American Hiker, 28, Met a Guide on Tinder — 2 Days Later, Only Her SEVERED FEET Were Found
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Her content was authentic.
Denise didn’t stay in fancy hotels or take the easy routes.
She prided herself on finding the places other travelers missed.
The unmarked trails, the locals only swimming holes, the mountain peaks that required real effort to reach.
Her followers loved her for it.
They called her fearless.
They said she was living the dream.
What they didn’t know was that Denise was also careful.
She researched every destination extensively.
She checked in with her family regularly.
She trusted her gut when something felt wrong.
In October 2019, Denise arrived in Costa Rica for what she planned as a 3-w week solo backpacking trip.
She had been to Central America before, twice actually, but never to Costa Rica.
The country had been on her list for years.
She wanted to see the cloud forests, visit the volcanic hot springs, and hike the remote Talamanca mountain range on the Caribbean side of the country.
She flew into San Jose, spent 2 days getting organized, then took a bus to Puerto Viejo, a laid-back beach town on the Caribbean coast, known for its surf culture and proximity to some of the most beautiful and challenging hiking in the country.
Denise checked into a hostel called Casa Verde, a popular spot for backpackers with a friendly staff and a communal kitchen where travelers swapped stories and recommendations.
She spent her first evening there talking to other hikers, getting advice on trails, and updating her blog with photos from San Jose.
She posted on Instagram with a picture of the sunset over the Caribbean.
Made it to the Caribbean side.
Tomorrow I start exploring.
This place is paradise.
The next morning, October 13th, Denise did what millions of solo travelers do in foreign countries.
She opened Tinder.
She wasn’t looking for romance.
Denise had learned that dating apps were actually great resources for meeting locals who could give insider tips on where to go, what to see, and which places to avoid.
She had used Tinder in Thailand to find a local guide who showed her a temple complex tourists never visited.
In Peru, a Tinder match had taken her to a family restaurant where she ate the best ceviche of her life.
For Denise, these apps were networking opportunities, ways to connect with people who actually lived in the places she was just passing through.
She set her profile to show she was in Puerto Viejo and started swiping.
Her bio was clear.
travel blogger exploring Costa Rica, looking for hiking partners and local recommendations.
Not here for hookups.
She swiped through about 20 profiles before she saw one that caught her attention.
His name was Diego, age 34.
His profile showed him in hiking gear, standing at various scenic overlooks, holding a professional camera.
His bio said he was a certified wilderness guide who specialized in taking small groups to remote areas of the Talamanca Mountains.
Perfect.
Denise swiped right.
It was a match.
Diego Vargas messaged her within minutes.
Hola.
Welcome to Puerto Vjo.
I saw you’re interested in hiking.
I guide trips in the mountains.
Very beautiful places most tourists never see.
Would love to give you some recommendations.
His English was good, his message was friendly, and his profile seemed legitimate.
Denise wrote back asking about the Talamanca region, explaining she wanted to do some serious hiking, nothing too touristy.
What followed was a conversation that would last two full days.
Diego was responsive, knowledgeable, and enthusiastic.
He told her about hidden waterfalls in the mountains, trails that wound through primary rainforest, viewpoints where you could see both the Caribbean and the Pacific on clear days.
He sent her photos of places he had guided people to, stunning images of untouched wilderness.
He asked about her experience level, what kind of difficulty she was comfortable with, whether she had proper gear, all reasonable questions from someone who worked as a professional guide.
Denise felt comfortable with him.
He wasn’t flirty or pushy.
He didn’t make inappropriate comments or try to steer the conversation toward anything personal.
He stayed focused on hiking, on nature, on the logistics of exploring remote areas safely.
He explained that many tourists got in trouble in the Talamanca Mountains because they underestimated the difficulty and went out unprepared.
He said he had done dozens of rescue operations for lost hikers over the years.
He talked about the importance of having someone with local knowledge, someone who knew the trails and the weather patterns.
On October 14th, after 2 days of steady conversation, Diego made a suggestion.
I have a two-day trek planned for this week.
Very remote area, beautiful waterfall at the end.
I was going to go solo, but would be happy to have a hiking partner.
Split the cost of camping gear rental.
What do you think? Denise was interested.
A two-day trek into the mountains with a professional guide sounded exactly like the kind of authentic experience she was looking for.
She asked for more details.
Diego explained they would hike into the mountains, camp overnight near a river, then continue to a massive waterfall the next day before hiking back out.
Total distance about 25 mi.
Challenging, but not extreme for someone with her experience.
Denise did what she always did.
She researched.
She looked up Diego’s name online.
She found his Facebook profile which showed him with hiking groups, posting photos from various trails, sharing information about Costa Rican wildlife.
