Sarah Reed (7:21)

Hey, guys. Sarah here from the sequestered podcast. You know how some people thrive with sticky notes everywhere? Yeah, that's just not me. My work life is random enough. Each week looks completely different from the last, which means My schedule has always felt disjointed. That is, until the Skylight Calendar came into my life. Honestly, everything has changed. I feel focused, organized, even on top of things, which is actually a miracle. Tasks are getting done, dinners are planned, and the ripple effect across my household is real.

Narrator (7:55)

And let me just add that the.

Sarah Reed (7:56)

App is so easy. Whether I'm accepting a calendar invite from my email or brain dumping my to dos, the details instantly show up on the skylight that says sitting back home on my kitchen counter. This thing has literally become the hub of our household. I even upgraded to the Pro subscription because when you give me extra tools with assignable points, oh baby, am I in? And those points, they're basically like getting a gold star sticker. Which, as it turns out, is still the most effective motivator for this girl. The Skylight Calendar is a WiFi connected digital display that syncs with Google, Apple, Outlook and more. You can manage events, chores, grocery lists, and even color code each member. If you've got a busy life, you need this calendar. And Skylight stands behind their product. So if you're not 100% thrilled within 120 days, you can return it. Full refund, no questions asked. Right now, Skylight is offering our listeners $30 off their 15 inch calendar. Just go to myskylight.com sequestered that's my S K-Y-L-I G-H-T.com sequestered for $30 off.

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Narrator (9:25)

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Narrator (9:45)

See mintmobile.com In 1995, Julie and Lollies paths crossed in Minneapolis, Minnesota at a place called Woodswomen. Woodswomen wasn't just an outdoor program. It was a movement founded in 1977 in Minneapolis, barely an hour from where Julie grew up. Woodswomen Inc. Was one of the first outdoor adventure organizations created by Women for Women. They offered wilderness tips, leadership training and outdoor education that was designed to foster confidence and equality in the backcountry. The idea was radical for its time that adventure didn't have to look like a conquest. And that when women taught other women, something powerful shifted. There were no sidelines, no one saying, here, let me do that for you. Every climb, every paddle stroke, every knot tied belonged to the woman who did it. It was about trust. Emotional safety mattered as much as physical safety. And the confidence they were building on the trail had a way of spilling back into their lives at home, into jobs, relationships, and the way the women started to see themselves. For Julie, woodswomen was a way to turn her love of the outdoors into something bigger. A way to serve, to teach, to empower. For lolly, it was refuge, A place where she could finally exhale and be herself. Some called woodswomen the grandmother of every women's outdoor program that came after it. For more than two decades, woodswomen gave thousands of women the tools to explore the outdoors on their own terms until it finally closed in 1999. But its legacy and the connections it sparked would far outlast the organization itself. And for Julie and lawley, it changed everything. Maybe it happened at a trailhead in the early morning light, maybe over a map spread across the hood of a van. No one can pinpoint the exact moment, but somewhere amid all those shared miles, their friendship became something more. Woodswomen gave them the language of self reliance and courage, but it also gave them each other. In that space, surrounded by women claiming their strength, Julie and lolli began to imagine a future together. A life rooted in wild places. A love grounded in discovery, belonging, and freedom. Freedom from the judgment they sometimes felt in the world outside. A world where being themselves wasn't always safe. In the backcountry, there were no stairs, no whispers, Just trees, sky, and the rhythm of their own footsteps. The wilderness also gave them joy and self reliance. They carried what they needed on their backs. They knew how to set up camp, how to navigate trails, how to keep each other safe. Every trip reinforced not only their skills, but also their confidence. And most of all, it was connection, not just to each other, but to something bigger. The trails and rivers gave them space to laugh, to dream, and to love openly. Out here, they weren't outsiders. They were exactly where they belonged. In 1996, being open about who you loved wasn't easy. That year, the defense of marriage act had just been signed into law, defining marriage federally as between a man and a woman. Ellen degeneres wouldn't come out on national television television until the following spring of 97, and the don't ask, don't tell policy was still in place, forcing LGBTQ people in the military to hide who they were or risk losing everything. For women like Julie and Lolly, it meant their relationship was something they often had to keep quiet. Even in communities that claimed to be welcoming, there were still risks of judgment, rejection, or worse. But outdoors, those walls came down. The woods didn't ask questions, and the trails didn't care who you loved. The wilderness gave them space to be fully themselves, laughing around a campfire, walking side by side with Taj, trotting just ahead, sharing dreams beneath a canopy of stars. That's why planning trips like this was so important to them. Not just to explore, but to carve out pockets of the world where they could exist freely without having to hide who they were. On the weekend of May 18, 1996, Julie and Lally packed their gear, loaded up Julie's red 1988 Toyota Tercel, and pulled out of Burlington, Vermont. The windows cracked, their golden retriever, Taj, in the backseat, his nose pressed to the wind. They had 12 hours of open road ahead of them, winding south through the Green Mountains and into the heart of Virginia's Blue Ridge Mountains. Outside, spring was in full bloom, lilacs spilling over fences, fields bright with new grass. The world was alive, humming with pops. Possibility. They weren't chasing headlines or milestones. They were chasing quiet, the kind of quiet that settles into your bones when the world finally stops asking anything of you. The quiet of long trails and campfire smoke, of mornings wrapped in mist and evenings that ended in conversation instead of noise. Their destination? Shenandoah National Park, Virginia's crown of the Blue Ridge Mountains, nearly 200,000 acres of quiet wilderness where the only signal was birdsong and the rest of the world felt miles away. Back then, the drive down Skyline Drive must have felt endless and beautiful. Pull offs filled with wildflowers, payphones by ranger stations, and postcards for sale in the wooden lodges. For most people, it was, and still is, an incredibly scenic drive, but for Julie and Lale, it was something holier. This was their place to disappear together into nature and come back changed. On May 19, they arrived. Rangers remembered them checking in at the Skyland Lodge area to register for a backcountry permit. Julie calm and organized, lolli easygoing with a warmth that put people at ease. And Taj, with his tail thumping, eager to explore. They parked their red Toyota near the lodge, which sits at the highest point along Skyline Drive, nearly 3,700ft above sea level. Up there, the air feels a little thinner. Cooler mist clings to the trees in the early morning and when it lifts, the view rolls on for miles, layers of blue and green fading into the haze. It's breathtaking. The girls did their final check and locked up the car. They tightened their bootlaces, hoisted their packs, and stepped onto Bridal Trail, a narrow, winding path through strands of hemlock and oak. The forest floor is soft with new ferns, and within minutes the sounds of the ridge, car doors, conversation, the faint hum of the lodge slipped away into the hush of the woods, the steady rhythm of footsteps on damp earth, the sound of Taj's collar jingling nearby, and the quiet, unbroken breath of the mountains welcoming them in. In May, Shenandoah feels reborn. The mountains roll in waves of deep green, waterfalls spill through the mossy hollows, and the air feels sharp with rain and wild azalea mist gathers low in the valleys, catching the light like breath. It's stunning, the kind of beauty cameras never fully capture, though we try. But after a while you stop trying to frame every turn and just let the world unfold around you. Your eyes open, your lungs fill, and every step pulls you deeper into stillness. Time softens in nature, and the world beyond the trees seems to dissolve until all that's left is the sound of peace in the wilderness ahead. After the break, Julie and Lolly settle into the rhythm of nature.

