In the misty morning of September 12, 2022, Tessa Sullivan and Finn Hoffman stepped out of their cabin at the Kenai River Lodge in Cooper Landing, Alaska, ready for a hike that promised adventure and breathtaking views. The 27-year-old graphic designer from Oregon and her 28-year-old software engineer boyfriend were on their first trip to the Last Frontier, eager to explore the rugged beauty of the Kenai Peninsula. They told the lodge manager, Brenda Riley, they’d be back by noon to check out. But as the hours ticked by, their cabin remained untouched, their suitcases packed, and their gray Ford Escape rental car nowhere in sight. What began as a concerning delay spiraled into one of Alaska’s most baffling mysteries, only to unravel nine months later in a discovery so disturbing it transformed a presumed hiking accident into a tale of calculated murder and unimaginable cruelty.
Brenda Riley, a seasoned lodge manager with two decades of experience, knew something was off when the couple didn’t return. Their room told a story of interrupted plans: a birdwatching guidebook left open, a woman’s jacket draped over a chair, toothbrushes standing sentinel in the bathroom. No note, no sign of haste—just an eerie stillness. By the next day, Riley called the Alaska State Troopers, setting off a search that would grip the region. Sergeant Miles Corrian, a veteran trooper familiar with the peninsula’s unforgiving terrain, took charge. The last known clue was a text from Finn to his family three days earlier, mentioning excitement for the Slaughter Gulch Trail. But at the trailhead, no gray Ford Escape waited. The couple had vanished, car and all.
The search was massive, involving troopers, volunteers, canine units, and helicopters. Days turned to weeks as teams combed dense forests, battling rain that turned paths to mudslides. The wilderness swallowed shouts and clues alike. Media outlets shared the couple’s smiling photo—a vibrant pair from Portland, fit and experienced hikers from the Cascades. Friends described Tessa as meticulous and joyful, Finn as spontaneous and protective. But Alaska’s scale dwarfed their preparation. As autumn chilled into winter, snow blanketed the land, forcing Corrian to suspend the active search in mid-October. The case went cold, leaving families in Oregon with the ache of uncertainty.
Nine months later, on June 5, 2023, Park Ranger Elias Vance was checking bear baiting stations in the Kenai National Wildlife Refuge—a routine task to ensure regulations were followed. At station KB-117, an isolated spot, the air thickened with a sickly sweet rot. Vance approached, expecting a rule violation, but found a grotesque mountain of bait: a blue industrial barrel spilling thousands of decomposing pastries—donuts, bear claws, jelly-filled squares—mixed with feed corn. Flies swarmed in a buzzing cloud. But beneath the fermenting mess lurked something darker: the soles of black hiking boots protruding from the barrel, attached to legs in mud-stained pants. Vance recoiled, radioing for help. This was no accident; it was a crime scene.
Troopers arrived, carefully extracting the body. Dental records confirmed it was Finn Hoffman. But the autopsy shattered assumptions: Finn died from blunt force trauma to the head—murder, not a hiking mishap. More chillingly, decomposition suggested exposure for only one to two weeks. For the other eight and a half months, his body had been frozen, preserved like a trophy. The wilderness hadn’t claimed Finn; a killer had. Corrian’s investigation pivoted to homicide. The barrel, a 55-gallon drum from the defunct Castleof Seafoods plant, and the unique raspberry-filled pastries became key clues. Tracing the pastries led to dead ends—overworked store owners with fuzzy memories—but the scene screamed calculation.
Public speculation surged: Was Tessa involved? Or was she another victim? The couple’s GPS data, salvaged from the car’s submerged navigation system, revealed fragments placing them far from Slaughter Gulch, on logging roads to Tustumena Lake. There, on July 10, 2023, two fishermen spotted a glint in the clear water—a blue vehicle roof. Divers confirmed: the gray Ford Escape, sunk 30 yards offshore. The bankruptcy records linked the barrel to Alistair Finch, a 68-year-old recluse who bought surplus equipment, including drums, a decade earlier. Finch owned 120 acres near the lake’s cove, living off-grid, paranoid about trespassers. Rumors painted him as a broken man, isolated after losing his wife and child in a car accident years ago.
A warrant in hand, troopers raided Finch’s property at dawn. They found him calmly sipping coffee, as if expecting them. A chest freezer in his shed glowed under luminol, revealing blood traces. In a padlocked locker, Tessa’s turquoise backpack, caked in dirt. Finch confessed: He found the couple’s stuck car on his land, refused help, and when Finn argued, struck him fatally with his rifle. He locked Tessa in his cabin, froze Finn’s body, and sank their car. Tessa endured months of captivity through winter’s grip. In late May, she escaped through a window while Finch chopped wood. He searched briefly, then dumped Finn’s thawing body in the barrel, hoping bears would erase evidence.
The confession shifted the search: Tessa had fled into the wilderness. Teams scoured a five-mile radius around Finch’s cabin, battling swamps and thickets. In early August, cadaver dogs alerted near a fallen spruce. Under roots, a makeshift shelter of branches and moss hid Tessa’s skeletal remains. She’d survived days, foraging berries, but hypothermia and starvation claimed her. Finch, charged with murder and kidnapping, pleaded guilty, sentenced to life without parole. His paranoia had destroyed two lives in a random act of violence.
For the families, closure came laced with fresh pain. Tessa and Finn sought Alaska’s beauty but found its darkest shadow. Their story serves as a stark reminder: In the wild, danger lurks not just in nature, but in the isolated corners of the human mind.
