In August 1989, two neighboring families from Sacramento left for a weekend camping trip in the Sierra Valley National Forest. The Harrisons and the Wittmans had spent years vacationing together, raising their children side by side. The plan was simple: depart Friday morning, camp two nights at Echo Creek Campground, and return home Sunday evening.
They checked in at the ranger station on August 11, 1989, in the midafternoon. The weather was clear, temperatures mild, and roads open. The ranger on duty later described them as prepared and in good spirits. They were assigned to campsite 12, approximately 2 miles from the main road, near a creek with direct access back to the trailhead.
There were no further confirmed sightings.
The final communication came Sunday morning, August 13. Using a short-range vehicle radio, Laura Harrison contacted her sister, Nancy Collins, in Sacramento. The message was routine. She mentioned the children were chasing butterflies and said they would head home by nightfall. Her tone was calm and cheerful.
When Sunday evening passed without their return, Nancy initially assumed a delay. By 9 p.m., calls to both households went unanswered. The Harrison family dog, which Nancy was watching, paced restlessly near the door. She contacted the ranger station and was informed that both vehicles were still registered inside the park.
At sunrise on Monday, August 14, Ranger Tom Dilly drove to Echo Creek. He expected to find the families packing up. Instead, he found an empty campsite.
The two vehicles were parked neatly side by side. The tents were upright and undisturbed. Cooking gear and food were organized. A half-finished breakfast sat on the table. A coffee pot rested near a cold fire ring. There were no signs of struggle.
Near the creek, faint footprints extended a short distance before disappearing on rocky ground.
By midmorning, additional rangers arrived. The surrounding area was searched methodically. No one responded to repeated calls. That afternoon, park headquarters notified the Sierra County Sheriff’s Department. The case was reclassified from a welfare check to a missing persons investigation.
Nancy Collins arrived at the ranger station before sunset. She provided a typed itinerary left by Mark Harrison, detailing their planned route, campsite number, and emergency radio frequency. Investigators asked about financial or personal problems. Nancy reported none. Both families were stable and responsible.
That night, search teams assembled near the trailhead. Flashlights cut through fog drifting down from the ridges. Radios crackled in the dark forest. By midnight, reporters began calling the ranger station.
The campsite remained unchanged the following morning. Vehicles locked. Keys missing. Breakfast dishes still on the table.
The only item noted as unusual was a small transistor radio left near the creek, its casing polished clean.
On August 14, a full-scale search and rescue operation began. Over the following days, helicopters circled above the treeline while ground teams searched valleys, ravines, and trails. Bloodhounds tracked scent to the creek, where it abruptly stopped on bare stone.
More than 1,000 volunteers eventually participated in the search. Over 8,000 man-hours were logged in the first 2 months. Thermal imaging from National Guard aircraft scanned the terrain. Divers examined nearby lakes. Climbing teams inspected cliffs.
Nothing was found.
By September, fatigue and confusion replaced urgency. Searchers referred to Echo Creek as “the silent zone.” Radios reportedly lost signal in parts of the valley floor. Search dogs hesitated near rocky areas, circling before retreating.
On November 3, after nearly 3 months of searching, field efforts were suspended for winter. The site at Echo Creek was sealed. Personal belongings were cataloged and stored as evidence.
The case became known regionally as “the Sierra Vanishing.”
Spring 1990 brought renewed searches. Again, nothing surfaced. After a year, the case was downgraded to inactive status. A wooden cross was placed near the Echo Creek trailhead bearing eight names and the words: Gone but not forgotten.
For 4 years, the forest remained silent.
In May 1993, nearly 4 years after the disappearance, a wildfire swept through the northern edge of the Sierra Valley Reserve, scorching undergrowth near Eagle Ridge, more than 20 miles from Echo Creek.
After the fire was contained, a helicopter patrol was assigned to assess damage and check for illegal cabins. Ranger David Lair, who had joined the service shortly after the 1989 case began, was aboard.
On May 12, while flying along the ridgeline, Lair noticed a flash of reflected light through blackened treetops. It appeared metallic and rectangular. The pilot circled. The object resembled a roof angled to catch the sun. Below it, a thin column of white vapor rose into the air.
“That’s not wildfire smoke,” the pilot said. “That’s a chimney.”
The helicopter could not land directly due to terrain. The team set down in a nearby clearing and hiked in for nearly an hour.
In a small clearing surrounded by young pines stood a cabin constructed of rough-cut timber and corrugated metal. Smoke drifted faintly from a pipe.
Ranger Lair approached and called out, “U.S. Forest Service.”