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Narrator (20:19)

From May 19th through May 24th, Julie and Lally slipped into the rhythm of backcountry life. Their days began with the soft light of dawn filtering through their tent, birds calling overhead, Taj stretching out beside them, and the forest slowly waking up around their camp. The site they'd chosen, just off the Bridal Trail, was later described by park rangers as peaceful and discreet, a quiet hollow beside a small mountain stream, hidden, serene. It was close enough to hear the water but far enough to feel completely alone. They were less than a half a mile from Skyline Lodge, where they had parked their car, and yet the woods were so dense it may as well have been miles away. Each morning they packed light day gear and set out along the trails. The late May air was warm but not heavy, and the ridges still carried the scent of spring rain. Shenandoah in May offers endless small wonders, ferns unrolling in the shade, mountain laurel beginning to bloom and waterfalls running strong from the snow melt. It's easy to lose track of time out there, one ridge fading into the next, each view a little quieter than the last. Julie was known to carry notebooks on her trips, filling them with observations and sketches of the places she loved most. You can almost imagine her pausing to write. The curve of a ridgeline, a bird she couldn't quite name, the sound of water folding over rocks. And lolly ever the guide probably took the lead on route finding and weather checks, her compass hanging from a carabiner at her hip. And Taj always in motion, bounding ahead on switchbacks, circling back to check on them, his tail wagging like a metronome. When the trail narrowed, he trotted between them like a living tether that kept the three connected as they moved deeper into the backcountry. At camp, he'd splash through the stream or curl up at their feet while they cook simple meals over a small stove. They'd laugh about maps that never seemed to match the terrain, probably read by the glow of a headlamp and watch the light fade through the trees. Little routines, familiar grounding that made the wilderness feel like home. Hikers who saw them that week remembered nothing unusual. They saw two young women and a golden retriever, smiling, confident, at ease in their environment. Nothing about them seemed out of place. Nothing to suggest the fear that would follow. For five days, it was just the three of them. Julie, Lolly and Taj. The woods their shelter. The mountains their sanctuary. For now it was all light, all freedom, all the things they came for. But in the stillness of those woods, something unseen was moving closer. When Taj returned alone, the spell of the wilderness had broken. The peace that Julie and Lali came to find had had vanished. And the mountains of Shenandoah were holding a terrible secret.

News Reporter (24:09)

As a setting sun colored the sky over Shenandoah national park, investigators still search for a killer whoever murdered 24 year old Julie Williams and 26 year old Lolly Winant. The bodies of the women were found in this area of the park Saturday. The women died when their throats were cut.

Narrator (24:27)

On the next episode of Sequestered the Shenandoah park murders. The discovery of Julie and Lolly's bodies sends shockwaves far beyond the Blue Ridge Mountains. National headlines. Hikers changing course mid trail and a park full of families left wondering why they weren't warned sooner. And inside, a growing investigation. Tough questions on Capitol Hill. Theories swirling. And a country grappling with fear in a place once seen as a sanctuary. That's next time on Sequestered. Sequestered is created by Sarah Reed and Andrea Clyde, hosted and produced by Sarah, written and researched together. Theme music by Night Owl and original music by Andrew Golden. You can hear his full song Shenandoah through the link in our show. Not.