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Tales of the twisted
podcast
The Yuba County Five: The Boys Who Vanished
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Full Transcript
This is Tales of the Twisted. True stories of the strange, weird, bizarre, and eerie.
Tonight, we travel back to the Sierra Nevada mountains. Back to 1978. Back to a disappearance so haunting, so inexplicable, that investigators still struggle to explain even the smallest of details.
This is the story of five men — friends so inseparable that their parents simply called them “the boys.” Five men who went out to watch a basketball game on a Friday night… and drove straight into one of the strangest mysteries in American history.
This is the chilling tale of the Yuba County 5.
They were simple young men with simple joys: Bill Sterling, 29; Jack Huett, 24; Ted Weiher, 32; Jack Madruga, 30; and Gary Mathias, 25. All lived with intellectual disabilities or psychiatric conditions, and all still lived with their families.
But they shared something powerful — a deep friendship and an obsession with sports. They played basketball together on a team supported by a local program for people with disabilities. They were excited, motivated, and full of childlike enthusiasm. Their families said the boys *lived* for moments like these: games, tournaments, weekends spent cheering and laughing.
But Gary Mathias was different.
In the early 1970s, while stationed in West Germany, Gary spiraled into drug use. It triggered schizophrenia — episodes of paranoia, violent outbursts, and hospitalizations. By 1978, he was stabilized on medication and considered a success story by doctors. He worked with his stepfather's gardening business. He hung out with his friends. He was doing well.
And on the night of February 24th, 1978, he seemed fine — better than fine — excited, because the next morning, the boys had a Special Olympics basketball tournament. Their first game in a week-long event where the winning team earned an all-expense-paid trip to Los Angeles.
Some had laid out their uniforms the night before. Some asked their parents to wake them early. It was one of the biggest weekends of their lives.
But first, they planned a short trip to Chico to watch UC Davis play Chico State — just 50 miles from home. They piled into Jack Madruga’s turquoise and white 1969 Mercury Montego. Light jackets, light spirits, no supplies. Nothing suggesting they planned to be gone long.
They weren’t prepared for the mountain cold. They weren’t prepared for snow.
And they weren’t prepared for what followed.
They left, they cheered, they bought snacks at a store in Chico — mildly annoying a clerk eager to close — and then… they vanished.
When the boys didn’t return, their parents knew instantly something was wrong. They waited through the night. They called friends. By morning, police were notified. Searchers scoured the highways between Chico and Yuba County.
Nothing.
Until a Plumas National Forest ranger remembered a car he’d seen on a mountain road — a car that seemed out of place.
On February 28th, deputies followed him deep into the forest along Oroville Quincy Road, nearly 70 miles from Chico and far off any logical route home.
There it was. The Mercury Montego.
No dents. No mud scrapes. No sign it had been driven carelessly along the rough, remote road. The snow around it was barely deep — five healthy young men could have pushed it free easily.
Inside were candy wrappers, empty drink containers, programs from the basketball game, and a neatly folded map of California.
But something was wrong.
Madruga always locked his car. Always. Yet the doors were unlocked, a window was rolled down, and the keys were gone.
When police hotwired the Montego, it started instantly. A quarter tank of gas remained. The car could have taken them home.
Instead, it was abandoned at 4,400 feet of elevation near where the road closed for winter.
But why? Why drive into the mountains at night? Why in freezing weather? Why without warm clothes? Without supplies? Without reason?
No trace of the men was found nearby. Then a massive storm rolled in, burying the region in snow. The search had to be called off.
The car was the first piece of the puzzle — but not the last.
As the story spread, witnesses came forward. Most sightings were easily dismissed — except two.
The first came from a Sacramento man named Joseph Schons. On the night the boys vanished, Schons had driven up the mountain to check on his cabin. His car became stuck in the snow, and while trying to free it… he had a heart attack.
He crawled back inside his car, alone, freezing, and in pain.
Around midnight, he heard voices. Saw headlights. A car stopped behind him. Figures gathered. One looked like a woman holding a baby.
He cried out for help.
The voices stopped. The lights went out.
Later, he saw flashlights outside — until he called out again. Then darkness.
