Welcome. The stories I'm about to tell
you are of real Bigfoot encounters and sightings.
They are true and happened to people like me and you.
They come from my collection of stories I call The Bigfoot
Project. In late October of 2003, I went
out bow hunting in the evening just outside of Castor,
Louisiana. A friend of mine owned some
wooded property along a narrow Creek that cut between soybean
fields and pine timber. I had haunted that stretch a few
times before. And I've always liked the
quietness of it. There was a low dirt levee that
curved around the edge of the bottom.
Land field and I was standing on the flat ground just in front of
it, staying low and still in the shadows.
The sun was starting to sink low and the woods had taken on that
late day hush. You could still see, but it was
getting dim. I was ready to head back for the
evening and had just taken a few slow steps when I heard
something walking behind me, coming up from the other side of
the dike. I paused my first thought that
it might be a deer. The Creek bottom is full of
them. The Walking wasn't fast, but it
was steady and heavy enough to hear through the leaves and.
Brush. I stared slightly.
And watched the Ridge of the dike where the sound was coming
from. The top was only about 5 feet
above the flat ground I stood on, and it was covered in thick
grass and low brush. I stood frozen, bowing my hand,
and waited. The sound got closer, then I saw
something dark begin to rise over the Crest of the levee.
First a head, then shoulders, then more.
What came over that dike wasn't a deer.
It wasn't like anything I'd ever seen in the woods before.
The creature rose fully to its feet as it came over the top.
Standing tall, it had thick blackish brown hair covering its
entire body. The hair wasn't really long, but
it looked thick and matted. It wasn't glossy or smooth.
The arms were longer than a person's and hung down past the
waist to the knees. The chest looked massive and
barrel shaped. The body was solid and heavily
built and the creature had no neck that I could see, just
thick muscle from the shoulders up to the head.
The top of the head had a slight rise to it, like a Dome or
Ridge. I could make out parts of the
face, but not clearly, just enough to know it wasn't a
person. The creature reached the bottom
of the dike and stopped. I could see it better now.
It was maybe 45 or 50 yards away.
It didn't look my way at first. It just stood there, looking
slowly around like it was listening or waiting for
something. It took a few steps, then
stopped again and turned its head slightly, like it had heard
me or felt something was nearby. That was the worst moment.
I remember the way its arms swayed when it walked.
The stride was smooth but heavy, each step pressing into the
ground like it weighed several 100 lbs.
I thought I was going to faint. My heart felt like it was
thudding inside my ears. I don't even remember breathing
for most of it. The creature didn't come down
toward me. After standing there for what
felt like a long time, it turned and walked down the tree line
toward the Creek as it moved. Away that awful smell faded with
it. When it was finally out of sight
and the sounds of the woods slowly came back, I stood up,
ran to the dirt road, and didn't stop until I was home.
Once I got inside, I locked the doors and turned on every light.
I couldn't sit still. I changed clothes, trying to get
the smell of fear off me, though I never actually touched it.
After a few minutes, I got in my truck and drove straight into
town. I've haunted a long time.
I've been around all sorts of animals, but this thing wasn't
an animal I knew. I had never seen anything like
it, not before or since. I believe it was a Sasquatch.
There's no other name I can give it.
It was easily over 7 feet tall, probably closer to 8 thick all
over. The skin on its hands look dark.
I never saw the eyes clearly, but I could tell it was aware,
like it wasn't just wandering. It knew where.
It was going and it had a purpose.
It didn't make any sound besides walking.
No growling, no barking, nothing but the sound of steps and that
foul odor that clung to the air. I didn't go back to that Creek
bottom for a long time. I couldn't.
I used to love being alone in the woods, but after that I
started thinking different. You grow up thinking you know
what's out there. Then something shows you that
you don't. In early spring of 2014, I was
Coon hunting in the dense woods near the Kisachi National Forest
in Louisiana. I had been hunting in these
woods for years and knew them like the back of my hand.
My hound, A seasoned and reliable dog, had never failed
me before. We had a routine.
He would pick up a scent, track it, and tree the Coon, allowing
me to catch up and observe. 1 evening, as the sun dipped below
the horizon, casting long shadows through the trees, my
hound picked up on ascent and took off into the woods.
His barks echoed through the forest, a familiar and
comforting sound. I followed his trail, keeping a
steady pace, listening to his barks to guide me.
Suddenly his barking stopped. The abrupt silence was
unsettling. I stood still, trying to listen
for any sound, anything that would indicate his location.
Minutes passed and the silence persisted.
Then I heard rustling in the underbrush.
My hound emerged, tail between his legs, eyes wide with fear.
He has never acted like this before.
He approached me cautiously, glancing back over his shoulder
as if something was following him.
I decided to call in a night and headed back to my truck, my
hound staying close to my side. The next evening, curiosity got
the better of me and I returned to the same spot.
As I drove down the dirt Rd. leading to the woods, I shined
my headlights along the tree line, scanning for any signs of
wildlife. About 75 yards ahead of me, I
saw a large, dark figure walking upright across the field toward
the Creek. It was massive, covered in dark
brown hair, maybe black. It paused for a moment, then
turned its head to look directly at me.
Even from that distance I could. Feel its gaze.
Then it continued into the woods, disappearing from sight.
My hound, sitting in the back seat, began to whine and
whimper, clearly distressed. This was unusual behaviour for
him. I knew then that we had seen
something extraordinary. Determined to understand what we
had encountered, I returned to the area the following night.
I parked my truck in the same spot and waited.
The temperature had dropped to 18° and the air was crisp.
As I sat in the darkness, I heard a series of wood knocks
coming from across the highway in the direction the creature
had gone. The knocks were deliberate and
rhythmic, unlike any natural forest sounds.
I scanned the area with my flashlight but saw nothing.
The woods remained silent. I decided to investigate further
and found a set of large wet footprints crossing the road
from north to South. The prints were spaced evenly,
one in front of the other, and were much larger than any human
footprint. I took pictures, but they were
difficult to make out. I'm an experienced hunter and
have spent countless hours in the woods.
I know the sounds and sights of the forest.
What I saw and heard those nights was unlike anything I
have ever experienced. I believe I encountered a
Bigfoot, a creature that many have spoke of but few have seen.
I plan to continue monitoring this area, setting up some game
cameras and spending more time observing.
I hope to gather more evidence of this elusive creature and
learn more about his behaviour and habitat.
I've been hunting and fishing since I was a kid.
It's something that always came naturally to me.
I've spent a lot of time alone in the woods.
I've never had a problem with it.
I'm used to the silence, the noises at night, the tracks, the
signs, but the last few years something has changed.
I work at a place in Jackson Parish where they allow us to
hunt and fish on the land. The West side of the property is
thick with timber and dips into low gullies and overgrown
hardwood bottoms. It's quiet there.
Not many people bother with it. That's where I usually go every
year around early fall. I get the same feeling, like
something's watching me. At first I brushed it off, could
have been anything. But after what I experienced
over the past few years, I don't think that anymore.
The first time something strange happened out there was about 3
years ago. I was slipping through a narrow
trail before sunrise, heading for a spot I'd scouted earlier
that summer. I got about 100 yards from the
spot when I heard a sharp crack. It was close.
Then something violently shook a tree just up the Ridge.