The door opened slightly.
A thin woman appeared barefoot, hair long and matted, clothing faded. She blinked in the daylight.
“My name is Laura Harrison,” she said.
Inside the cabin were three children: two girls and one boy. They were pale and thin but alert.
Laura Harrison had been listed as missing since August 1989.
Only four individuals were present. Four names remained unaccounted for.
A helicopter extraction was requested immediately. Before departure, rangers documented the site. The cabin measured approximately 15 feet by 20 feet, reinforced with sap and clay. Inside were wooden bunks, stitched blankets, shelves of labeled jars, and a makeshift stove built from a metal drum.
The survivors—Laura Harrison, her children Ava and Ben Harrison, and Lily Wittmann—were dehydrated and malnourished but stable.
Laura’s preliminary statement indicated that the two families had not voluntarily abandoned their campsite. She described a flash flood during the second evening of the trip that destroyed a footbridge near their campsite. Mark Harrison and Daniel Wittmann attempted to cross Raven Creek to reach the ranger road and seek help.
They did not return.
Laura and Khloe Wittmann waited through the night and into the next day. With four children showing signs of hypothermia, the women moved uphill seeking visibility and shelter. After several days, they discovered an abandoned cabin on Eagle Ridge.
There they remained.
Khloe Wittmann became ill during the second year and died before spring 1991. Laura buried her near the treeline, marking the grave with stones.
For 4 years, Laura and the children survived by collecting rainwater, trapping small game, fishing in a nearby stream, and insulating the cabin with pine branches and scrap metal. She built a rain catcher and a crude solar still using glass and metal fragments from an old mining site.
Whenever aircraft passed overhead, she attempted to signal them using a polished sheet of aluminum. Dense tree cover had concealed the reflection for years.
The 1993 wildfire thinned the canopy, allowing the helicopter crew to see the glint.
Investigators later confirmed the presence of roof repairs, fishing gear, notebooks documenting weather and inventory, and a shallow grave matching Laura’s description.
Within days of the rescue, search teams located partial remains near a collapsed section of Raven Creek Trail approximately 5 miles from the original campsite. Mudslide debris and fragments of personal gear confirmed that Mark Harrison and Daniel Wittmann had likely died the night of the storm in 1989.
The Sierra Vanishing was no longer a mystery of disappearance.
It was a story of survival.
On May 26, 1993, two weeks after the discovery, the four survivors were airlifted out of the forest under clear skies. Medical teams at the Sierra Valley command post transferred them to Sutter Memorial Hospital in Sacramento.
DNA testing and dental records confirmed their identities.
Laura described the events in detail during subsequent interviews. On the second evening of the trip, a mountain storm had struck near Raven Creek Trail. Heavy rain caused the creek to swell rapidly. The wooden bridge leading back to their campsite was swept away.
Mark Harrison and Daniel Wittmann tied a rope between trees and attempted to cross the water to reach the ranger road. They were last seen entering the current.
Laura and Khloe waited a full day before moving uphill with the children. They followed animal trails and slept under trees. After 5 days, they discovered the derelict cabin.
Repeated attempts to relocate the main trail failed. Without the men’s navigation skills, they struggled in steep terrain. By early winter, they chose to remain in the cabin until spring.
Khloe’s health deteriorated during the winter of 1991. She died from illness, likely exacerbated by malnutrition and exposure. Laura buried her.
From that point forward, Laura managed food stores, taught the children basic reading and writing using notebooks found in the cabin, and maintained routines to preserve morale. They measured time by seasons and sun position. They avoided valleys during storms and remained inside during severe weather.
Their world narrowed to approximately 20 miles of wilderness.
The 1993 wildfire cleared upper canopy growth, exposing the reflective aluminum sheet Laura had been using to signal aircraft.
Following the rescue, the California Department of Parks and Recreation reviewed safety protocols. Radio relay towers were installed to improve communication in remote valleys. Hikers were required to register specific routes rather than general areas. Storm evacuation procedures were updated.
In fall 1994, a metal plaque was installed at Echo Creek Trailhead. It bore eight names: Mark and Laura Harrison; Daniel and Khloe Wittmann; Ava and Ben Harrison; Lily and one additional child listed among the original group. The inscription read: In memory of the lost and the ones who found their way home.
The Sierra Valley returned to quiet.
The events of August 1989 were no longer described as an unexplained disappearance.
They were understood as a sequence of storm, separation, survival, and loss.
Eight people entered the forest.
Four returned.
The ridge at Eagle Ridge still stands, and the cabin site remains empty, reclaimed slowly by the trees.