Schons eventually walked eight miles to safety. He *had* suffered a heart attack.
But the frozen silence he encountered… haunted investigators. Why would a harmless group of young men ignore a dying stranger?
And if it wasn’t them — then who was out there?
The second sighting came from a store clerk in Brownsville, 30 miles from the abandoned car. She told police that on March 3rd — the day after the disappearance — four men entered her store in a red pickup truck. She recognized them from missing-person flyers.
Two stayed outside at a phone booth. Two went inside to buy burritos, milk, and soft drinks. The owner corroborated the account.
It made no sense, but it felt eerily accurate to the families. Yet no one knows if the sighting was real.
Spring melted the snow — and the forest gave up its secrets.
On June 4th, motorcyclists approached a U.S. Forest Service trailer 20 miles from the Montego. A window was broken. The door was ajar.
Inside was Ted Weiher.
Wrapped in eight sheets, lying on a bed. He had starved to death despite food nearby. He survived up to three months after vanishing.
Ted had no shoes. But Gary Mathias’s shoes were inside.
Someone had been with Ted — someone who covered him with sheets. Someone who left.
The next day, searchers found Jack Madruga and Bill Sterling, 11 miles from the car. One partially eaten by animals, one reduced to bones. Both died of hypothermia.
Two days later, Huett’s father found his son’s backbone two miles from the trailer. His skull was found downhill the next day.
Four men were found. One remained missing.
Gary Mathias — gone without a trace.
To this day, not a single piece of evidence, clothing, or bone belonging to Gary has ever been found.
The trailer should have saved them. Inside were warm clothes, matches, fuel, beds, food — a year’s worth of sealed rations.
None of it was used.
Ted died surrounded by food. They froze with warm clothing feet away. No fire had ever been lit.
Why?
Fear of breaking in? Confusion? Panic triggered by Gary’s schizophrenia?
Or something worse:
Someone else in the forest.
Someone they ran from.
Someone who chased them into the dark.
This has been Tales of the Twisted — true stories of the strange, weird, bizarre, and eerie.
Follow the show for more dark mysteries, and join us next time as we uncover another true story lurking in the shadows.
Until then… stay safe, stay curious, and remember: not every disappearance ends with answers.
Tonight, we travel back to the Sierra Nevada mountains. Back to 1978. Back to a disappearance so haunting, so inexplicable, that investigators still struggle to explain even the smallest of details.
This is the story of five men — friends so inseparable that their parents simply called them “the boys.” Five men who went out to watch a basketball game on a Friday night… and drove straight into one of the strangest mysteries in American history.
This is the chilling tale of the Yuba County 5.
They were simple young men with simple joys: Bill Sterling, 29; Jack Huett, 24; Ted Weiher, 32; Jack Madruga, 30; and Gary Mathias, 25. All lived with intellectual disabilities or psychiatric conditions, and all still lived with their families.
But they shared something powerful — a deep friendship and an obsession with sports. They played basketball together on a team supported by a local program for people with disabilities. They were excited, motivated, and full of childlike enthusiasm. Their families said the boys *lived* for moments like these: games, tournaments, weekends spent cheering and laughing.
But Gary Mathias was different.
In the early 1970s, while stationed in West Germany, Gary spiraled into drug use. It triggered schizophrenia — episodes of paranoia, violent outbursts, and hospitalizations. By 1978, he was stabilized on medication and considered a success story by doctors. He worked with his stepfather's gardening business. He hung out with his friends. He was doing well.
And on the night of February 24th, 1978, he seemed fine — better than fine — excited, because the next morning, the boys had a Special Olympics basketball tournament. Their first game in a week-long event where the winning team earned an all-expense-paid trip to Los Angeles.
Some had laid out their uniforms the night before. Some asked their parents to wake them early. It was one of the biggest weekends of their lives.
But first, they planned a short trip to Chico to watch UC Davis play Chico State — just 50 miles from home. They piled into Jack Madruga’s turquoise and white 1969 Mercury Montego. Light jackets, light spirits, no supplies. Nothing suggesting they planned to be gone long.
They weren’t prepared for the mountain cold. They weren’t prepared for snow.
And they weren’t prepared for what followed.