She found reviews from tourists who had hired him as a guide.
Most were positive.
Diego showed us places we never would have found on our own.
Knowledgeable and professional.
Made our trip to Costa Rica unforgettable.
There was nothing alarming, nothing that suggested danger.
She told her friends at the hostel about the plan.
Most of them thought it sounded amazing.
One girl from Germany said she wished she could go, too.
The hostel staff knew Diego.
Yeah, he brings groups through here sometimes, the manager said.
Seems like a decent guy.
That was enough reassurance for Denise.
She messaged Diego and told him she was in.
They agreed to meet in person the next day, October 15th, at a cafe in town to go over final details and make sure they were on the same page.
Denise spent that evening packing her backpack, checking her gear, and updating her blog.
She wrote about meeting a local guide who was going to take her into the Talamanca Mountains.
Two days of serious hiking to places most tourists never see.
This is why I travel.
This is what I live for.
can’t wait to share the photos with you all.
That night, she called her parents in Portland.
She did this regularly, usually once or twice a week, depending on where she was and what kind of internet access she had.
Her mother, Patricia Spears, answered.
Denise told her about the hiking plan, about meeting the guide, about how excited she was to see a part of Costa Rica that most people missed.
Patricia, as always, worried.
Sweetie, are you sure it’s safe going into the mountains with someone you just met online? Denise laughed.
Mom, I’ve done this a 100 times.
He’s a professional guide.
He has reviews from other tourists.
The hostel staff knows him.
I’ll be fine.
I’ll check in with you when I get back in 3 days.
Patricia made Denise promise to be careful.
Denise promised.
She always did.
I love you, Mom.
Don’t worry so much.
I know what I’m doing.
It was the last conversation they would ever have.
On October 15th, at exactly 10:00 in the morning, Denise walked to Cafe Vibes, a popular breakfast spot in Puerto Viejo.
She wore her hiking clothes, carried her packed backpack, and had her phone fully charged.
She ordered a coffee and sat at a table near the window.
10 minutes later, Diego Vargas walked in.
He looked like his photos.
Tall, maybe 6 ft, lean build, dark hair pulled back in a small ponytail, wearing proper hiking gear, and carrying a large backpack.
He smiled when he saw her and walked over.
Denise.
She stood up and shook his hand.
Diego.
Nice to finally meet in person.
They sat down and Diego ordered coffee.
For the next hour, they went over the plan in detail.
He showed her a topographic map of the area they would be hiking, pointed out the trail, the camping spot, the waterfall.
He asked her again about her experience level, and seemed satisfied with her answers.
He showed her photos on his phone of previous trips to the same area.
Everything seemed professional and organized.
“We should leave by noon,” Diego said.
“That gives us about 6 hours of daylight to reach the camping spot.
It’s about 12 mi in, mostly uphill, but nothing too technical.
” Denise agreed.
They finished their coffee, split the bill, and walked to a small outdoor gear shop where Diego said they could rent a tent and cooking equipment.
The shop owner knew Diego and greeted him warmly.
Another trek into the mountains, amigo.
Diego nodded, taking this young lady to see the real Costa Rica.
The shop owner looked at Denise.
You’re in good hands.
Diego knows those mountains better than anyone.
After getting the gear, they stopped at a small market to buy food for 2 days.
Rice, beans, fruit, energy bars, bottled water.
Diego insisted on carrying most of the weight.
I’m used to it, he said.
You save your energy for the hiking.
Denise appreciated the gesture.
They split the cost of everything down the middle just as they had agreed.
Everything felt fair, reasonable, safe.
Their last stop was a gas station on the edge of town.
They needed to fill up water bottles and Diego wanted to grab extra batteries for his flashlight.
As they walked into the gas station, Denise pulled out her phone and took a selfie.
She was smiling, excited, her backpack visible behind her.
Diego in the background filling water bottles.
She posted it to Instagram with the caption that would become famous.
Found the perfect guide for tomorrow’s adventure.
The post got hundreds of likes within minutes.
Her followers commented with encouragement and excitement.
Stay safe.
Can’t wait to see the photos.
You’re living the dream, Denise.
What none of them knew was that this image, this happy selfie at a gas station would be the last photo of Denise Spears alive.
Security cameras at the gas station captured her and Diego together at 11:47 am on October 15th, 2019.
The footage showed them laughing, loading up their backpacks, looking like any other pair of hikers about to head into the wilderness.
The footage also showed Diego purchasing something at the counter while Denise was in the bathroom.
The cler would later remember what it was.
A machete.
A large heavyduty machete with a black rubber handle.
