“MY SON IS STILL OUT THERE!” — Heartbreaking cry from Alberta mom Maegan Bernicky as RCMP drops the gut-wrenching update: Ground search for 6-year-old Darius Macdougall called off after 11 days, with ‘less than 5% survival chance.’ He vanished during a family camping trip, wandering off with cousins into the rugged Crowsnest Pass wilderness—autistic and alone. 😢🌲

This isn’t just a missing kid case—it’s a desperate fight against the odds, with the family refusing to quit as volunteers scour the mountains. From birthday celebrations turned nightmare to a petition exploding with 13,000 signatures, their plea is ripping hearts apart. Will Darius beat the elements? The full agonizing story (grab tissues):

The crisp October wind whips through the pine-scented valleys of southwestern Alberta’s Crowsnest Pass, carrying echoes of a mother’s anguish that refuse to fade. Maegan Bernicky stands at the edge of Island Lake Campground, her voice cracking against the roar of a nearby creek, as she clutches a faded photo of her wide-eyed son, Darius Macdougall. “My son is still out there!” she cries to a cluster of reporters, her words a raw rebuke to the RCMP’s latest update: the formal ground search for the 6-year-old boy, who vanished during a family camping trip six weeks ago, has been suspended. With survival odds pegged at less than 5%, authorities have shifted to “investigative mode,” but Bernicky—and a growing army of volunteers—vows the hunt won’t end until Darius is home. “How do you presume him dead without a body? Without anything?” she demands, tears carving trails down her weathered cheeks. In a case that has gripped the nation, blending the terror of wilderness peril with the complexities of autism, Bernicky’s plea isn’t just personal—it’s a clarion call for systemic change in how Canada searches for its most vulnerable lost children.

Darius Macdougall was the spark of joy in a weekend meant for celebration. On September 19, 2025, the Lethbridge family—Bernicky, Darius’s father Riley Macdougall, his girlfriend, and a gaggle of relatives—pitched tents at the rustic Island Lake Campground, nestled in the Livingstone Public Land Use Zone, about 250 kilometers south of Calgary. It was a multigenerational gathering: birthdays for grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, complete with barbecues, games, and the kind of easy laughter that binds bloodlines. Darius, a bright-eyed boy with short brown hair, a penchant for dinosaur toys, and a diagnosis of autism spectrum disorder, was in his element amid the towering evergreens and babbling streams. “He loved the outdoors—the rocks, the bugs, everything,” Bernicky recalls in an exclusive sit-down with Global News, her hands trembling around a Styrofoam cup of camp coffee. “We had no idea it would be the last time we’d see that smile.”

The unraveling came swift and silent on September 21. Around 3 p.m., Darius joined six young relatives—cousins ranging from 4 to 10 years old—for a short walk along a familiar trail near the campsite. No adults accompanied the group, a detail that’s drawn quiet scrutiny from search experts but fierce defense from the family. “They were right there, playing like kids do,” Bernicky says, shaking her head. The path, a well-trodden loop through mixed forest and rocky outcrops, should have taken 20 minutes. But when the children returned giggling and mud-splattered, Darius was gone. Panic ignited like dry tinder: The kids alerted the camp, Riley and his father bolted in opposite directions yelling his name, and the grandmother dialed 911 at 3:17 p.m. Search and Rescue (SAR) crews mobilized within 20 minutes, their sirens slicing the afternoon calm.

What followed was an unprecedented mobilization, the likes of which Alberta RCMP Supt. Rick Jane called “the most intensive search I’ve ever seen.” Over 11 grueling days, more than 400 volunteers from 50 teams across Alberta, British Columbia, and Saskatchewan fanned out across 50 square kilometers of unforgiving terrain. Helicopters thumped overhead with thermal imaging, drones buzzed through dense canopies, and K-9 units sniffed for scents amid the elevation changes, deadfall, and icy streams. Ground teams—RCMP, SAR, and civilian hikers—braved overnight lows dipping to 5°C (41°F), their calls of “Darius! Darius!” bouncing off sheer cliffs. The boy was last seen in a blue-grey hoodie, matching sweatpants, and sneakers, standing just 4 feet tall—easy prey for the wilderness’s hazards: hypothermia, dehydration, or a misstep into swollen creeks swollen by fall rains.