The tree rocked back and forth so hard I could hear the limbs
whipping and snapping. I couldn't see what was doing
it, but it was. Just out of sight, then whatever
it was ran off. Into the thick brush.
It didn't crash like a deer would.
It was fast and heavy and on 2 feet.
I stood there holding my breath and waited.
Nothing else moved. Last year I went back to that
same area because I thought maybe it was just a one time
thing. I sat in a makeshift blind as
the sun started going down. It was quiet, no wind, no birds.
About 1/2 hour before dark, I heard a sound that didn't match
anything I'd ever heard in the woods before.
It wasn't a scream and it wasn't a howl.
It was somewhere in between long, powerful, and so loud that
I felt it in my chest. It came from somewhere behind me
and slightly uphill. I stayed put for a little while,
unsure of whatever made that noise knew I was there or not.
I didn't want to move too quick, but I couldn't sit still either.
I finally gathered my things and left the way I came in.
I kept my head on a swivel the whole way back to my truck.
That sound stayed with me for the rest of the season.
A month ago, I decided to do some scouting before deer season
opened. I went back to that same stretch
of woods. The spot sits West of an old
pipeline trail that cuts through the property.
I had barely stepped off the trail when I heard a set of
whoops come from the woods to the north. 3 long whoops spaced
out like something was announcing itself.
I stopped and listened. After that, it went quiet.
Then, on October 9th, I had what might have been the clearest
sign that something's really out there.
I was about 200 yards in, following the faint game trail
that circles around a swampy area near the edge of the
property. The woods were still, and I
couldn't hear anything moving. Then, out of nowhere, the ground
shook. Beneath my boots I felt three
strong thuds, one after the other, like someone had picked
up a giant rock and slammed it into the ground, or like
something stomped with its full weight.
Each one sent a jolt up through the dirt.
The sound came from just out of view behind a thick wall of
youpin in Palmetto. I couldn't see what made the
sound. Nothing ran.
No leaves rustled, no sticks broke.
After that, whatever it was didn't move.
I stood there listening, not sure if I should move forward or
turn back. I said something out loud, just
to break the silence, but there was no reply.
I didn't hear anything leave. It didn't run.
It didn't charge. It didn't even shift its weight.
I stood still for another minute, heart pounding, then
backed out the way I came. It felt like a warning.
I don't know what else it could have been.
Whatever is in those woods near the Creek line on the West side
of that property, it comes back year after year, always in the
early fall. I never seen it but it's there.
I don't even bother going near that area after mid-september
now. I stick to the open parts of the
land where I can see farther. I used to feel at home in the
woods but now I feel like I'm always being watched.
I haven't told many people about this because most won't believe
it, but I've seen enough and heard enough to know that I'm
not imagining things. I believe there are Bigfoot out
there and it doesn't want company.
It was late on a cold November morning in 2007, a little before
2. AMI had just dropped my father
off at his home in Homer and was heading back N toward my place
near Haynesville. The road I was on was narrow and
dark. I was driving.
Slow, about 30 mph because I didn't want to hit a deer.
I've lived in this part of the state my whole life, and I've
gotten good at spotting wildlife, even from the corners
of my headlights. About 5 miles before reaching
the Claiborne Parish line, I saw a rabbit shoot across the road
right in front of me. I hit the brakes hard and rolled
to a near stop, letting the rabbit pass safely.
That's when I looked to the side of the road where the rabbit had
come from. That's when everything changed.
Out from the edge of the trees came something I can only
describe as a massive upright giant.
Something ape like, but taller and broader than any person I've
ever seen. It looked like it was between 7
and 8 feet tall and it was moving fast, charging straight
at my vehicle. The headlights didn't show me
much detail, I couldn't see the face or the eyes clearly, just
the shape of it and the speed it was moving.
It was on 2 legs the entire time, its long arm swinging as
it ran. Its build was wide and powerful,
and I could see the shoulders were extremely thick.
The hair on its body was dark, maybe black or dark brown.
The way it moved upright and fast was what really hit me.
It was running like a person, not dropping to all fours.
It wasn't a person in the woods though.
This was something else. It was coming at me fast enough
that I panicked. My foot slammed the gas and the
tire spun a little before I got traction.
I shot off the road without looking back.
My chest was pounding and my mind was trying to make sense of
what I've just seen. A bear doesn't run like that.
Not on 2 legs, not full speed, not straight at a truck.
With the kind of confidence this thing had, and even if it did,
why would a bear charge at a vehicle parked in the road,
doing nothing but waiting for a rabbit to pass?
There was no noise for me, no reason to provoke something.
This felt more like a territorial warning, like I'd
entered somewhere I wasn't supposed to be.
I kept driving until I made it home.
I didn't stop, didn't pull over, didn't even slow down.
I kept trying to remember anything more about the
creature. Its arms hung low as it ran
longer than a person's would be, and its back was straight with a
slight hunch at the shoulders. Its legs didn't have that bear
like shuffle. The more I thought about it, the
more I remembered stories I had heard as a kid.
I remembered something folks around northern Louisiana used
to whisper about the woolly booger.
I always figured those stories were just old hunting camp
jokes, but after that night I don't know anymore.
Some people call it Bigfoot. I've even heard the name Skunk
egg passed around by people living closer to the swamps.
I don't know what to call what I saw, but I know it wasn't a
person and it wasn't any animal from around here.
Since then I've been a lot more cautious when driving those back
roads at night. I also avoid pulling off near
wooded areas. Even if I think I saw an animal.
I still hunt. I still fish, but I don't go
into the woods alone as much as I used to.
That moment changed something in me.
It made me realise there are things out there that most
people won't ever see and even if they do, they won't talk
about it. I didn't report it to anyone
official because I didn't want to deal with being laughed at,
but I know what I saw. I believe it was a Bigfoot, a
real one, living somewhere out in the pine woods near Claiborne
Parish. It happened in the winter of
2004 near Hornbeck. I was 13 at the time and living
with my family on a stretch of land just off a narrow gravel
Rd. surrounded by pine forests. The snow doesn't usually stick
around for long in that part of the state, but that year a cold
front had moved through and left a few inches covering the
ground. Everything was quiet.
The woods had that frozen stillness and all you could hear
was the hum of the wind moving through the pine needles.
My younger brother and I were riding our four Wheeler through
the trails behind our house. We used the paths often,
especially during winter break. That day we were just out
exploring, driving slow in the snow and looking for animal
tracks. I had a couple of years of deer
hunting under my belt, even at that age, and I'd seen black
bear before while visiting relatives in Arkansas.
I knew the usual animals that moved through our woods, and
what we saw that day wasn't one of them.
We came around to bend in the trail where it straightened out
through a patch of younger pine trees.
At the end of the trail, maybe 100 feet away, I saw something
moving behind the trees. It was tall, it was dark, and it
was walking upright. My first thought that it was a
man, but it was way too big and it didn't walk like a man.
It had a steady stride, but the way the shoulders moved with
each step and how it shifted its weight was off.
The height alone made it hard to explain.
It had to be at least 7 feet tall and it was thick across the
shoulders. I couldn't make out its face or
any real details because it was moving behind the trees, but I
could see it clearly enough to know it wasn't anything I'd ever
seen before. The snow on the ground made it
easier to see the contrast of its dark colour against the
white. The creature wasn't running.
