Escape from Brushy Mountain

Chris Hansen Correspondent • Profile

For fishermen like Scott Johnston and Sean Farmer, days don't start any better than this.

May 6, 2008 dawned a sunshine perfect spring morning, and Scott, a cook, and Sean, a truck driver, grabbed their gear and headed up the Appalachian Trail for a few days of fishing and camping in the lush and tranquil woods of southwestern Virginia.

The Appalachian Trail is a paradise for outdoorsmen: a ribbon of wilderness that runs thousands of miles through mountains and forests, from Maine to Georgia.

Scott Johnston: I love comin' up here. It's easy to get on the trail here.  It's-- it's a good place to meet other hikers. 

Scott and Sean were near the trail on brushy mountain, miles away from civilization, heading for a creek alive with rainbow trout.

Chris Hansen: And how was the fishing that day?

Scott Johnston: Actually awesome.  I hammered them.  (laughter)

Chris Hansen:  How many did you get ?

Scott Johnston: Six

Chris Hansen: So you had six big trout.

Scott Johnston: Yeah, six nice ones.

But just a few hours later, that picture postcard day turned into a night straight out of a horror movie.

Chris Hansen: Did you think you could die on the mountain that night?

The beauty of this wilderness can mask its danger. Nature still holds sway here in the vast national forests of Virginia: black bears, bobcats, timber rattlers and other predators are here, stalking their prey. And on this day, there was something else hunting out there among the towering hardwoods and tangled brush: Another, even more deadly predator.

Scott and Sean say they had the uneasy feeling of being watched that day, and, though they didn't know it, some hikers had told the local sheriff they had seen something very odd on the nearby Appalachian Trail: strange symbols and threatening signs painted on rocks and trees.

Sheriff Morgan Millirons: There were skulls and cross bones painted on rocks, you know, enter at your own risk.

Some of those ominous signs were near the Wapiti Shelter on the Appalachian Trail, just a stone's throw from where Scott and Sean pitched camp. The isolated shelter sits well off the trail in a dark, remote tract of woodland. It's well-known, but mostly avoided by those who know its secrets.

Something evil happened at this lonely campground years ago, a crime so gruesome that its memory seemed to linger in the damp, forest air.  But on a day as glorious as this one, that crime was the furthest thing from the friends' minds.

Scott Johnston: I had fished all morning. And I was coming back up the mountain.  And there was a dog in the road. Well, when I stopped and got out of my truck, you know, someone walked up out of the creek bank.  So, we talked a little while.  Talked about fishing and stuff.  And he told me, he says, "Oh, you know, there's no fish in this creek."

Chris Hansen: No fish?

Scott Johnston: Yeah.  That's what he said. And so I opened up the cooler and I pulled out a bag of trout.  And I said, "Here, you can have these."

Chris Hansen: Now, did he-- strike you as odd in any way?

Scott Johnston: No.  He looked just like a normal camper.

That evening, as Sean was setting up his tent near a place called dismal creek, that same fisherman stopped by.

Sean Farmer: He just, you know, walked up.  And I-- you know, "How 'ya doin'," type thing.  He said he'd spoke to Scott.  And they were fishing together. 

Sean and Scott say an unwritten rule of the trail is to offer aid and friendship to fellow hikers and fishermen. And they did just that before the night spun out of control.

Scott Johnston: My dad was bringin' me up here in my early childhood...

The two friends took us up to the campsite on brushy mountain where they cooked the stranger dinner, and swapped stories around the campfire.

Chris Hansen: This is the spot?

Sean Farmer: This is it, right here. After, you know, a couple hours of conversation, some dinner, this is where we found ourselves, right here. 

The two men demonstrated what happened next.

Scott Johnston: And-- we were sitting around the campfire, talkin' about sports, and fishing.

Sean Farmer: And then it was dark by that time and then, he walked over to get his dog, right in front of Scott's tent.  And, you know, patted his leg. I could hear him say, "Come on, boy.  We need to get back to camp." 

It seemed to be a quiet end to a lazy evening, then suddenly, that friendly fisherman turned on them.

Scott Johnston: And- and the next thing I know, I mean, I just hear, "Pow.  Pow." and I see his arm stuck out towards Sean.

Sean Farmer: I just had this ringing in my head, where he shot me right in the side of the face.  You know,  I hear that boom. I couldn't hear any other gunshots because inside my head was, like, “waaaah,” just as loud as you can possibly imagine. It rings your head unbelievably.  And my mouth swollen immediately.  So, I couldn't really speak after that.  And then my vision in my right side went bad.

Sean Farmer: And I stood up, staggered back. And all I could see were, you know, shots of what's looked like fire, which were bullets discharging towards Scott. 

Now, it was all about survival.

Scott Johnston: And I jumped up.  And I took off.  And I- and I started running this direction, ducking down.

Chris Hansen: And he--

Scott Johnston: And I guess, he turned and shot me in the back, at that time. And then I run up, and I get down behind this clump of trees, to protect myself.

Scott Johnston: And then I realized, then, that I was shot in the neck.  I- I could actually see the blood, like, just squirting, like a foot, every time my heart would beat. I mean, it was just pulsing out of me.  Well, I- I felt around my neck.  And I was, like, "Oh, you know."  And- and I felt the bullet hole.  And I- I just stuck my finger in the bullet hole to plug the wound, to- to keep the blood, you know- from squirting out. 

Sean remembers the next scene unfolding as if in slow motion: the shooter turning back towards him, getting ready to fire again...

Chris Hansen: What was the look in his eyes?

Sean Farmer: Just a blank look.  Like - it's almost like he was looking past me. 

Sean, six-foot five and 380 pounds, decides to charge the man.

Sean Farmer: Once I saw what was happening, I went towards him again.

Chris Hansen: And your intent was?

Sean Farmer: Just to stop him from shooting us.  Just to get him.

Sean is now face-to-face with a gunman who wants to kill him. Can he take him down before he pulls the trigger again?

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