On a warm August morning in 2012, two teenage best friends, nineteen-year-old Iris Jansen and her lifelong companion Quinn Walsh, set off on what was meant to be a short backpacking trip in the rugged wilderness of Colorado. Both girls were experienced hikers, raised on the trails of the Rockies, and their parents, though nervous, trusted their skills.
To ease their fears, Iris’s mother insisted they take along a satellite messenger, a device capable of transmitting their location and calling for help even in the remotest parts of the backcountry. It was supposed to be a safety net, a compromise between freedom and caution. But by August 16th, the device had gone silent. The girls, due home the day before, never called, and their phones rang endlessly to voicemail. Panic set in when the last recorded signal from the device showed them still at their campsite two days earlier with no further movement or distress alert.
Missing persons reports were filed, and search and rescue teams quickly descended on the wilderness, deploying helicopters, dogs, and volunteers to scour the unforgiving terrain. When rescuers found the campsite, the scene was disturbingly pristine. The tent was zipped up, sleeping bags were rolled, food was properly stored, and the satellite messenger sat powered on in the open. There were no signs of a struggle, no evidence of an animal attack, and no indication of why two seasoned hikers would walk away from the very supplies that could keep them alive. Investigators noted a guidebook on alpine flora with pages marked, suggesting the girls may have gone in search of rare wildflowers nearby, but that theory explained little.
For weeks crews searched ridges, valleys, and ravines without finding a single footprint or piece of clothing. A reported sighting of two young women in distress near a pickup truck raised hopes, but it led nowhere. As snow approached in September, the official search was scaled back, and the case went cold. For five years the families lived in agony, keeping the girls’ names alive through vigils, social media, and private searches led by Iris’s mother, Lena, who refused to give up. The mystery became a chilling local tale, a warning of the wilderness’s silent dangers.
Everything changed in September 2017, when a hunter named Haskell Bower and his dog Duke stumbled into a remote part of the forest. Duke began digging at the roots of an old toppled tree, unearthing human remains. At first Bower thought they belonged to an animal, but then he found a human hip bone, ribs, and vertebrae—one pierced by a rusted barbed arrowhead. The weapon was primitive, not the type used by modern hunters. Forensic teams confirmed the remains belonged to Quinn Walsh, and the arrow indicated she had been murdered, not lost to exposure. The discovery transformed the case from a missing persons file into a homicide investigation.
Experts determined the arrowhead was handmade, likely by a hobbyist or survivalist who forged old-style weapons, and suspicion turned toward reclusive groups in the Colorado backcountry. Detectives focused on a notorious survivalist compound known for extremist ties and primitive weaponry, and attention fell on a man named Orson Halloway, but he claimed the arrows had been seized in a 2010 raid and accused authorities of framing him.
An audit later revealed a shocking truth: the confiscated arrows had been checked out of evidence in July 2012 by park ranger Kendrick Dillard, a respected figure who had helped search for Iris and Quinn. Surveillance showed Dillard observing Iris and her mother before their hike, and further investigation revealed unauthorized trips to remote wilderness areas. When confronted, Dillard cracked. A search of his property uncovered a locked, soundproof cellar beneath his workshop containing evidence of captivity—restraints, bedding, and signs of prolonged struggle. Behind his home, cadaver dogs located a shallow grave holding the remains of Iris Jansen, who forensic experts determined had lived until late 2016 or early 2017, nearly four years after the disappearance.
The horrifying truth came out: Dillard had ambushed the girls, killed Quinn with a stolen arrow to frame survivalists, and abducted Iris, keeping her imprisoned for years while her family searched in vain. The revelation devastated both families, who had hoped for closure but never imagined the nightmare reality. Dillard was arrested, charged with murder, kidnapping, and multiple related crimes, and later sentenced to life in prison without parole.
For Iris and Quinn’s loved ones, justice came without comfort, as nothing could erase the torment their daughters endured. The case remains one of the darkest chapters in Colorado’s history, a story that began with youthful adventure and ended in unimaginable tragedy. It serves as a chilling reminder that even in the most breathtaking landscapes, danger can lurk in the shadows, and sometimes the greatest threats come not from the wilderness itself but from the monsters who hide in plain sight.
