When people set out for a quiet day in the mountains, they rarely imagine their story becoming a long-running mystery. Yet for the family of Julián Herrera and his nine-year-old daughter Clara, a simple hike in the French Pyrenees in 2020 became the beginning of a search that still holds the world’s attention.
For years, their disappearance puzzled everyone who followed the case. What began as a short outing on a well-marked trail slowly shifted into silence. Search teams scanned every ridge and valley. Helicopters hovered above the cliffs. Volunteers walked miles of rugged terrain. But no sign of father or daughter ever surfaced, and eventually the official search was brought to a close.
Loved ones clung to the hope that perhaps the pair had found refuge somewhere out of sight, while others suspected they had simply wandered into a remote corner of the mountains and couldn’t make their way back.
Time passed, and the trails returned to their usual stillness.
Then everything changed in late August—five years after Julián and Clara were last seen.
A couple from Catalonia, exploring a little-used path near the dramatic rocky opening known as Roland’s Breach, noticed something hidden within a narrow gap in the stone. The man shined his phone light inside and caught the faint outline of a dusty backpack wedged between the rock walls. His partner brushed away soot and read the name stitched onto the fabric.
It was Julián’s.
The finding prompted a swift response from authorities. Photos were sent to the local gendarmerie, and within hours, a helicopter transported a mountain rescue team to the site. Captain Morel—who had coordinated earlier search efforts—opened the backpack carefully. Inside were everyday items a hiker might carry: a dented water bottle, bits of packaged food, a folded map. But one item stirred strong memories from the original investigation: Clara’s small blue notebook.
The discovery immediately revived public interest. Reporters gathered along the nearby roads, and the family waited anxiously, unsure whether the mountain was about to reveal comforting information or deepen their worries.
The crevice itself was challenging. Narrow, deep, and twisting upward into the stone, it offered few clues at first glance. Some believed Julián had tried to navigate the difficult terrain to find shelter, accidentally slipping into the tight space.
But even early on, Captain Morel noticed details that didn’t quite fit. The backpack looked surprisingly intact for having spent years exposed to harsh weather. And the map inside contained a fresh pen marking—a detail that hadn’t appeared on the version authorities examined in 2020.
That suggested someone had updated the map after the disappearance began.
The next day, rescue teams lowered themselves deeper into the crevice. About eight meters down, they found a piece of red fabric caught along the rock. It matched the jacket Julián was known to be wearing, but it appeared to have been placed intentionally rather than torn away by force. A few meters farther, they discovered a food wrapper with an expiration date two years later than the original disappearance.
This suggested someone had returned to the area long after the father and daughter had vanished.
The crevice eventually widened into a pocket of space, large enough for only a small temporary shelter. Beneath layers of dust, the team uncovered remnants of what appeared to be a makeshift camp: a thermal blanket, an empty container, short lengths of rope, and in the corner, a second notebook.
Much of the writing had faded, but a few lines remained readable. Words like “waiting,” “can’t climb,” and “we hear voices” seemed to point to an effort to stay calm and hopeful in difficult conditions.
One unfinished line hinted at the possibility that Julián had been struggling physically and wanted Clara to remain safe above him. Yet neither father nor daughter was found in the space.
On the stone wall, rescuers spotted groups of three small scratches repeated more than thirty times. The marks suggested careful tracking of days—possibly a full month.
As investigators pieced together what little they had, an unexpected detail emerged: a length of modern rope anchored near the top of the crevice. It didn’t match any equipment used by the rescue team or by the hikers who’d reported the backpack. Someone else had visited the site.
The following day brought even more surprising findings. Far above the sheltered space, searchers examined a steep passage and detected faint footprints. They looked recent—far too recent to belong to anyone from the original event—and they appeared lighter than those of a full-grown adult. A short while later, under loose stones, the team discovered a small star-shaped pendant known to belong to Clara. It was the one she often wore, a keepsake that held deep sentimental value for her family.
Then, tucked away on a dry ledge, searchers uncovered an old metal first-aid kit. Rust clung to its edges, but it had been placed carefully, not dropped. Inside were bandages, a few medical supplies, and a folded note protected in plastic. The handwriting, though uneven, matched earlier samples from Julián.
It was a message asking anyone who found it to look after Clara if she had managed to leave the area. The note mentioned that someone had returned to them and behaved in an unsettling manner, making it difficult for the father and daughter to travel safely together. The message ended by urging whoever discovered it to provide care for his daughter if she was still somewhere in the mountains above.
The question lingered heavily: who had returned?
Years earlier, before the hike, Julián had experienced tension with a former coworker from a shared photography project. Their disagreement had been public and emotional. When investigators learned that this individual had been in the region during the week of the disappearance—something previously undisclosed—it created new questions. The man insisted he had tried to help but had been unable to locate the pair afterward.
Meanwhile, searchers exploring an upper path found a potential exit from the crevice leading into a forested zone far from the main trail system. There, scattered beneath leaves, lay the remains of an older campsite: a ring of stones from a small fire, a worn knife, and several food wrappers. Among the findings were pieces of clothing and a single, small shoe known to have belonged to Clara.
The absence of further physical evidence suggested something unexpected. Clara had not remained in that spot, but she also had not suffered the severe fate many had once feared. Investigators grew hopeful that she may have continued moving, possibly guided or assisted, or perhaps she encountered someone who took her in temporarily. Villages in the remote regions of the Pyrenees can be very isolated, and it was possible she had reached one of them.
For weeks, teams combed the surrounding forests and valleys. They followed faint paths, checked mountain cabins, and listened to stories from shepherds. While no definitive new trail emerged, several small indications suggested movement across the terrain—enough to keep the investigation open.
Today, five years later, the case remains active. Each new clue brings more questions than answers, but one possibility continues to inspire hope: the idea that Clara may have reached safety somewhere beyond the original search area. Families who live high in the mountains often care for those they find along the trails, and without documentation or communication, such situations can remain unnoticed for long periods.
The Pyrenees have held many stories across centuries—stories of travelers, explorers, and wanderers making their way through the vast landscape. The Herrera case is now one of those stories, still unfolding, still seeking clarity. And while the mountains have begun to share some of what happened, they have not yet revealed everything.
Somewhere out there, the final chapter may still be waiting.