When asked why he remembered, the cler said he thought it was strange Diego needed a second one since he already had one on his backpack.
But he didn’t say anything.
It wasn’t his business.
At 12:15 pm, Denise and Diego left Puerto Viejo in Diego’s pickup truck.
He drove them to the trail head, a dirt parking area about 30 minutes outside of town, where a rough path disappeared into thick jungle.
There were no other cars there, no other hikers, just the two of them and miles of empty wilderness ahead.
Diego locked his truck, checked his GPS device, and adjusted his backpack straps.
“Ready?” he asked.
Denise nodded, adjusting her own pack.
Ready, they started walking.
The trail climbed steeply from the very beginning, winding through dense rainforest where the canopy blocked out most of the sunlight.
Denise was immediately impressed by the beauty of the place.
Massive trees covered in moss and vines, the constant sound of birds and insects, occasional glimpses of monkeys in the branches overhead.
Diego walked ahead, setting a steady pace.
occasionally pointing out interesting plants or animals.
He seemed knowledgeable, professional, exactly what a guide should be.
They hiked for 3 hours before taking their first real break.
Diego found a fallen log where they could sit and rest.
He offered Denise water and an energy bar.
They talked about hiking, about other places they had been, about the challenges of maintaining trails in the rainforest.
Everything seemed normal.
Everything seemed safe.
Denise took a few photos of the surrounding jungle, but noticed her phone signal was gone.
“No service up here,” Diego confirmed.
“Once we’re in the mountains, there’s no signal until we get back down.
That’s part of what makes it special.
Complete disconnect from the world.
” Denise didn’t mind.
She was used to being off the grid.
In fact, she preferred it.
Some of her best travel experiences had happened in places with no internet, no phone service, no connection to the digital world.
It forced you to be present, to actually experience the place instead of just documenting it.
They rested for 20 minutes, then continued hiking.
By the time the sun started getting low, they had covered about 10 miles.
Diego said they were close to the camping spot, just another hour or so.
But Denise was starting to feel uneasy.
Something had changed in Diego’s demeanor over the last few miles.
He had become quieter, less friendly, less talkative.
When she asked questions, his answers were short, almost dismissive.
She told herself it was just fatigue.
Hiking all day could make anyone cranky.
When they finally reached the camping spot, it was nearly dark.
The area Diego had chosen was beside a small river, surrounded by thick jungle on all sides.
It was beautiful, but also completely isolated.
Denise couldn’t see any other trails or signs of human activity.
They were truly alone.
Diego immediately started setting up the tent while Denise gathered firewood.
As she walked around collecting branches, she noticed something that made her uncomfortable.
There was another machete on the ground near Diego’s backpack.
The new one he had bought at the gas station.
It was still in its packaging.
“Hey, Diego,” she called over.
“Why did you buy another machete? Don’t you already have one?” Diego looked up from the tent.
His expression was hard to read in the fading light.
“Backup,” he said simply.
“Always good to have backup equipment in the wilderness.
” “It was a reasonable answer.
” But something about the way he said it, the way he looked at her when he said it, made Denise’s stomach tighten.
For the first time since they had left Puerto Viejo, she felt afraid.
They ate dinner in near silence.
rice and beans cooked over a small camp stove.
Diego barely spoke.
Denise tried to make conversation but got only one-word answers.
She considered asking him directly what was wrong, if she had done something to upset him, but decided against it.
She told herself she was being paranoid, that she was projecting her own tiredness onto him, but deep down something felt wrong.
Very wrong.
After dinner, Diego said he was going to wash the cooking pot in the river.
He took one of the machetes with him, the new one.
Denise watched him disappear into the darkness, his flashlight bobbing between the trees.
She sat by the fire, alone, listening to the sounds of the jungle at night.
Insects, frogs, distant animal calls.
Usually, she found these sounds peaceful.
Tonight they felt threatening.
Every snapping branch made her jump.
Every rustle in the bushes made her heart race.
When Diego came back 15 minutes later, he seemed different, calmer, almost too calm.
He sat down across the fire from her and stared into the flames.
Denise noticed his hands were wet.
He must have washed them in the river.
That’s when she saw something that made her blood run cold.
There was a dark stain on his pant leg.
It looked like mud.
But the way it glistened in the fire light, the way it had soaked into the fabric, it didn’t look like mud.
It looked like blood.
Diego, she said carefully.
What’s that on your pants? He looked down, saw the stain, and laughed.
Mud.
I slipped near the river.
The rocks are slippery.
But his laugh sounded forced, fake.
Denise didn’t believe him.
She stood up and said she needed to use the bathroom.
