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In October in the mountains of Montana, the air is cool, but the landscape is beautiful. The colors have, by then, long since changed and you can’t help but be in awe of the quiet stillness around you. I grew up in Montana and while I’m not someone who spends a lot of time in the great outdoors, I can appreciate why they call it God’s country. However, a trip to the Lolo National Forest in October of 2005 shattered any image I had of the peaceful wilderness. All because of a cabin changed forever by Joseph Duncan.

I have written hundreds of news stories in my career - many of them, I don’t remember at all. But in some cases, I remember specific lines that I wrote that - to me - define the story. In the story I wrote about a visit to that cabin, I wrote, “As the leaves start to change in the Lolo National Forest, it’s easy to see why some call this God’s country… a glimpse of heaven, high in the trees. But, for two Coeur d’Alene children held captive here for weeks, this forest became hell on earth.” I remember that line - because I remember feeling that exact emotion as we drove up an old logging road to the cabin. I was with a photographer named Brian - and, I was glad to be with Brian for a lot of reasons. He’s a friend, first of all. He’s also the biggest, strongest photographer we have. If I broke down up there (mentally/literally!), I wanted Brian there with me. While we drove up to that cabin, though, I told Brian I needed to tell him why we were going there. I needed him to know what happened in that cabin, so he would understand my reaction when we got there. Brian has two young boys and he didn’t want to know. I told him anyway (he probably has never forgiven me for that).

When we pulled up to the cabin, it took a few minutes for either of us to get out of the car. When we did, we each walked our separate ways and stayed by ourselves for a few minutes. Brian did not immediately take his gear out of his car and start shooting. I have always admired him for that. I don’t know what Brian was thinking about that day - we never talked about it. But, I’m sure he was thinking about his sons. I didn’t have kids, so I thought about Dylan. I thought about what happened there and I tried to imagine how Dylan must have felt - not during the torture, but when he first got to the cabin. It’s a teetering, abandonded mining cabin. The wood is weathered and it’s empty inside. On site - especially for a little boy - it must have been absolutely terrifying. By the time we got there, some of the cabin elements had been removed, presumably for evidence. It wasn’t really cold that day, but the wind up there blew a little colder than it did on the rest of the mountain. We shot our video, we spent a few more minutes alone in silence and we left. It was the quickest, quietest shoot I’ve ever been on - and, I’m glad.

I’ll never forget that shoot - and, I’ll never forget that cabin. There are countless others all over the Montana woods and I will never look at another one the same. What was built as a refuge for miners became a torture chamber an innocent little boy had no prayer of escaping. Today in court, jurors are going to see the “other” videos shot at that cabin. The video they’ve been dreading since hearingt the opening statements. I pray for each one of those jurors, all the court officers and the members of the public who came to the trial today. At least my memory is just of an empty cabin and what’s in my imagination. They’ll see the real thing - and, they’ll never be the same.

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