The woman who wrote this email wants to be anonymous, no problem, but here's what she

writes.

In 1994, my husband was employed by a drilling company based in Kalmouth Falls, Oregon.

He traveled quite a bit around the country, taking natural gas and water samples from

various wells.

He worked with a crew of three other men, and their schedule consisted of 23 days on

the job, followed by 10 days off.

The four would pocket their per-dem's, money that the company offered as an allowance

for expenses, and sneak aboard the freight trains to and from drilling sites.

Their favorite spot was near a California town called Portola.

As the train would begin to slow crawl up the mountain, they would jump off by a ranger

station.

The crew would unpack their camping gear and proceed to enjoy the next 10 days of freedom,

fishing and hunting, and enjoying the isolated beauty of the forest in its nearby waterfalls.

It was a great place to be at one with nature before heading back to the rough and tumble

reality of their drilling jobs.

My husband and his crew were tough men, seasoned veterans of the outdoors.

They didn't fear anything because they all shared a mutual respect and understanding

of their surroundings.

But on this particular day, however, something would happen that would shake the men to their

core.

My husband was the first one up at the campsite that morning, while the others barely

...