She grabbed her flashlight and walked into the trees, her heart pounding so hard she thought Diego could probably hear it.
She didn’t actually need to pee.
She needed to think.
She needed to figure out what to do.
She was in the middle of nowhere with a man who was acting strange, who had bought an extra machete for no good reason, who might have blood on his clothes.
Her phone had no signal.
She didn’t know exactly where she was.
She had no way to call for help.
The nearest town was at least 12 mi away through dense jungle on a trail she didn’t know.
Running was not an option.
She would get lost, hurt, or worse.
Her only choice was to go back to camp, get through the night, and hope that in the morning Diego would act normal again.
Maybe she was overreacting.
Maybe the stain really was mud.
Maybe his strange behavior was just tiredness or stress from his personal life.
She wanted to believe that.
She needed to believe that.
When she walked back to the fire, Diego was lying in the tent, his flashlight off.
Denise crawled into her sleeping bag on the opposite side of the tent as far from him as possible.
She kept her boots on.
She kept her flashlight in her hand.
She didn’t sleep.
She lay there in the darkness, listening to Diego’s breathing, wondering if he was really asleep or just pretending.
Every hour felt like 10:00.
She watched the small opening of the tent, waiting for the first light of dawn.
Around 3:00 in the morning, she heard Diego moving.
She closed her eyes and tried to breathe evenly, pretending to be asleep.
She heard him unzip his sleeping bag, heard him crawl toward the tent entrance, heard the zipper open slowly, carefully like he didn’t want to wake her.
She opened her eyes just enough to see his silhouette against the faint starlight.
He was leaving the tent.
He was carrying something.
one of the machetes.
Denise’s mind raced.
Where was he going in the middle of the night? What was he planning to do? Should she run now while he was outside? But run where? She had no idea which direction led back to the trail.
She could end up running deeper into the jungle, getting more lost, more vulnerable.
She decided to wait, to watch, to be ready.
10 minutes passed.
15.
20.
Diego didn’t come back.
Denise slowly, quietly unzipped her sleeping bag and crawled to the tent entrance.
She peaked outside.
The fire had died down to embers.
The jungle was dark and full of shadows.
She couldn’t see Diego anywhere.
She grabbed her backpack, checked that her water bottles and phone were inside, and made a decision.
She was going to try to leave.
She would follow the river downstream.
Rivers always led somewhere, usually to people, to civilization.
It was her best chance.
She crawled out of the tent and stood up, her legs shaking.
She took one step toward the river.
Then she heard it, a sound that made her freeze.
Footsteps coming from the jungle, coming fast.
She spun around and saw Diego emerging from the trees.
He was running toward her.
The machete was in his hand.
There was no time to think.
Denise dropped her backpack and ran.
She ran blindly into the jungle, branches whipping her face, roots catching her feet.
She heard Diego behind her, crashing through the undergrowth, getting closer.
She ran harder, faster, her lungs burning, her legs screaming.
She didn’t know where she was going.
She just knew she had to get away.
She jumped over a fallen log and her foot caught on something.
She fell hard, hitting the ground face first.
The impact knocked the wind out of her.
She tried to get up, but Diego was already there.
He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her head back.
The last thing Denise Spears saw was the blade of the machete catching the moonlight as it came down toward her neck.
October 17th, 2019, 2 days after Denise Spears left Puerto Viejo with Diego Vargas, Patricia Spears woke up in Portland at 6:00 in the morning feeling anxious.
It was a feeling she couldn’t explain, a mother’s instinct that something was wrong.
She checked her phone.
No messages from Denise.
That was unusual.
Even when Denise was traveling in remote areas, she always found a way to send at least a quick message when she had signal.
Patricia had expected to hear from her daughter by now.
The hiking trip was supposed to be 2 days.
They should be back in Puerto Viejo by now.
Patricia tried calling Denise’s phone.
It went straight to voicemail.
Your call cannot be completed as dialed.
Please try again later.
She sent a text message.
Honey, just checking in.
Hope the hike was amazing.
Call me when you get signal.
Love you.
The message showed as delivered but not read.
Patricia told herself not to worry.
Denise was probably still in the mountains.
Maybe the hike took longer than expected.
Maybe they decided to stay an extra day.
She would hear from her soon.
By the evening of October 17th, Patricia’s anxiety had grown into real fear.
Still no word from Denise.
She called the hostel in Puerto Viejo.
The person who answered spoke broken English, but understood enough to check the records.
Yes, Denise Spears checked in October 13th.
She went on a hiking trip.
She was supposed to come back yesterday, but she did not return.
We thought maybe she changed her plans.
Patricia felt her stomach drop.
Do you know who she went hiking with? The hostel employee checked his notes.