Complicating the effort was Darius’s autism, a factor that turned routine tactics upside down. Children on the spectrum may not respond to their names, wander toward sensory stimuli like water or lights, or freeze in the face of strangers. “He’s nonverbal in stress—he might hide instead of call out,” SAR provincial training manager Adam Kennedy explained at a September 25 briefing, as crews expanded the radius from the initial 1 km to 5 km. Tips flooded in: A hunter reported “a small figure” near a trailhead; a drone operator flagged a discarded hoodie (later ruled unrelated). Yet by October 2, with no trace— no clothing, no footprints, no DNA—RCMP Cpl. Gina Slaney delivered the gut-punch: “At this point, if Darius is still in the search site, it is our belief that he is no longer alive.” The ground search suspended at 1 p.m., though Jane emphasized, “This was a tragedy, but the investigation continues.”

Bernicky’s reaction was visceral. “I was a wreck—they said presumed dead, and I just lost my mind,” she told Global News on October 20, her voice rising in disbelief. “How? Without evidence?” The update felt like a second disappearance, stripping hope from a family already frayed. Compounding the agony: Just weeks later, on October 10, Riley’s girlfriend’s 12-year-old daughter Kya—Darius’s playmate and “little sister”—died unexpectedly at Alberta Children’s Hospital in Calgary from complications of an undiagnosed illness. “This was an unexpected, horrible tragedy for a family already broken,” the Macdougalls posted on their “Bring Darius Macdougall Home” Facebook page, now 25,000 strong. Kya’s obituary painted her as “a light in the darkness,” her passing a cruel twist that left the campsite gatherings hollow.

Refusing defeat, the family has turned grief into grit. Volunteers—hikers, off-roaders, even drone enthusiasts—continue informal sweeps, posting coordinates on social media and scouring social trails. New photos released October 3 show Darius mid-laugh, his hoodie zipped against the chill, urging drivers in the pass to “keep an eye out.” “We haven’t given up hope,” the family stated, sharing a map of the last-seen area. Bernicky’s spearhead: “Darius’s Law,” a petition launched by family friend Ronnie DeGagne, demanding Amber Alert reforms. With over 13,200 signatures as of November 1, it calls for police discretion in high-risk cases—not just confirmed abductions—to issue alerts faster, especially for autistic children who “may not scream for help.” “The system failed Darius,” DeGagne told CTV News. “Roads weren’t shut down, alerts delayed—seconds matter in wilderness cases.”

The case exposes raw fault lines in Canada’s search protocols. Alberta’s vast backcountry claims lives yearly—Statistics Canada reports 150 wilderness disappearances annually, with autistic individuals 10 times more likely to elope unnoticed. Experts like Kennedy praise the response’s scale but critique gaps: No immediate Amber Alert (criteria unmet, as no abduction suspected), and the area’s remoteness—cell service spotty, access roads winding—hampered early sweeps. “Autism changes everything,” says Dr. Elena Vasquez, a Calgary child psychologist specializing in neurodiversity. “They seek comfort in patterns—streams, shadows—not rescuers. Families need tailored plans from day one.” RCMP defends: “We followed protocol,” but insiders whisper of internal reviews, especially after a similar 2023 B.C. case where an autistic teen was found alive after 72 hours—thanks to family-led drone searches.

Nationally, Darius’s story has stirred souls. GoFundMe campaigns for the family have raised $150,000, funding private trackers and K-9 rentals. Celebrities like Ryan Reynolds retweeted the plea—”Alberta strong, but this breaks me”—while Indigenous groups in Lethbridge host vigils, blending smudging ceremonies with search prep. “He’s one of ours—resilient, like the land,” says elder Maria Yellowbird. Yet doubt creeps: A CBC poll shows 62% of Canadians believe “foul play” unlikely, but 28% question family oversight—”Kids alone on trails?” forums buzz. The Macdougalls counter: “Hindsight is cruel. We trusted the moment.”

As November snow dusts the pass, Bernicky camps weekly, flashlight in hand. “He’s out there—cold, scared, but fighting,” she insists, eyes scanning the treeline. The RCMP, monitoring tips (a hotline logs 50 weekly), vows no closure without proof. Darius’s Law inches toward Parliament, a legacy in limbo. In Lethbridge’s quiet streets, yellow ribbons flutter—a beacon for a boy who loved yellow crayons. For Maegan, hope isn’t naive; it’s oxygen. “Presumed dead? Prove it,” she challenges the wind. In the Crowsnest’s vast embrace, Darius’s story endures—not as tragedy sealed, but a plea echoing: He’s out there. And so is the fight to bring him home.