Today I traveled back to **New Orleans, Louisiana**, where there are at least **13 missing people connected to vehicles** we’ve been trying to locate. A couple of months ago, Jeremy and I scanned a lot of canals and found several cars—no remains, but plenty of evidence that vehicles end up in these waters. This area has endless waterways and a long history of flooding, including Hurricane Katrina, and they’re still pulling cars from those years. The numbers are hard to ignore: if you clear enough water, eventually you’re going to find somebody.

This time I’m mostly solo. I’m moving fast, jumping from spot to spot, scanning “hot” areas and eliminating locations one by one. My plan is simple: clear boat ramps, clear ponds, clear canals I can access quickly, and mark everything off my map. The goal is the same as always—answers, peace, and closure for families who have been waiting too long.

To do that, I’m using my **custom-built remote-controlled sonar boat** and a **TripleTech tablet** so I can drive the boat and read the sonar without hauling a full-size vessel. It’s the kind of setup that lets me cover water efficiently, especially when I’m alone. In places like this—tight access points, quick stops, unpredictable terrain—it makes a huge difference. And in New Orleans, I’m also thinking about what’s out there besides cars: yes, there are gators.

The first location doesn’t look extremely deep at a glance, but boat ramps often drop off more than you expect. Right off the ramp, it’s shallow—around five feet—then it falls away hard. Twelve feet. Thirteen. Fifteen. That drop-off is where vehicles would settle if one went in.

I scan outward past the ramp, then work my way back into what I consider the prime area. There’s road access nearby, and I notice something that always raises the risk: **no guardrail**. If someone swerved even a little, they could go right in. But after multiple passes, I don’t see a clear vehicle shape here—just a couple boats farther out along the edge.

Across the street, though, there’s a small pond that isn’t a boat ramp. That’s exactly why it catches my attention: it may never have been checked, and it’s close enough to the road that an accident could happen fast. I see signs people come down to fish, and there’s trash scattered around—another reminder this spot gets traffic. And again, there’s no guardrail.

I run the sonar and watch the depth shift—six feet, then deeper. I start scanning farther out on my return path, and then it happens. A clean shape appears on the screen and my stomach drops a little.

“That looks like a car right there,” I say out loud, because I just went over a vehicle. It’s the kind of moment that’s both exciting and unsettling, because you realize how easy it is to miss these things. I almost kept going. The location is odd too—there isn’t obvious parking here—yet the shape is unmistakable.

On the sonar, the car sits right in the corner where the depth reads around ten feet, then eight, and then—boom—the outline. I switch to live scan to get a better image. It looks like a typical four-door profile, maybe even something like a Mercury Sable, and roughly 13 to 15 feet long. The windows appear down, which can suggest a stolen-and-dumped scenario—though broken windows can look the same, and there’s no current here.

As I keep scanning, I get another hit—this time it looks like a truck. That’s the lesson New Orleans keeps teaching: you have to do multiple passes. I thought I had covered the other side well, and yet here’s another vehicle. It sits farther out—maybe a hundred feet—again with windows that appear down, which is never a great sign.

Now the situation gets more serious, because of where we are. We’re only about a mile or two from **Evangeline Road**, where **Pearl Scarino** was reportedly last seen driving. Her case details are limited, but what I have says she went missing on **February 3rd, 2001**, from **Montz, Louisiana**, age **34**. The vehicle listed is a **green 1993 Crown Vic**, with plate **ICG 554**.

Because the car I found is green—and because it’s close to the last-known area—this one immediately feels different. The truck is unlikely to match, but the green car is the kind of coincidence that forces you to slow down. I decide to check the car first, because it’s the most suspicious connection. If this is the right vehicle, it could mean answers.

Since I’m alone today, I’m not diving. Instead, I deploy an **underwater drone (Chasing M2s, eight-thruster)** to inspect the car and try to identify make, model, and any tag information. Visibility isn’t great, but it’s shallow enough that with light I should get a couple feet of view. Every waterway is different, but it looks workable.

The drone finds the vehicle quickly. One wheel is visible, but the car is buried and covered in growth. As I circle the front, it’s hard to read details—everything is softened by muck and time.

I look for a tag and don’t see one. The vehicle does appear green, which is what throws me off, because green isn’t a common color to “randomly” match. The windows look rolled down, and the absence of a tag feels intentional—either removed, or lost long ago, or part of something that wasn’t an accident. I check the front grille, trying to match it mentally to an old Crown Vic, but it doesn’t line up.

Peering inside, I notice something that looks like clothing over the steering wheel—then I realize it’s likely the **airbag**, deployed. That detail matters: it suggests impact, but not necessarily the story behind it. Between the growth, the missing tag, and the windows down, I can’t confirm identity from this view alone.