It wasn't trying to hide, it just moved across the end of the
trail with a calm but heavy pace, like it didn't care who
saw it. Both of us froze.
My brother saw it too. Neither of us said anything.
We didn't have to. I turned the four Wheeler around
fast and we took off the way we came.
I pushed the throttle hard and headed straight for the Creek at
the bottom of the hill. The trail cut across it and then
climbed a steep rise back up to the yard behind our house.
That crossing had always been tricky, especially in winter,
and that hill was steep enough that the wheel spun in the snow.
But the machine pulled through and we got back to the house.
I didn't even turn the four Wheeler off.
I jumped off and left it running in the yard.
My brother was right behind me, both of us out of breath and
trying to process what had just happened.
We didn't go back down that trail for a long time after
that. I wouldn't even walk back there.
I can still see it clearly in my mind, the shape, the movement,
the size. It wasn't a bear, it wasn't a
person. It walked upright like a man,
but was too big and too broad. Its arms hung low and moved with
wide swings. There was no mistake in the way
it stood on 2 legs that it wasn't an animal that I
recognized. I never forgot how quiet the
woods were before we saw it. Either the birds were gone, the
usual sounds of squirrels or wind pushing branches had
stopped. Everything was still.
Then it came through the trees. Later that week I went back with
my dad to look around the trail where we saw it.
The snow had started to melt and we didn't find any tracks, but I
didn't expect to. The creature had crossed the
trail and disappeared into thicker woods beyond a place we
didn't go into much. That part of the land drops down
into low pine bottoms and old Creek beds, Thick, hard to reach
spots. We didn't feel right going in
there. Over time, I told a few people
about what we saw. Most laughed it off or gave that
look like they were just being polite.
But they weren't there. They didn't feel the panic in
their chest when that thing stepped through the trees.
They didn't see how big it was and they didn't have to ride a
four Wheeler uphill through snow, hoping it didn't stall out
with that thing behind them. In August of 2006, a couple from
northern Louisiana drove down to Kisatchi National Forest for a
weekend of camping. They picked a remote spot off an
old service Rd. deep in the woods.
The woman, Carla, had grown up in the area.
Her partner, Tony, was from out of state but had camped before.
The spot they chose was at the edge of a clearing where a dry
Creek bed curved through tall pine and Hickory trees.
They parked the truck off the trail and hiked in about 200
yards with their gear. The first night was quiet.
They made a small fire, cooked a simple meal, and set up their
tent just a little ways from the tree line.
They stayed up watching the sky until it got dark enough that
they couldn't see the edges of the trees anymore.
There was no cell service, no traffic noise, no people.
Just crickets, owls, and frogs. When they went to bed, the night
was still and uneventful. The second night is when things
changed. It started with small noises in
the woods, what sounded like slow steps moving just past the
tree line. The steps came and went.
Sometimes it sounded like they circled the clearing.
Sometimes it sounded like breathing was just beyond the
reach of the firelight. Tony thought it might be a hog
or even a deer. Carla had heard coyotes before
and said it wasn't that either. The sounds weren't right.
They were heavy and slow, and whatever it was stayed just out
of sight. Around midnight, something large
crashed through the brush behind their tent.
They jumped up and grabbed the flashlight, but couldn't see
anything. Then came another crash.
Then a low moan, deep and stretched out like it was coming
from something big. They turned on the light and
crouched in the tent, listening. For a while.
There was nothing. Then the breathing started
again, louder now, slow and raspy, like it was sniffing the
air. Tony unzipped the tent slowly
and shined the light through a gap in the mesh.
Just past the edge of the clearing, he saw movement.
Something shifted behind a tree and then he saw it step out.
It was massive, easily 8 feet tall and brought across the
shoulders. It was covered in dark hair that
hung uneven in patches. Its arms were long, hanging
nearly to its knees, and its body moved with weight and
power. It didn't move like any animal
they knew. The creature stood still and
stared at the tent. Then it walked forward, never
taking its eyes off them. Tony dropped the light.
Carla was frozen in place. They could hear the footsteps
now, slow, pounding steps on dry ground.
When it reached the edge of their campfire ring, it stopped.
Then it let out a sound so loud and low that they could feel it
in their chest. It wasn't a roar, it wasn't a
scream, but something in between, a long, drawn out call
that shook through the trees. Then it bent down and picked up
something off the ground, a piece of firewood.
It threw it straight at the tent.
It didn't hit them, but it tore through one side and landed hard
in the dirt beside them. They didn't yell, they didn't
speak. Carla whispered for Tony to grab
the keys, but the truck was back near the trail, out of sight
through the trees. The creature paced around the
camp, grunting and huffing. It kicked over their cooler,
ripped at the side of the tent again, and knocked over a
folding chair. They could hear it breathing
hard, like it was worked up or angry.
It stopped right in front of the tent.
For a long moment they heard it sniff the air again.
Then silence. No movement, no breathing, just
cold perfect silence. Then it let out 2 short sounds,
deep vocal bursts like a warning.
Then three loud stomps. The dirt under them shook.
Carlo was shaking and holding on to Tony.
He kept gripping the keys on his hand, trying to figure out how
to get to the truck. After what felt like forever,
they heard it moving again. This time it was walking away
from the tent. They waited until the sounds
were further off in the trees, then Tony grabbed the flashlight
and made a run for the truck with Carla behind.
Branches slapped them in the face and they could barely see
the trail. Once they reached the truck,
Tony started it and floored it down the road.
They didn't speak until they were miles away.
They drove through the night until they reached a gas
station. They sat there for a long time,
still shaking. They didn't go back for their
Tantra gear, they didn't tell the Park Rangers, and they only
told a few people about what happened.
There was no doubt about what they saw.
That was a creature that didn't want them there.
That was a Sasquatch. The next morning, a friend went
back with Tony to help recover some of the gear.
The fire ring had been scattered, the tent was torn
down and trampled, and large footprints were stamped deep
into the soft ground between the fire pit and the tree line.
They didn't measure them, but each was nearly twice the size
of Tony's boot. They didn't stay long.
They grabbed what they could and left.
Tony and Carla never camped in that forest again.
It happened 1 humid summer evening in July of 2006 outside
of Colfax. The land east of the property
was low and marshy, with an old fence line separating a cluster
of trees from the pasture and barnyard.
A deep drainage ditch cut through the area and there were
standing pools of water from recent rains.
The whole area stayed soft and muddy most of the year and frogs
were everywhere once the sun went down to Girls who lived on
the property had gone out that night to gig frogs, which they
did often during the warmer months.
They had grown up on the land and were used to the dark, the
noises and the muddy places. They had their gigging poles and
headlamps and were working their way through the wet spots east
of the corral. Not far behind them, one of the
barn cats had followed and was watching from a tree stump.
The cat liked to come along when the girls went out at night,
especially around the barn or when they moved slow through the
low fields. The girl had seen some frogs and
were about to head into deeper part of the marsh when one of
them suddenly stopped. There was a loud splash in the
water, heavier than anything they were used to.
It didn't sound like a frog jumping or a raccoon moving
through the shallows. It sounded like something big
stepping into the water with weight behind it.
They both looked up. That's when one of the girls saw
it. Just across the fence, standing
in the clearing beyond the barbed wire, was something
looking right at them. It was standing still, but it
had clearly been the one to make the noise.
