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The Victoria and British Columbia sits on the southern tip of Vancouver Island.

In November of 1987, the city was settling into the grey stillness of Pacific Northwest autumn.

The tourist season had ended months before, leaving the inner harbour quiet except for the gulls and the rhythmic churn of ferry engines.

Rain fell steadily.

Just outside the city in the bedroom community of Sanch, life moved at a slower pace.

The ferry route between Victoria and Washington State had been running for decades,

a crucial artery connecting Canada to the Olympic Peninsula and beyond.

Every day, vehicles lined up at the Coho Ferry Terminal.

Work trucks, sedans, motorhomes, vans. Some passengers were commuters. Others were tourists, eager to explore Seattle, or venture deeper into the American wilderness. On the morning of Wednesday, the 18th of November, 1987, a brown 1977 Ford Club wagon joined the queue.

Behind the wheel was 20-year-old Jay Cook.

Beside him sat 18-year-old Tanya Van Kuhlenburg.

They were heading to Seattle on an errand for Jay's father's heating business,

a simple overnight trip to pick up a furnace.

They had blankets and phone pads in case they wanted to sleep in the van.

They had cash and travellers' checks in case they fancied a motel.

They had a plan to call home once they picked up the equipment.

The 4 o'clock ferry pulled away from the dock, carrying them across the straight of Wandae Fouca towards Port Angeles. The water was choppy, the sky heavy with clouds.

By the time they reached the American side, darkness was already settling over the forested

coastline. Somewhere along the roads between Port Angeles and Seattle,

between the ferry terminals

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