Yes, local guide Diego Vargas.
He brings tourists sometimes.
Should we be worried? Patricia didn’t know how to answer that question.
She didn’t want to overreact, but something in her gut was screaming that her daughter was in danger.
Yes, she finally said, “Yes, I think you should be worried.
Can you please contact the police?” The hostile employee promised to call the local police immediately.
Patricia hung up and sat on her couch, her hands shaking.
Her husband, Michael Spears, came into the room and saw her face.
“What’s wrong?” Patricia told him.
Denise hasn’t checked in.
She was supposed to be back yesterday.
The hostel hasn’t heard from her.
Michael, always the more rational one, tried to calm her down.
She’s probably fine.
You know how Denise is.
She gets caught up in adventures and loses track of time.
She’ll call when she gets back to civilization.
But Patricia couldn’t shake the feeling.
She spent the entire night awake, checking her phone every 5 minutes, praying for a message from her daughter.
None came.
October 18th morning, Puerto Viejo Police Station.
Officer Carlos Mendes received the call from Casa Verde Hostel about a missing American tourist.
He sighed.
Missing tourists were not uncommon in this area.
Most of them turned up within a day or two, having gotten lost on a trail or deciding to extend their trip without telling anyone.
But he knew he had to take it seriously, especially since the hostile staff seemed genuinely concerned.
He called the hostel and got more details.
Denise Spears, 28 years old, American, experienced hiker, went into the Talamanca Mountains with Diego Vargas 2 days ago.
Expected back October 17th.
No contact since October 15th.
Carlos knew Diego.
Everyone in Puerto Viejo knew Diego.
He was a local guy, did some guiding work, seemed harmless.
But Carlos also knew that Diego had some financial problems.
There had been complaints from tourists before about Diego overcharging or not delivering on promises.
Nothing serious, nothing criminal, but enough to make Carlos pay attention.
He tried calling Diego’s phone.
No answer.
He drove to Diego’s apartment.
No one home.
He checked with Diego’s family.
No one had heard from him in 3 days.
That’s when Carlos started to worry.
If Diego was missing, too, that meant something had gone wrong in the mountains.
Either they were both lost, both hurt, or something worse had happened.
By noon on October 18th, Carlos had organized a search team, eight local volunteers who knew the Talamanca Mountains, two search dogs, and a helicopter from San Jose.
They started at the trail head where Diego’s truck was still parked.
The truck was locked.
Nothing inside seemed out of place.
They followed the trail Diego usually took with his hiking groups, calling out names, looking for any sign of the missing hikers.
The weather was turning bad.
A storm system was moving in from the Caribbean, bringing heavy rain and wind.
The search team pushed as far as they could on the first day, covering about 8 m before darkness and rain forced them to turn back.
They found nothing.
No sign of Denise or Diego.
No camping equipment, no footprints, nothing.
Patricia and Michael Spears boarded a plane to Costa Rica that evening.
They couldn’t just sit at home waiting for news.
They needed to be there.
They needed to help search for their daughter.
When they landed in San Jose the next morning, October 19th, they were met by a representative from the American embassy who drove them to Puerto Viejo.
The embassy rep, a young man named James, tried to prepare them for what they might face.
Search and rescue in the mountains is difficult, he explained.
The terrain is rough.
The weather is bad, but they’re doing everything they can.
We have teams out there right now.
Patricia stared out the window at the Green Mountains in the distance.
Her daughter was somewhere in those mountains, lost, hurt, maybe worse.
She refused to think about the worst.
She had to believe Denise was alive.
Had to believe they would find her.
The search continued for three more days.
Teams covered over 30 square miles of jungle and mountains.
They found some evidence that people had been in the area recently.
An old camping spot with cold ashes.
Some food wrappers, but nothing definitive.
Nothing that confirmed it was Denise and Diego.
The rain kept falling.
The trails became muddy and dangerous.
Two search team members had to be evacuated with injuries from slipping on wet rocks.
By October 22nd, the official search was scaled back.
We can’t keep risking lives, Carlos told the Spears family.
We’ve covered all the likely areas.
If they’re out there, they’re either in a location we can’t access or they’re no longer in a condition to signal for help.
Patricia broke down.
What are you saying? Are you giving up on my daughter? We’re not giving up, Carlos said gently.
We’re just being realistic about the resources and the risks.
But on October 23rd, everything changed.
A search team working near a remote tributary of the Tia River found something.
It was one of the younger volunteers who saw it first.
He was walking along the riverbank, looking for any signs of human activity when he noticed something wedged between two rocks in shallow water.
At first, he thought it was a piece of trash, maybe an old boot that had been washed downstream.