It had stepped into the water before stopping to face them.
There was nothing between them but the old rusted fence and
about 15 feet of open space. The creature stood at least 8
feet tall. Its build was massive and its
head was set low, sitting forward on its shoulders.
As it turned sideways to move off, they saw how the head
didn't sit upright like a man's, it was almost like it was
resting right on the chest. It was broad, at least twice as
wide as a grown man. The girls didn't speak, they
just stood there frozen. The cat on the stump had seen it
too and was arched up with its back raised and fur standing.
It was hissing and screeching in full panic.
Just after that, a couple of the neighbors dogs who had come over
from the West side of the pasture started barking, but the
moment they saw it, they tucked their tails and ran back the way
they came. The creature didn't run.
It didn't look surprised. It just watched the girls for a
second more than took a few long steps toward the eastern trees.
It moved fast for something so big, and it disappeared behind a
line of old Cypress trees that stood between the marsh and a
gravel Rd. The girls stood there still, not
sure what to do next. Then it growled low and deep,
and it sounded strange. At first it didn't even sound
like a growl, more like a rough, wet kind of bark.
Then it growled again, louder, but the sound wasn't coming from
where it disappeared this time, it was coming from the opposite
direction, northwest of where they were.
Then came a loud sound that mimicked a dog bark, only it
wasn't right. It was too deep, too broken up,
and had an odd rhythm to it. It sounded like something trying
to copy a dog, but not quite knowing how.
They both turned that direction, trying to see what was making
the sound. It was dark enough now that
their headlamps only lit up short patches of trees and
brush. Then there was a new sound.
It came from the same direction, but it wasn't a dog bark this
time. It was a long moaning call, like
a drawn out cow ball. But again, it was off.
There was no cattle in that part of the property, nothing over
there at all except pine trees and a few washed out gullies.
They realized the sounds were coming from one area to another.
Something was mimicking the dogs and then the cows, almost like
it was trying to cause a distraction.
The girls didn't run, but they were scared.
They had heard of things like this happening in other parts of
the state, but nothing had ever happened like this around their
own farm. The creature they had seen
earlier had moved off silently, but now it felt like more than
one was out there. Then, faint and far off, they
heard two knocks. One knock came from the north
and one from the east. The area had gone completely
still except for those two faint responses.
At that point, their mother came out from the house.
She had heard all of the barking and the cat screeching and
thought something was going on. She had also heard the moaning
sound and thought one of the girls was yelling.
She came running with a flashlight and the girls told
her what they had seen. She looked out into the trees
and said that something had felt off all night.
They all went back inside. That night no one slept well.
The next day they went back and tried to look for tracks, but
with all the rain the day before, the ground was soft and
full of horse tracks, boot prints and standing water.
They couldn't make out anything clear.
The creature either stepped carefully or its tracks were
washed out. The area stayed quiet for a few
days. Then about a week later, there
were new sounds in the night, this time from the other side of
the pasture in the trees near the pond.
Whoops, strange thuds and more of the bad mimic sounds.
The mother even heard what sounded like someone knocking on
the metal part of the well house around 2:00 in the morning, but
when she went out with a flashlight, nothing was there.
The girls didn't go back into that marsh for the rest of the
season. They knew what they saw and the
way the creature watched them. It was more like it was waiting
to see what they were going to do.
One of the girls said it was not an animal she had ever seen
before. The way it moved, the way it
stood, and the way it turned and walked into the woods didn't
match anything she could name. She said she had seen
documentaries and drawings of Sasquatch before and after that
night. She knew that's what they had
seen. She believed there was more than
one of them. The noises in different
directions, the answers to the knocks and the strange barking
imitation sounded like some kind of communication between two or
more creatures. She didn't want to go back to
that area at night ever again. They still live on the same
property, and once in a while someone hears something, but
they don't talk about it much with people outside the family
around there, things like this are just part of the land.
The woods are deep, the marshes are quiet, and some places you
just learn not to go into after dark.
It was the first weekend of October 2015.
My husband and I were spending the evening at his cousin's
property in Repeats Parish, Louisiana, not far from the
banks of the Cotea Lake. We had an old barn set up for
movie nights with a small screen and projector hanging from the
loft. We like to go out there
sometimes, especially in the fall when the nights were cool
and quiet. That evening we had brought
along a couple of folding chairs, snacks, and a laptop
hooked up to the projector. It was during the second movie,
not long before it ended, that we started hearing noises
outside. The barn door was wide open to
let in the night air, and just beyond it you could see the
grass and part of the slope leading down to the lake.
The sound started off like splashing, like something moving
in the shallow part of the water.
I figured it was fish or maybe a raccoon hunting at the edge of
the lake. I wasn't concerned at first.
The sound kept coming and going, loud and steady, like something
heavy was walking in the shallows.
After another minute of listening, it got harder to
ignore. It didn't sound like any animal
I was used to. It wasn't short splashes or
fluttering like birds. It was deep and spaced out, like
big steps being taken in the water.
I said nothing and kept watching the movie, thinking maybe it was
a deer or even a hog. The movie ended not long after
and my husband went up into the loft to unplug the projector and
pack things up. I stood near the barn entrance,
looking out toward the lake. It was quiet now except for a
few crickets and some frogs. There was no wind.
But as I stood there, I suddenly got a strange feeling that
something was watching me. My neck got cold, and I felt the
hairs on my arms stand up. I couldn't see anything, but I
couldn't shake the feeling. I called up to my husband to
hurry. When he came down, I handed him
a flashlight and told him to shine it toward the water.
He walked down slowly toward the edge of the lake, and just as he
stepped forward, the splashing noises started up again, this
time further down the bank, maybe 30 yards to his right.
When he pointed the light that way, the sound stopped again.
He stood still, waiting. Then we heard more movement,
this time on the other side of the lake's edge, farther to the
left. The sound seemed to be circling,
shifting direction every time we moved or pointed the light.
It wasn't fast, like a deer running.
It was slow, steady and heavy. We didn't see anything in the
beam of the flashlight, but we could hear it clearly.
He walked back to the barn and said something didn't feel
right. We both agreed to leave.
The next morning I came back to feed the horses and check things
out. I was still thinking about the
noises, and I wanted to see if anything had come through the
lake edge. I walked down toward the water
and looked closely at the damp, muddy shoreline.
It had rained earlier in the week and the ground was still
soft. There were some prints here and
there, mostly hoof marks, and a few boot tracks from us the
night before. Then I saw footprints in the mud
that stopped me in my tracks. It was deep, set into the earth,
clear and wide. It was shaped like a person's
foot, but too big. The toes were clear and the heel
made a deep groove. It was positioned in a way that
looked like something heavy had stepped right down into the mud
with a lot of weight. Around it were partial imprints,
what looked like a heel here, maybe the ball of a foot there,
but this one was perfect. The stride between it and the
other marks was long, far longer than any normal walking step.
I stood there looking at it. I didn't touch it or try to make
casts. The ground was too soft in some
places and I didn't want to ruin it, but I kept staring, thinking
about the night before and how it had moved in the dark.
It had waited until the lights were out.
It had shifted position each time we moved.
It was smart enough to stay just out of sight, but close enough
to be heard. And now it left something
behind. I didn't think it was a prank.
