July 9, 2001 – Yellowstone’s Backwoods
The forest didn’t feel hostile at first.
It was just green—peaceful, alive.
Thirteen-year-old Cody Clawson trudged through it with a pack slung over his shoulder, boots crunching softly along a trail he thought he knew. He was on a Boy Scout trip with his dad and troop near Yellowstone National Park, and earlier that day, he’d split off to grab extra supplies from his dad’s truck, parked a couple miles back.
It was supposed to be simple.
Grab the bag. Head back. Rejoin the troop.
Easy.
But the woods had other plans.
At first, Cody’s thoughts wandered—maybe he was mentally rehearsing the story he’d tell around the fire that night. Maybe something about surviving a bear attack. Or outwitting a mountain lion.
The irony wouldn’t hit until later.
When he looked up, something was wrong.
Trees, trees, and more trees—none of them familiar.
No trail.
No sounds of the troop.
Just silence, and the creeping certainty:
I’m lost.
He didn’t panic at first.
Boy Scouts are trained for this.
Turn back. Retrace steps. Find the path.
But every tree looked the same, every direction unfamiliar.
The forest, once inviting, now felt like a maze made to trap him.
Hours slipped by.
He yelled for help. No response.
Storm clouds gathered. Darkness crept in.
Cody told himself someone—his dad, the troop—had to be searching by now.
But the forest gave no clues.
Only the wind, and the sky opening up with a violent thunderstorm.
Rain hammered down. Hail stung his skin.
He had no food.
Almost no water.
Nothing useful in his bag.
Then—a flash of lightning.
In that instant, he saw it: a cave.
He didn’t hesitate.
Soaked, shaking, cold to the bone, Cody scrambled inside.
The walls dripped, the air was thick, but it was shelter.
And there, hidden from the storm,
He passed out.
Morning.
Silence.
Light filtered in through the trees.
And then—
a sound.
Faint at first. A distant thump-thump-thump.
A helicopter.
Cody bolted out of the cave, adrenaline flooding him.
He yanked off his belt and angled the metal buckle toward the sky, praying it would catch the sun just right.
A glint. A flash.
The chopper turned.
It was coming down.
Blades chopped the air.
Cody ran toward the clearing like his life depended on it—because it did.
The door swung open. He jumped inside.
“Good morning,” the pilot said casually.
Relief washed over Cody like a wave—until he looked closer.
He knew that face.
Everyone did.
Harrison Ford.
Turns out, after Cody went missing, his dad and troop had alerted authorities immediately.
Among the volunteers was a local pilot who decided to help.
He just happened to also be the man who played Indiana Jones and Han Solo—and was a licensed pilot in real life.
That’s who found Cody.
Ten miles from camp.
In the middle of nowhere.
When Cody finally reunited with his dad, everyone assumed he’d be heading home.
Hot meal. Warm bed. Rest.
Not Cody.
He had a story to tell.
He went straight back to camp—to the same fire he had imagined the day before.
Except now, he didn’t need to make up a wild tale.
He lived one.
Because not many kids can say they were lost in the wilderness, survived a thunderstorm in a cave…
and were rescued by Indiana Jones himself.