Body of missing father of five found in Georgia lake after kayaking trip
Dustin Valencia, 43, was reported missing Wednesday by his wife after he did not show up to pick up his children from school, the Forsyth County Sheriff's Office said.
A search ensued and authorities tracked his last location to Lake Lanier in Georgia, where they found Valencia's car parked nearby, along with his flip-flops and the bag used to store his inflatable kayak.
On Friday, the department announced that game wardens with the Georgia Department of Natural Resources, using sonar equipment, located a body in the lake. Divers from the Forsyth County Fire Department recovered the remains from about 51 feet of water near the center of a cove.
On Monday, the Forsyth County Sheriff's Office confirmed the body was that of Valencia.
In the days following his disappearance, Valencia's kayak and paddle were found floating near the outer edge of the cove. Friends say he was training for a triathlon and had likely gone kayaking for exercise.
Authorities said the 43-year-old kayaker was not wearing a life vest at the time of his drowning.
"My understanding is that he was not wearing a life vest," an official said, according to Fox News affiliate WAGA-TV. "Even strong swimmers can have a medical emergency or cramp. If that happens, and you're not wearing a life jacket, you're at serious risk."
An official cause of death has not been released. The case remains under investigation by the Forsyth County Sheriff's Office Major Crimes Unit. The sheriff's office referred Fox News Digital to the department's press release.
"Please continue to share [and] pray," a GoFundMe for the family said. "The Valencia family feels your love and strength, and they are deeply grateful for the community that surrounds them."
Lake Lanier, where Valencia disappeared, is home to a popular local legend. The ghost story of the Lady of the Lake involves a woman in a blue dress who is said to haunt the lake after dying in a car accident there in the 1950s.
The man-made lake has a maximum depth of about 160 feet and was created in the 1950s by the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers.
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Son of First Liberty exec resigns from GOP committee
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3 hours ago
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Korean adoptees in the US and Europe are finding their families. Reconnecting is much harder
Marianne Ok Nielsen never wanted children, or a family of her own. She used to tell friends she didn't feel worthy of that kind of life. For most of her 52 years, she believed she'd been abandoned by her parents as a baby; found on the street in 1973 by police in Daejeon, South Korea, a city about 90 miles south of the capital Seoul. 'I was discarded like garbage. Nobody wanted me… That's what I was,' said Nielsen, who grew up in Denmark, the home of her adoptive parents. 'When your mom doesn't even want you, who would want you? Can you then be loved by anyone?' Her Danish mother, who passed away last year, once told Nielsen that her birth mother had probably 'given her up out of love' because she couldn't afford to raise her. It was a story likely told to console a child, but one that provided cover to a lucrative business built on the 'mass exportation' of babies – some with fake names and birth dates – to foreign parents in at least 11 countries, South Korea's Truth and Reconciliation Commission reported this year, in the first official recognition of the scale of the injustice. The commission found more than 141,000 Korean children were sent abroad between the 1950s and 1990s, primarily to the United States and Europe. In a society that shunned unwed mothers, some women were pressured to give up their infants soon after giving birth. Others grieved stolen children. Han Tae-soon, 73, still recalls the sound of her 4-year-old daughter's laughter as she skipped off to play with friends outside their home in Cheongju, South Korea, a provincial city about 70 miles south of Seoul, in 1975. 'I was heading to the market and left Kyung-ha with a couple of her friends,' Han told CNN. 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The commission found that Korea's Special Adoption Act for Orphans in 1961 expedited international adoptions after the Korean War and later included the babies of unwed mothers, abandoned infants and children deemed to need 'protection.' All adoption-related processes were entrusted to private adoption agencies – which lost, falsified or fabricated the identities and family information of many children, the commission's report said. Large numbers of children endured long flights without proper care, according to the report, which included a black-and-white image of infants strapped into airline seats on a flight out of South Korea to Denmark in 1984. Yooree Kim, now 53, remembers being on a similar flight to France, and trying to comfort the crying babies strapped into seats next to her by stroking their faces and letting her hair brush against their skin. Then 11, Kim was much older than the babies around her. 