The lake area was quiet, private, and no one else was out
there. It was well past midnight when
it happened. The barn is well off the main
road and tucked back behind trees.
The area behind the barn was full of woods, some thick brush,
and the lake itself stretched out into more marsh and forest
along the western bank. After seeing the footprint, I
remembered the way it sounded. The steps were strong and slow.
They weren't clumsy or erratic. It felt like it was watching and
waiting. The movement wasn't random
either. It had circled, moved, and tried
to stay in the dark. It was large, careful, and
curious. My husband said the way the
sounds moved reminded him of something trying not to be seen
but making sure it was heard. Since then, we haven't had
another movie night out there. We still keep the horses at the
barn and come by regularly, but I don't go outside at night
alone anymore. We still don't know exactly what
it was, but I'm certain it was a Sasquatch.
And after finding that print, I have no doubt that what we heard
that night near the water was a Sasquatch.
In the summer of 2023, around 3:00 in the morning, I was
leaving my girlfriend's house in Sicily Island.
She lived alone in a small house near the wooded edge of a large
property not far from Matensis River.
I'm a police officer, so I'm used to staying alert,
especially late at night. I was off duty that evening and
had driven my personal car. The property was remote,
bordered by dense woods and low Bluffs, with only one other
house within a mile. One side of the land had fruit
trees and an old fence line that ran down toward a dry Creek bed.
I had taken this route many times and knew the road well,
but that night something felt different.
As I headed South on the gravel Rd. approaching a sharp S curve,
I noticed something large and dark in the middle of the road.
I immediately slowed down the car.
At first it was low to the ground, like it had been
crouching or crawling. I saw a strange yellow glow in
its eyes. I thought it might be a bear,
which would be unusual in this part of the state.
The animal moved quickly to the side of the road, staying in all
fours. As I got closer, it suddenly
stood upright. The creature was massive.
It turned broadside and froze under the headlights.
I could see its full outline as I approached slowly, still
rolling forward. Its entire body was covered in
long, thick hair that looked black with patches of grey.
The hair on its arms and legs hung in thick strands, at least
8 to 10 inches long. Its shoulders were extremely
wide and muscular. I could see the shape of its
chest clearly where the hair was thinner, revealing pale skin and
defined muscle. The arms were longer than any
humans, reaching well past its knees.
From where I sat in the driver's seat, it towered over my car.
I'd estimate it was at least 8 feet tall and probably over
£500. It didn't move or react
aggressively, it just stood there watching as I rolled by.
I couldn't see its face clearly because of the thick hair, but I
could see the bulk of its shoulders and arms plainly.
It was standing no more than 15 feet from me.
As I passed it. I fumble with the clutch trying
to downshift and almost stalled the car.
I kept going, heart racing, trying to understand what I had
just seen. I'm trained to observe and
assess situations quickly, and this was something I'd never
encountered in my career or personal life.
I knew it wasn't a man. I knew it wasn't any normal
animal. I've patrolled remote areas in
all kinds of conditions and I've seen plenty of wildlife, but
nothing like this. Whatever that was, it was real
and it wasn't something science has given a name to.
I know I saw a male Bigfoot. That stretch of Rd. still gives
me chills when I drive it now. I haven't seen it again, but
every time I go there I find myself looking into that tree
line wondering if it's still out there watching.
In the summer of 2023, I was driving alone through a part of
northern Louisiana, heading east on A2 lane highway between the
small towns of Arcadia and Gibsland.
There were few cars out but not a lot of traffic, and the sun
was just starting to dip toward the horizon.
The woods on both sides of the road were thick and dense,
stretching back away from the highway with deep pine and
hardwood growth. I had made this drive plenty of
times before without seeing anything unusual.
About halfway between the towns, something caught my attention on
the left side of the road. It was just a flash of movement
at the tree line, but it looked strange enough that I turned my
head. I saw something dark, large and
fast moving against the bark of a tall pine.
It wasn't running along the ground, it was either climbing
up or climbing down the tree. I couldn't get a good look,
maybe two or three seconds, but it was enough to confuse me.
I slowed down and pulled off the road as soon as I could.
Once I turned around, I drove back to the area where I'd seen
the movement. At first there was nothing
there, no sound, no animal. But then I spotted something
just off the tree line, about 20 yards in.
It was standing there watching me.
It looked like a young Bigfoot, maybe 5 feet tall, but stocky.
The hair was a dark reddish brown and patchy in places.
It had a big head and long arms that hung close to its knees.
We looked at each other for a few moments.
It didn't seem afraid, just curious.
Then I started to hear something else coming from deeper in the
woods off to the left. Low growls, not loud at first,
but deep and angry. They grew more intense and I
could feel them in my chest. The young 1 turned and bolted,
running back into the trees. That's when I saw the larger
one. It stepped out just enough that
I caught sight of it through the underbrush.
It was enormous, much taller and wider than the younger 1, and it
wasn't calm. It looked agitated, like it was
guarding the young one and warning me off.
I was frozen for a second, staring at this thing that stood
there, half hidden, but it was clear what it was.
Its body was massive, covered in thick hair.
It didn't need to move much to show it was serious.
I didn't wait around. I went back to the car, put it
in gear and got out of there as fast as I could, my heart
pounding the whole way. When I got back to my house, I
started looking into sightings online.
I didn't want to believe it at first, but the more I read and
watched, the more I became sure of what I saw.
I came across reports that described exactly what I had
seen that day. Creatures with sloped heads,
long arms and huge bodies. The sound, the behaviour, the
way they moved, it all matched. Now I am positive that it was a
young Bigfoot and an adult one that I saw.
The area has plenty of creeks and dense woods nearby with
little development in that stretch.
It's the kind of place that's something that size could live
or pass through without being noticed.
I haven't forgotten it and I never will, and I never thought
I'd ever see something like that.
In the summer of 2017 I was fishing alone in northern
Louisiana, not far from a quiet Rd. that ran along the water.
It was mid-july, the weather was hot and the river was running
low and slow. I started out near a small
bridge where the highway crosses the river, but the fish weren't
biting much so I decided to walk a ways downstream to try another
spot. This area was peaceful and thick
with old oak trees along both sides of the river.
As I made my way around a wide stand of trees, I noticed
something ahead of me on the opposite bank, just coming up
from the water. As I got a clearer look at it, I
knew it wasn't a man. The thing walking out of the
water was huge, easily taller than me and I'm 6 foot three.
It looked to be at least 7 or 8 feet tall, maybe more.
It was built heavy, wide at the shoulders and had long reddish
brown hair hanging off its body. The hair wasn't neat, it looked
a little tangled or curly in places.
It had that wet look to it like it had been in the river.
I was standing about 100 yards away, maybe a little more, but I
could see it well enough to know that it was a Bigfoot.
It didn't appear to be in any hurry and move steadily, walking
upright toward the woods without making much noise.
It didn't look my way, or if it did I couldn't tell.
It just continued walking like it didn't have a care in the
world. I stood there and watched it for
at least 5 minutes until it disappeared into the trees.
The whole time I kept thinking maybe I should try to follow it,
but I was alone and that thing was huge.
Real huge. I wasn't about to walk into the
woods after something without someone else with me.
I came back the next day in the afternoon hoping to maybe find
some kind of track or sign of where it went.
