.
It was only when Peter failed to appear the next day that the owner of the guest house in Kanjin Gumpa contacted the National Park Administration. On February 17th, a search and rescue team led by the experienced Sherpa guide Pembbea Lama began their search, combing the route in clear weather and excellent visibility.
The Discovery
Around noon on February 18th, the team found tracks leading away from the main trail. Peter’s boots had left distinct prints in the snow, heading toward a narrow gorge. The tracks ran straight for about a hundred meters and ended abruptly at the edge of a crevasse—two meters wide and fifteen meters deep.
Peering into the depths, the rescuers saw the lifeless body of Peter Webb. They descended into the crevasse and found him lying face-up, arms folded across his chest, backpack still strapped to his back. The initial examination revealed a broken neck—death had been instantaneous. But the position of the body was strange, as if Peter had been placed there rather than fallen.
Pembbea Lama noticed deep bruises on Peter’s shoulders and back, shaped like enormous thumbs, as if someone had gripped him with immense force. There were dark marks on his neck, not from strangulation, but from a violent twist. The scene was unsettling, but what came next would push the mystery into the realm of legend.
The Footprint
As the rescuers lifted Peter’s body, they discovered a single, massive barefoot footprint in the snow near the edge of the crevasse. It measured 45 centimeters long and 20 centimeters wide at the toes, the print deep and clear as if left by a creature weighing at least 200 kilograms. The shape resembled a human foot, but was far broader and more massive. The big toe was slightly offset, and the pads of the foot bore lines like papillary patterns—giant fingerprints pressed into the snow.
Most baffling of all, it was the only footprint. No other tracks led to or from the spot. The snow around the print was untouched, as if the creature had appeared out of thin air, left its mark, and disappeared just as mysteriously.
The rescuers photographed the footprint and made a plaster cast. Peter’s body was transported to the district center of Donce, where a local doctor confirmed the cause of death—a fracture of the second and third cervical vertebrae, consistent with a sudden, forceful twist. The bruises on Peter’s body did not match injuries from a fall, but rather the grip of massive fingers.
Investigation and Rumors
An official investigation began on February 20th. Inspector Beer Bahadur Tamag examined the site, but found no new clues. The footprint, partially covered by fresh snow, remained visible. Interviews with the search team painted a consistent picture: none had ever seen anything like it. The footprint did not match any known animal—bears, snow leopards, yaks, all ruled out.
British consul James McKenzie arrived to arrange Peter’s repatriation. After studying the plaster cast and photographs, he recommended further investigation. Meanwhile, village elders and locals shared stories of strange sounds echoing from the gorges—deep vocalizations, unlike any known animal, heard late at night or before dawn. A woman grazing yaks had seen a tall, dark figure moving among the rocks, much larger than a human. Two young Sherpas recalled finding large, human-like footprints near their winter camp, the stride impossibly broad.
All pointed to a single name: Misher, the local word for the Yeti—the abominable snowman of Himalayan legend.
The Legend of Misher
According to local beliefs, Misher avoids humans but may attack if threatened or if its territory is invaded. Elders spoke of encounters with the creature, describing it as over two meters tall, covered in dark fur, and possessing incredible strength. Ritual stones and prayer flags were installed at key points in the valley, and protective ceremonies were held to ward off its presence.
Dr. Richard Greenwood, a wild animal expert from the UK, joined the investigation. His analysis of the footprint ruled out all known animals. The structure and proportions most closely resembled a human foot, but on a massive scale. Greenwood concluded the print was genuine, not a hoax, and the injuries sustained by Peter Webb were consistent with an attack by something of immense power.
But the mystery remained—the single footprint, the absence of struggle, the strange position of the body. Greenwood speculated the creature could have moved across the rocks using its hands, only placing its foot on the snow at the moment of attack. Yet how it vanished without leaving further tracks defied explanation.
Aftermath and Silence
The official investigation closed with the verdict of an accidental fall. Peter’s parents received only the sanitized version of events; the mysterious footprint and circumstances were omitted. The plaster cast was stored in district archives, the photographs locked away. Dr. Greenwood, fearing for his reputation, never published his findings.
But the story could not be contained. Rumors spread among the mountaineering community in Kathmandu. The flow of tourists to Langtang Valley dwindled. Guides and Sherpas whispered warnings, and some routes were quietly abandoned.
Months later, Pembbea Lama noticed changes in local wildlife. Yaks and horses became restless near the gorge, refusing to graze. A summer caravan found yaks with deep scratches on their backs, as if grabbed by claws. Large footprints were discovered in the mud, but the villagers kept silent, sharing stories only among themselves.
Village elders convened, strengthening traditional protections and rituals. Locals believed the creature’s aggression was linked to disturbances in the sacred balance of the mountains, blaming the influx of tourists for provoking Misher.
The Lingering Mystery
In the following winter, two more mysterious incidents occurred—a Tibetan merchant found dead with similar neck injuries, and Nepalese soldiers attacked by a large, hairy creature. The authorities attributed these to bear attacks, but the locals knew better.
By spring 1994, some routes in Langtang Valley were officially closed, citing geological instability. Dr. Greenwood attempted to return for further study but was denied permission. Privately, he speculated the Himalayas might harbor a species of large, unknown primate.
Peter Webb’s family continued to seek answers, but official replies remained unchanged. The true story of his death was buried under bureaucracy and silence.
Epilogue
As years passed, the tale of Peter Webb faded from public memory. Tourists returned, unaware of the events of 1993. The plaster cast of the mysterious footprint remains hidden in district archives, and those who have seen it rarely speak of it.
Yet in Langtang Valley, the legend endures. Elders warn the young to avoid certain places, especially in winter when Misher is said to roam. Among the few who know the real story, the question lingers, whispered on cold nights and beneath prayer flags fluttering in the wind:
What really happened in that icy crevasse on a cold February morning in 1993? And what secret still walks the snow-shrouded mountains, leaving only shadows and a single, enormous footprint behind?