They left, they cheered, they bought snacks at a store in Chico — mildly annoying a clerk eager to close — and then… they vanished.
When the boys didn’t return, their parents knew instantly something was wrong. They waited through the night. They called friends. By morning, police were notified. Searchers scoured the highways between Chico and Yuba County.
Nothing.
Until a Plumas National Forest ranger remembered a car he’d seen on a mountain road — a car that seemed out of place.
On February 28th, deputies followed him deep into the forest along Oroville Quincy Road, nearly 70 miles from Chico and far off any logical route home.
There it was. The Mercury Montego.
No dents. No mud scrapes. No sign it had been driven carelessly along the rough, remote road. The snow around it was barely deep — five healthy young men could have pushed it free easily.
Inside were candy wrappers, empty drink containers, programs from the basketball game, and a neatly folded map of California.
But something was wrong.
Madruga always locked his car. Always. Yet the doors were unlocked, a window was rolled down, and the keys were gone.
When police hotwired the Montego, it started instantly. A quarter tank of gas remained. The car could have taken them home.
Instead, it was abandoned at 4,400 feet of elevation near where the road closed for winter.
But why? Why drive into the mountains at night? Why in freezing weather? Why without warm clothes? Without supplies? Without reason?
No trace of the men was found nearby. Then a massive storm rolled in, burying the region in snow. The search had to be called off.
The car was the first piece of the puzzle — but not the last.
As the story spread, witnesses came forward. Most sightings were easily dismissed — except two.
The first came from a Sacramento man named Joseph Schons. On the night the boys vanished, Schons had driven up the mountain to check on his cabin. His car became stuck in the snow, and while trying to free it… he had a heart attack.
He crawled back inside his car, alone, freezing, and in pain.
Around midnight, he heard voices. Saw headlights. A car stopped behind him. Figures gathered. One looked like a woman holding a baby.
He cried out for help.
The voices stopped. The lights went out.
Later, he saw flashlights outside — until he called out again. Then darkness.
Schons eventually walked eight miles to safety. He *had* suffered a heart attack.
But the frozen silence he encountered… haunted investigators. Why would a harmless group of young men ignore a dying stranger?
And if it wasn’t them — then who was out there?
The second sighting came from a store clerk in Brownsville, 30 miles from the abandoned car. She told police that on March 3rd — the day after the disappearance — four men entered her store in a red pickup truck. She recognized them from missing-person flyers.
Two stayed outside at a phone booth. Two went inside to buy burritos, milk, and soft drinks. The owner corroborated the account.
It made no sense, but it felt eerily accurate to the families. Yet no one knows if the sighting was real.
Spring melted the snow — and the forest gave up its secrets.
On June 4th, motorcyclists approached a U.S. Forest Service trailer 20 miles from the Montego. A window was broken. The door was ajar.
Inside was Ted Weiher.
Wrapped in eight sheets, lying on a bed. He had starved to death despite food nearby. He survived up to three months after vanishing.
Ted had no shoes. But Gary Mathias’s shoes were inside.
Someone had been with Ted — someone who covered him with sheets. Someone who left.
The next day, searchers found Jack Madruga and Bill Sterling, 11 miles from the car. One partially eaten by animals, one reduced to bones. Both died of hypothermia.
Two days later, Huett’s father found his son’s backbone two miles from the trailer. His skull was found downhill the next day.
Four men were found. One remained missing.
Gary Mathias — gone without a trace.
To this day, not a single piece of evidence, clothing, or bone belonging to Gary has ever been found.
The trailer should have saved them. Inside were warm clothes, matches, fuel, beds, food — a year’s worth of sealed rations.
None of it was used.
Ted died surrounded by food. They froze with warm clothing feet away. No fire had ever been lit.
Why?
Fear of breaking in? Confusion? Panic triggered by Gary’s schizophrenia?
Or something worse:
Someone else in the forest.
Someone they ran from.
Someone who chased them into the dark.
This has been Tales of the Twisted — true stories of the strange, weird, bizarre, and eerie.
Follow the show for more dark mysteries, and join us next time as we uncover another true story lurking in the shadows.
Until then… stay safe, stay curious, and remember: not every disappearance ends with answers.
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