The ground near the river was soft in spots, but I didn't find
anything I could point to and say for sure that it came from
what I had seen. There were lots of animal
tracks, but nothing stood out clearly.
Still, I know what I had seen, even if there wasn't a print to
prove it. I had heard stories for years
about sightings in this part of the state and over in nearby
parts of northeast Texas. A few friends of mine have
talked about strange things in the woods, especially near
creeks or rivers. I never gave it much thought
until that day. After that, I started reading
about sightings in other parts of the South, and the
descriptions were almost always the same.
Large, upright creatures covered in reddish or dark hair moving
quietly through the wooded areas near water.
Since that day, I've kept my eyes open every time I go near
that stretch of water. I'd never seen anything like it
again, but I'll never forget the moment I did.
I had decided to spend a weekend alone camping deep in the
Kisachi National Forest in 2017. I picked a spot off a remote
trail where I wouldn't be disturbed.
I had my dog with me, a lab mix named Duke, and we had camped
together plenty of times before. The first night was quiet.
The air was cool, the sky was clear, and the fire burned
strong. I cooked some food, let Duke
explore the area, and settled in.
Nothing unusual happened. But the next night everything
changed. I had just finished eating and
was sitting by the fire when Duke crawled into the tent and
wouldn't come out. That wasn't like him.
He usually stayed close to me, even slept by the fire, keeping
me company. But that night he was scared.
I tried calling him, but he stayed curled up in the corner
of the tent, ears pinned back, eyes wide.
That was the first sign. About 10 minutes later, I heard
movement in the woods behind me. Not small movement like a
raccoon or deer. This was heavy.
It came from One Direction, then another, then from the opposite
side. Something was moving through the
trees in a circle around my camp.
The fire was still going, crackling and popping, but it
wasn't enough to light more than a few yards into the woods.
I stood up, flashlight in hand, and called out.
I thought someone was messing with me.
That's when the first one stepped into view.
On the edge of the firelight, I saw a shape, massive and still.
It was covered in dark, coarse hair, and its arms were long
enough that the hands nearly touched its knees.
It had broad shoulders, a thick chest and legs like tree trunks.
Its face was visible, and it wasn't human.
The eyes reflected the firelight in a way that didn't seem right.
They were too far apart and too deep set.
It didn't blink, it just stared at me.
I heard heavy breathing from behind me, and when I turned,
another one was standing across the camp.
This one was taller and even bulkier.
Its jaw jutted forward and its mouth was slightly open, showing
yellow teeth. The skin on its face was
leathery, almost grey in the firelight, and its nose was
flat. It growled low and deep.
Then the third appeared, moving fast through the trees and
stopping just short of the fire. This one was more agitated.
It paced quickly, huffing and puffing, swaying side to side
like it was working itself up. Its hair was a lighter brown and
more matted, sticking out in clumps.
It slapped a tree with an open hand.
The sound echoed like a shotgun blast.
They had me surrounded. I was frozen, heart pounding,
every part of me telling me not to move.
Duke whimpered from inside the tent, but didn't come out.
I had no weapon, only my flashlight and a fire that
suddenly seemed way too small. The one closest to me stepped a
little closer. I could hear its breathing
clearly now, deep, steady and angry.
Its eyes didn't leave mine. I took one step back and it
growled again, louder this time. The third one let out a sharp
bark, like a mix between a shout in a howl, and all three of them
shifted. They started circling again, for
what felt like an hour, but was probably just a few minutes.
They kept moving around me, watching.
I didn't sit down, I didn't run, I didn't speak.
Then, as suddenly as they came, they disappeared.
One by one, they slipped back into the woods.
No rush, no sound, just gone. I sat by the fire until sunrise.
Duke curled up in the tent, shaking at first light.
I packed up and left. I have never been back to that
part of the forest since. I don't know what I did to
attract them, or if they were just passing through, but I know
they were real. They were.
Massive, intelligent, and they did not want me there.
I've been hunting since I was a kid, my dad raised me in the
Bush and I've tracked moose, elk and bear across half of Alberta.
I've always felt safe in the wild, but something happened in
September of 2007 outside of Swan Hills that still makes my
skin crawl every time I think about it.
I went alone that year. I had some time off from work
and plan to spend 5 days at my old hunting spot about 20
kilometres northeast of the little gas station at Goose
Mountain. If you know the area around Swan
Hills, you know it's thick forest and deep valleys that
hardly see people. It's quiet up there.
Or it used to be. I hiked in about 8 kilometres
with my old canvas pack, my 30 out six, and enough food to last
a week. I set up camp on a flat Ridge
above a Creek. I camped there before and I had
no worries at all. The first two days were good
hunting. I saw a cow, moose and a nice
bull but didn't get a clean shot.
I cut a trail through the willows down to the Creek, set
up a ground blind and was sure I'd bag something before heading
home. The second night I was sitting
by my fire around 9. I had Stew warming and I was
sipping coffee. The sun was down and the wind
was dead still. That's when I heard something
big break a branch down the slope.
Now, I've heard elk bark and moose crash through the Bush
plenty of times, but this was different.
This thing didn't run or stumble, it just snapped a thick
branch like it was nothing and then stood there.
I grabbed my rifle and walked to the edge of camp, shining my
headlamp down the hill. I didn't see anything, but I
heard deep breathing, slow and steady.
I called out, hoping it was just a bear and the noise would scare
it off, but it didn't. After a minute it turned and
walked away, just moving through the Bush like a man would.
I could hear each step, heavy crunching through the deadfall
and dry Moss. I stayed up late that night,
rifle across my lap, fire piled high.
I didn't sleep more than an hour before dawn broke that day.
I haunted the Creek bottom but couldn't shake the feeling
something was following me. Every time I stopped, the Bush
went dead quiet. Then I would hear twigs snap
behind me once I turned fast and caught a whiff of the worst
stink I've ever smelled, like rotten meat and wet dog.
Then nothing. That evening I decided enough
was enough. I packed my meat bag, rifle, and
a bit of food and moved my camp closer to the Creek.
Thinking maybe I was just spooking myself up on that
Ridge. I made a small fire, ate some
jerky and beans, and crawled into my tent just after dark.
I must have dozed off because next thing I knew I was wide
awake listening, and it was around midnight.
Something big was circling my camp.
I could hear it breathing heavy, grunting low, and once I heard
it slap its chest or something like that, it moved like a man,
slow pacing. Then it slammed its hand or
something against the Poplar tree so hard.
I could hear the bark crack. I grabbed my rifle.
And unzipped my tent. The fire was just cold, but the
moon was bright enough to see shadows moving between the
trees. That smell hit me again, thick
and choking. Suddenly I heard fast stomps,
and before I could even shoulder my gun, something hit the side
of my tent. It felt like a truck ramming
into me. I fell back.
The whole tent nearly collapsed, and I heard a deep roar.
Not like any animal I knew. I scrambled out bare feet on the
Moss and fired a shot straight up.
The roar turned into loud whoops and a bark, then the thing
crashed off into the trees. I stood there shaking, listening
to it break branches and knock over dead logs as it moved
uphill. Then silence.
I didn't even pack my gear. I shoved my rifle sling over my
shoulder, grabbed my boots and stumbled barefoot through the
Bush to the Creek, half naked, soaking.