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Kim said her mother told her she used to work at an orphanage and trusted the facility to take care of her children, but when she went back to retrieve them, they had gone. For Kim, finding her family wasn't enough. She wants full transparency from everyone involved in what she calls a traumatic and deeply flawed process. While the commission does not have mandating powers, it recommended that the government and private adoption agencies apologize for their role in violating children's rights. South Korean adoptions are now subject to stronger oversight. Under a law passed in 2023, private agencies must transfer all remaining records of international adoptions to the National Center for the Rights of the Child, a government agency, this month. And from October, South Korea will be bound by the Hague Intercountry Adoption Convention that sets international standards to protect children against abduction, trafficking or sale. But families torn apart by forced adoptions say that's not enough. 'I want an apology and compensation,' Kim told CNN. After several phone calls with Han, Bender flew to Seoul in 2019, where the pair reunited at the airport. Han had held on to the image of her daughter as the lively 4-year-old clinging to her skirt. But she was faced with a woman shaped by 44 years of separation. 'The first thing I asked her was, 'Why did you go to America?' I had never imagined she could be there,' Han said. Her hands, trained by three decades of hairdressing, sought proof of her daughter's identity that her eyes couldn't provide. Stroking her daughter's head, tracing her scalp and even feeling the shape of her ears, Han was certain. 'This time, it was really my child. The texture of her hair can't be stolen.' A pair of shoes further confirmed Bender was Kyung-ha. She'd kept the shoes she wore on the day she went missing. 'The rubber had deteriorated after 44 years. They had crumbled and flattened, but the shape was still there. She had kept the shoes all this time,' Han said. 'Can you imagine how much she must have wanted to find her parents?' Han, who carries herself with unabashed resolve, speaks with a feisty candor after years spent grappling with grief. She is angered by the lost time and the language barrier that now stands between her and her American daughter. 'If we hadn't been separated back then, I would be able to say everything I want to her now,' Han said. 'But now, even when I try to talk to her, there's so much misunderstanding. Even after reuniting, we feel like strangers because we can't truly communicate.' Han still resides in Anyang, tending to a life shaped by loss. Her spotless three-bedroom apartment, tucked in a quiet complex, is filled with photos of Bender's younger brother and sister. Bender's photos are there, too, but a gap exists between images of her as a baby and the adult she is today. Last October, Han was among the first known Korean birth parents to sue the government, the orphanage and Holt Children's Services – the country's largest adoption agency – for damages over wrongful adoption. Her case is due to return to court in September. For Han, the fight is not just a way to reckon with her loss – it's about accountability. She's seeking monetary damages but says no amount of compensation will make up for what was taken from her. 'I want to reveal the truth. Why? Because the government stole children and sold them,' she claims. 'They didn't choose to go – adoption was forced upon them by the government.' 'Still, if I win the lawsuit, it might bring me a little bit of comfort – a small sense of relief,' Han said. 'The government needs to acknowledge its wrongdoing and apologize properly.' Han says Bender supports her fight but doesn't understand Korean and doesn't know the culture or laws of her former home. 'She welcomes what I'm doing. She doesn't oppose it,' Han said. Nielsen also struggles to communicate with the mother she believed had abandoned her. Her 93-year-old mother has dementia and does not remember the baby she once lost. Over time, Nielsen has pieced together more about her background. In August 1973, her mother fell ill with an infectious disease and, fearing for her newborn's safety, temporarily entrusted her to social services. By December of the same year, the child was sent to Denmark, according to Nielsen. Just weeks later, her frantic mother filed a missing persons report with police. Nielsen's name and date of birth had been changed on the government-issued travel certificate. As in Bender's case, the travel document listed her address as the location of Holt Children's Services. CNN has also asked Holt Children's Services for further information about Nielsen's case. Nielsen is back in Daejeon, to be closer to her mother and to let her know that she holds no anger or blame over the past. But she's frustrated by the language barrier between them, leaving her unable to fully express how she feels. 'The theft of the language is so profound because the language is a door into the culture,' she said. 'The intimacy of being able to speak to my mom is completely gone. So that is what is a big, big loss for me… My human rights have been completely violated.' Nielsen is learning Korean, attending weekly classes with a study group, so she can find the few words of comfort for her ailing mother. Sometimes, no words are needed. Nielsen still remembers the first night she slept next to her birth mother. 'I didn't sleep much. I just watched (her) … I could look at her and feel, 'That's my mom.' There was no doubt about it,' she said.
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4 hours ago
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Arrests made in Gwinnett park shootings, 1 linked to gang activity
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