At this point, I have to be honest with myself: I don’t like this one. It’s weird. The color is right, the location is close, but the shape and front-end details don’t feel like a match. The grille looks like it has multiple sections—one, then a long section with several rectangles, then another—plus a chrome swoosh around the light area that doesn’t fit what I expect.

I pull a hubcap from the dirt nearby—pretty buried—and it’s a **Chevy** hubcap. That might connect to one of the vehicles, or it might be unrelated debris from years of dumping. Either way, it doesn’t solve the green-car question. I decide to move on to the truck and knock that identification out quickly.

I bring the drone down on the truck and locate it after a longer search than I wanted. It’s rusty and looks like it’s been there a while. The passenger windows appear closed, but the rear window is down, and the driver’s window looks down too—more signs that often point to a stolen dump rather than a clean accident.

The front end looks damaged—possibly with the hood up—which gives it a strange silhouette underwater. I work my way to the tailgate and finally spot something useful: a tag is present. The numbers are hard to read cleanly, but it looks like **977 006** or **977 0066**, something in that range—mostly numbers, possibly starting with a letter. It’s enough to report and run.

As I continue circling, I find what’s left of a **Chevy Silverado** decal and a Chevy bowtie shape. That confirms the truck’s identity at least in general terms. It also reinforces the feeling that this truck is probably not tied to the specific missing-person case I’m focused on right now.

Next, I move to the **next boat ramp** down the way. It’s windy, and I’m not sure how my audio held up earlier, but I keep scanning anyway. This ramp is noticeably shallower—five feet straight out, with a drop to about eight feet farther down—unlikely for a larger vehicle to settle in a hidden way.

I don’t see anything here, so I decide to report the two vehicles I found. There’s a sheriff parked nearby, and I walk over to explain the situation: I do private search and recovery with a nonprofit, and I located an older green car with no tag and an older Chevy truck with a tag. I also clarify the key point: the missing woman’s vehicle is described as a green Crown Vic, and the color match is what made me check so closely.

The officers are professional and direct. They ask for my driver’s license, ask for the plate digits as best I can read them, and ask where the vehicles are located. We talk through the limitations—records, how far plate searches go, what elevates priority, and the reality that responding can mean overtime and specialized resources.

They tell me they’re not getting an immediate match from the plate run. They also note how common it is to find stolen vehicles ditched in the water, and one officer mentions past incidents where divers recovered a stolen car and discovered others in the process. In this region, that kind of discovery isn’t rare—it’s almost expected.

I explain again what bothers me: the green car’s color, the proximity to Evangeline Road, the windows down, the missing tag, and the fact that I saw what looked like an airbag deployed. But I also admit the front end doesn’t match what I expect from a Crown Vic. From their perspective, without a direct match or a pressing open case, it’s not something they can immediately mobilize heavily for.

Before I leave, I ask about the best contact if I find more vehicles today. They tell me if I’m in **St. Charles Parish** and locate anything else, to call them and they’ll come document the location and add it to the existing information. They also mention that if I search certain canals, I’ll likely find many more cars—because access points and dumping patterns make it predictable.

I return to scanning, finishing the other side of the park. The ranger was right—it’s shallow, around four to five feet, with only small deeper pockets. That reduces the likelihood of a hidden vehicle here, so I wrap up this section and decide to push farther down.

I head toward another access point I hadn’t known about earlier—farther down the same waterway, where there may be more spots to check. I’m not even sure I’ll make it into downtown New Orleans tonight, because there’s another canal section farther down the road with access. In work like this, plans change fast—because water access dictates everything.

Eventually I reach a boat ramp that’s far out of the way and feels private. If someone drove down here at night, they could do it without being seen, and I don’t notice cameras. The sonar shows a deep drop—about 25 feet—which is exactly the kind of profile where a vehicle could disappear and stay.

But the scan is noisy here—interference, wind, and the surrounding structures make it harder to read clearly. I switch frequency and keep working the area. I see a big hole and then shallower water farther out, but I don’t get a clean vehicle target.

I check a small side ramp area and spot junk—tires and debris. The depth is only around four feet for a moment, and there isn’t much water to scan. Nothing here suggests a submerged vehicle worth immediate follow-up.

That wraps **Part One** of this Louisiana search. Next, I’m headed into downtown to continue focusing on the areas where most of the other missing-vehicle cases are concentrated. If anyone has information about the vehicles I found, it may help the dive team as they decide what to do this week.

Thanks for watching and supporting the work. If you want to help further, there are links below to support what we do. Stay tuned for Part Two, where the search continues for any vehicles connected to missing people across Louisiana.