My feet in the icy water just to get away from camp.
I hiked all night. Under the moon, never looking
back. Every noise in the trees made my
heart pound so hard I thought I'd pass out.
I made it to my truck around dawn.
I sat in that truck shaking, trying to calm down before
driving. I could still smell that awful
stink on my clothes and hair. I never went back for my tent or
the rest of my gear. It's probably still there,
shredded and rotting back home. I didn't tell anyone for weeks.
When I finally told my dad, he said it was a big old bear
trying to run me off. But I know bears.
They don't stand on 2 feet or slam tents.
They don't pace circles, grunt like a man, or break trees for
fun. I've haunted plenty since, but
never alone and never again outside Swan Hills.
Whatever is up there, it isn't scared of a man with the rifle
and I don't want to meet it in the dark ever again.
I grew up near Grand Prairie but never camped much on my own
until I was in my 20s. In October 2014, my buddy Darren
and I wanted to get in one last fishing weekend before the lakes
froze. We picked 2 Lakes Provincial
Park. It's quiet in the fall.
No tourists, just locals who knew where to go.
We drove my old truck up the Forestry Rd. on a Friday
afternoon, bouncing over potholes for what felt like
forever. By sunset we were the only ones
there, not another car, camper or tent.
We set up our little Dome tent in a clearing just above the
small lake. The plan was to fish, cook up
whatever we caught, drink beer, and maybe shoot a few grouse.
That first night we got a small campfire going and sat on an old
log laughing about work and life, just enjoying the silence
you get deep in the Bush. Around 10 we started hearing
splashes in the lake. Not.
Little fish jumping big deep splashes like someone tossing
boulders. We joked it was a Beaver
slapping its tail, but it sounded way too big.
Darren wanted to check it out, so we took our flashlights and
walked to the shore. The splashes stopped as soon as
we got close. We shined our lights across the
water. Nothing.
Dead calm again. It was weird, but we shrugged it
off and went back to the fire. We barely sat down when we heard
tree knocks behind us, clear as day.
Three loud cracks, then silence. Darren said it was probably a
branch breaking. In the wind, I didn't argue, but
something felt wrong. The forest was too still an hour
later. We crawled into the tent, zipped
up in our sleeping bags but still half joking about our
ghost Beaver. But deep down I was uneasy.
I don't know what time it was maybe. 2:00 in the morning.
But I woke up to heavy footsteps outside.
Not just one or two. They were circling the tent,
Slow, heavy. Steps crunching the frost on the
pine needles, I held my breath and listened.
Darren was awake too, whispering curses under his breath.
Then it brushed against the tent.
The whole side of the nylon wall flexed in and out like something
big leaned on it. Darren yelled, and it slapped
aside hard, knocking our backpacks over inside.
I grabbed my hunting knife. Not that a knife would have done
much. We heard deep, raspy breathing,
then a low grunt that turned into a rumble.
Suddenly the whole tent shifted. It pushed the top with its hand
or arm. I swear I could see the outline.
I yelled, and Darren kicked the wall.
It backed off for a second, then we heard it moving fast toward
the lake. We lay there.
Shaking, too scared to move. A few minutes later, a tree
snapped. Not a branch, but a full crack,
like a trunk splitting. Then a roar.
I've never heard anything like it.
It was like Thunder, but alive. We bolted out of the tent.
Daring grabbed the axe by the fire pit.
I took the flashlight. We scanned the edge of the
clearing and caught a glimpse of it.
Huge and dark, half hidden behind a spruce tree.
It stepped out. It had to be at least 8 feet
tall. Wide shoulders, arms dangling
almost to its knees, long hair hanging in clumps.
Its eyes caught the flashlight beam and glowed red for 1/2 a
second. It showed his teeth.
Huge yellow teeth. Then it roared again and stomped
forward. We both stumbled backward.
It swiped out a young tree and toward the top.
Clean off We ran. We didn't think about the gear
or the fishing rods or the beer still by the fire.
We just ran for the truck. The thing crashed through the
Bush behind us but didn't come into the open.
It just smashed branches and barked as it paralleled us.
We reached the truck, fumble with the keys and jumped inside.
Darren locked the door like that would help.
I turned the key, praying it would start.
It fired up on the first try. I slammed it into reverse and we
tore out of there so fast everything flipped over in the
back seat. We didn't stop driving until we
hit the gravel road near Grovedale.
We sat there with the engine running, hands shaking, trying
to figure out what we had seen. The next morning, against our
better judgement, we drove back in daylight to get our stuff.
The tent was shredded down one side.
Our cooler was smashed open, lid cracked in half.
Weirdest of all, we found big footprints.
Long, Wide. With clear toe shapes leading
back toward the thicker trees by the lake.
No sign of bear claws or drag marks.
Just deep human like prints. Some of them were spaced so far
apart no man could stride that distance.
We cleaned up in silence, didn't bother fishing.
We never told anyone except my brother who laughed at us and
said we were drunk. But I know what I saw, and
Darren knows it too. In June 2017, I went to the
Porcupine Hills. I like camping alone when I need
to clear my head. That summer I packed my small
tent, my old 3030 rifle, some food, and my dog Max, a big
German Shepherd mix. I drove up a logging Rd.
I knew from hunting trips. It was rough and narrow, but
pretty, and I found a clearing where people used to cut wood
years ago. The first day was normal.
I hiked down to the Creek, saw deer tracks, and even saw a cow
moose. Max barked at squirrels but
stayed close to camp. At sunset, I cooked beans over
the fire and watched the sun dip behind the hills.
Everything was quiet except for the wind through the trees.
After dark, I crawled into my tent with Max curled up by the
door. I woke up a few hours later to
Max growling deep in his throat. He's a brave dog, but his growl
sounded scared. I heard something heavy moving
in the trees just beyond the fire pit.
I left, burning low. The footsteps were slow, but
they crunched the dry branches. I stayed still and held my
rifle. Max barked but didn't charge
out. Then I heard a sound that made
my heart drop. A long, low growl, too deep for
anything I knew. It rumbled and echoed suddenly.
Max. Lunged at the tent door.
I grabbed his collar so he wouldn't get out and get killed.
I peeked through a crack in the flap and saw a huge dark shape
just at the tree line. It stepped closer, the fire
light showing it from waist up. Its shoulders were as wide as my
truck cab. The head looked deep in the
shoulders, no neck at all. Its hair looked dark grey and
tangled. It sniffed the air loud enough I
heard it over Max barking, then it roared so loud it rattled my
chest. It charged halfway to the tent,
then stopped, huffing like a bull.
Max nearly tore off his collar. I pointed my rifle, but I knew
one bullet would not stop that thing.
It stomped toward the tent again, picking up a dead log and
snapping it in half like a toothpick.
It threw a chunk of it at my tent.
The log hit the side hard enough to dent the pole, but didn't
breakthrough. Max barked so hard he started
choking. I thought I was going to have to
shoot just to scare it. Then it made a loud whoop sound
and stomped away into the Bush. I listened as branches snapped
for a long time before the sound faded.
For the rest of the night, I just sat there terrified.
Max paced and growled at every sound.
When dawn came, I stepped outside, shaking all over.
The log was on the ground near the fire pit.
It was too big for a man to throw far.
I found huge footprints in the soft dirt.
