Frozen in Time: The Mount Hooker Mystery

Wyoming’s Wind River Range, Summer 2017.
Two climbers, Nathan Cross and Riley Webb, were ascending the formidable eastern face of Mount Hooker—a sheer, granite wall rising over 1,200 feet into the sky. As they moved through the harsh afternoon wind, Nathan spotted something strange: two faded portal edges—hanging tents—suspended nearly 800 feet above the ground, battered by years of storms. Inside each, he glimpsed the chilling outline of a sleeping bag. The discovery would finally unravel one of the most haunting disappearances in American mountaineering.

The Vanishing

July 15, 2013.
David Kramer, 28, a structural engineer from Boulder, Colorado, and Jessica Parson, 26, a medical student nearing the end of her residency in Denver, set off from Lander, Wyoming. Their plan: a five-day climb up Mount Hooker’s notorious eastern wall. They were experienced, meticulous, and well-loved in their climbing circles—David was methodical, Jessica quietly determined. They’d spent months preparing, buying new gear, checking weather reports, and filing their climbing permits.

On the morning of July 16th, they left their motel early, backpacks loaded with ropes, food, portal edges, and camping equipment. David paid for their room in advance and left his brother’s contact info with the manager. Their blue Ford truck was found parked at the trailhead, locked, with a detailed note inside: route, emergency contacts, estimated return date.

That afternoon, hikers saw two climbers—matching David and Jessica’s descriptions—beginning their ascent. One wore a red helmet, the other blue. That was the last confirmed sighting.

The Search and the Silence

By July 22nd, David’s brother Andrew reported them missing. A massive search began: helicopters scanned the wall for any sign—bright gear, movement, clothing. Ground teams searched every ledge and crack. The only clue was a new climbing anchor 300 feet up the wall, matching their gear, but no ropes, no bodies, no evidence of a fall. It was as if the mountain had swallowed them whole.

After two weeks, the official search was suspended. Theories abounded: a sudden rockfall, a miscalculated route, a fall in the night, wildlife. But no evidence surfaced. Jessica’s mother, Linda, kept a website with pleas for information. David’s father, Gerald, visited the base of the wall twice a year, staring up at the granite where his son had last been seen. No funerals were held. The families couldn’t say goodbye.

The Discovery

June 8, 2017.
Nathan Cross and Riley Webb, climbing Mount Hooker, noticed the faded fabric of two portal edges flapping in the wind, 800 feet above the ground. Traversing the wall, they reached the tents—inside each, a sleeping bag, and within, a skeleton. No sign of trauma, no scattered gear, no evidence of panic or struggle. The scene was eerily peaceful, as if the two had simply gone to sleep and never awakened.

Nathan and Riley called for help. The recovery team arrived the next day, carefully documenting the scene. Both portal edges were anchored securely, sleeping bags zipped from the inside. The gear was organized, ropes coiled, carabiners neatly arranged. A notebook lay beside David’s body.

The Journal

The notebook, preserved in a waterproof pouch, revealed their story in David’s shaky handwriting:

Day 1: “Started climb at 7am. Weather clear. Jess is happy. Everything smooth.”
Day 3: “Jess woke with a headache. Gave her ibuprofen. Says it’s altitude. Moving slower.”
Day 4: “Jess’s head pounding, nausea, dizziness. Not altitude. Gave meds. She’s resting.”
Day 5: “Jess can’t climb. Too weak. Throwing up. Tried satphone. No signal. I’m scared.”
Final entry: “She’s not waking up. Gave her everything I had. She’s breathing, barely. Can’t get her down alone. Tried calling again. Nothing. It’s cold. I’m staying with her. I’m not leaving. If anyone finds this—we didn’t fall. She just got sick. Tell her mom we love the mountains. Tell my brother I’m sorry.”

The Truth and the Tragedy

Autopsies found no trauma. Both had ingested large amounts of over-the-counter pain medication. Jessica likely suffered a sudden, severe illness—possibly cerebral edema or a rapid infection. David had tried everything to save her. When she passed, he stayed, refusing to leave her, and eventually succumbed himself—either to exposure, dehydration, or intentional overdose.

It was not an accident. Not a murder. It was a tragedy born of love and isolation.

Aftermath and Legacy

The news shook the climbing world. Andrew Kramer wept over his brother’s journal. Linda Parson framed Jessica’s final list of dreams. Memorials were held; ashes scattered at the mountain’s base. Climbers left carabiners, notes, and flowers at the wall—a tradition that endures.

Safety protocols changed. Guide services now recommend backup communication devices and emergency plans. The Wind River Climbing Coalition published bulletins referencing David and Jessica, urging redundancy and caution.

Their gear and journal were donated to a climbing museum in Boulder, displayed alongside a plaque at the trailhead:
“In memory of David Kramer and Jessica Parson, climbing partners lost July 2013. Found June 2017. The mountains remember.”

Their story became the subject of articles, podcasts, and documentaries. A film was made—some found it moving, others too dramatic. But the core remained: two climbers, a sudden illness, a choice to stay.

Reflections

Andrew Kramer speaks at climbing gyms. “David wasn’t weak. He made the hardest choice anyone can make.” Linda Parson hikes to mountain peaks on anniversaries, feeling closer to Jessica. Their story is debated in climbing forums: what would you have done? There’s no easy answer—only the cold truth that the mountains are indifferent, and sometimes love means staying, even when survival is impossible.

The anchors on Mount Hooker remain, silent witnesses to a love that refused to yield. The wind still moves through the high places, and climbers pause to remember two souls who faced the ultimate test together—and were not alone.

If this story moved you, share it. Leave a comment. Remember: adventure and tragedy are divided by a thin line, and in the mountains, sometimes the greatest act of courage is simply not leaving the one you love behind.