They were longer than my boot, about 17 inches and wide.
I packed up camp in minutes. I put out the fire, stuffed my
gear into the truck and got Max inside.
A week later I drove back with my cousin just to see if the
prints were still there. We found two smashed spruce
saplings near my old fire pit. No tracks left because it
rained. I've camped in the Porcupine
Hills all my life. I know bear, moose, wolves and
Cougars. This was not any of them.
That was a Sasquatch and it did not want us there.
I still camp, but I never go alone now and I keep my rifle
ready. I never let Max out of my sight.
If I hear knocks or roars, I leave the Bush immediately.
Some people laugh when I tell them, but I know what's out
there. It's real, it's huge, and it
doesn't want us around. I will never forget that roar or
the way it broke that log, and I hope to never see it or hear it
again. In October 2020, I went elk
hunting with my uncle near Kadaman, Alberta.
Cadaman is a little place by the Rockies not far from Jasper
Park. My uncle has haunted there for
20 years. I had just bought my own hunting
tag, so he took me up there for my first elk.
We stayed in his old camper in a gravel pit on Crown land.
It was cold and windy but sunny during the day.
We saw a lot of elk sign but never got a shot.
By the third evening we were both tired but hopeful for
morning. That night I couldn't sleep
well. I lay on the top bunk listening
to my uncle snoring below me. Around 2:00 in the morning, I
heard rocks clock together somewhere outside.
It sounded too clean for branches or wind.
Then I heard it again. Two rocks knocked together.
I told myself it must be coyotes messing around or maybe a bear.
But I kept listening and heard deep breathing.
It sounded like someone standing near the camper window.
I could hear slow inhales and rough exhales.
I felt my skin crawl. I sat up and looked out the
small window by my bunk. The moon was bright enough to
see the clearing. I almost fell backwards because
standing near our meat pole was something huge and dark.
I thought it was a big man at first, but then it bent down and
sniffed the ground. Its back and shoulders looked
wider than the old shed by the fire pit.
It was covered in dark fur with some grey on its back.
I grabbed my uncle's old 270 from the gun rack.
I shook his shoulder to wake him, but he just mumbled.
The breathing outside got louder.
Then I heard a huff. A deep angry huff.
It grabbed the meat pole and shook it so hard the rope
snapped. It didn't have any meat hanging
yet, but the pole slammed to the ground.
That noise woke my uncle. He asked what I was doing with
the gun, but before he could finish talking, we both heard
something hit the camper. The whole camper rocked side to
side. My uncle grabbed his boots and
coat. I stayed kneeling on the bunk,
pointing the rifle at the door. We heard heavy steps circling
the camper, then something slammed the back window.
I thought it would breakthrough the glass, but it just cracked.
We heard a growl that shook my chest.
Then silence. For a minute there was nothing.
Then we heard rocks again, but this time crashing through the
Bush as it moved off. We sat there until first light.
My uncle opened the door at dawn.
We found big tracks in the gravel.
They were longer than his boot and wide like snowshoes.
We also found where it ripped a branch off a spruce tree and
jammed it into the meat pole like a warning.
My uncle said he had heard stories from old trappers, but
he never believed them until that night.
We packed up before breakfast. We left the broken pole and
drove straight into Hinton for coffee.
I wish I'd never looked out that bunk window.
I still see that huge dark shape by the meat pole when I try to
sleep. I know in my bones it was a
Sasquatch. In July 2015, I worked on a
seismic crew near Peace River AB.
I was only 21 then, doing line cutting with two other young
guys. We were working long shifts in
heavy Bush, clearing survey lines for the drill rigs.
It was good money, but hard work.
One day we got sent to a block about 40 kilometers north of
town. The foreman told us the cut
lines were grown in and we had to brush them out again.
It was hot and the mosquitoes were bad.
The first two hours were normal. We chainsawed brush and dragged
logs. At about 9:00 we smelled rotten
meat. At first I thought it was a dead
moose because bears kill moose all the time, but the stink got
stronger until my eyes watered. Then we heard snapping trees.
I called to the other two to shut their saws.
We stood listening. The brush was dead quiet except
for cracking wood and a low grumble that made my hair stand
up. My buddy said maybe it was a
bear bluffing. I've seen bears run off or
circle but never stand and break trees for no reason.
We heard a deep breath, then a tree about 8 inches thick fell
over and hit the ground with a boom.
I was shaking. I turned and saw branches
swaying. Then out came something huge and
black on 2 legs. It stood on the line looking at
us. Its chest was wide as a barrel
and its arms hung past its knees.
It had patches of lighter hair on its shoulders.
I could see its teeth when it pulled its lips back.
It stepped closer and slammed its hand on a tree.
The tree cracked loud and bent sideways.
My buddy swore and dropped his saw.
The creature let out a deep roar that made my guts feel cold.
I dropped my saw too. The third guy scream and bolted
down the cut line. I turned to run but slipped on a
wet log. I heard that thing crashed
through the willows and felt it so close behind me I thought it
was going to grab my neck. I got up and ran like I never
ran before. We didn't stop until we hit a
gravel Rd. maybe half a kilometre out.
We found the third guy kneeling by a culvert crying at the
truck. We called the foreman and lied.
We said we saw a big grizzly and refused to work that block.
He laughed and said OK, but to this day we know it was not a
bear. A month later a new crew had to
finish that same block. They told us they found big
footprints in the mud and lots of ripped up trees.
They finished fast and never talked about it again.
I stayed in seismic 2 more years but I never went back north of
Peace River. I still dream about that big
black Sasquatch showing its teeth like it hated us.
I wish I'd never seen it, but sometimes I feel lucky too.
Now when I hear tree knocks or loud crashes in the Bush, I
leave right away. Some things do not want you
there. We were too young to know that
then, but I know now. In September 2017, I was working
for an outfitter north of Hinton, AB, guiding hunters for
elk and mule deer. The area we used was remote
foothills country full of old cut blocks, thick spruce stands
and deep Creek valleys where animals like to hide during the
day. I've been guiding for five years
by then and felt at home out there, even when I spent nights
alone in a spike camp far from Rhodes.
That year I had a hunter from Texas who wanted a big elk, so
we set up a wall tent camp about 20 kilometres from the nearest
gravel Rd. We use quads to haul in our
gear, then hiked from camp each day.
On the third evening, the wind died down after sunset and the
forest turned so still that every step we made through the
underbrush seemed to echo. We had cow called for half an
hour near a swampy Meadow and we're just about to give up when
I heard sticks breaking up the slope behind us.
Thinking it might be a bull elk coming in silent, I motioned for
the hunter to kneel down beside a spruce tree.
While I kept scanning the edge of the trees for any movement.
I could feel a prickly feeling on my neck even before I saw
anything, like the forest itself was holding its breath.
Then, between two thick spruce trunks, I caught sight of
something dark and upright, swaying a bit from side to side,
like it was trying to get a better look at us without
stepping into the open. At first I thought maybe it was
a big black bear standing up on its hind legs, but this shape
was taller than any bear I'd ever seen in this area, and the
way it moved didn't look right. It made no sound other than an
occasional snap of a branch under foot, but each time it
shifted its weight I could see a huge shoulder and an arm hanging
low, swinging slightly like a person's would.
I felt my heart beating so hard I was afraid the hunter would
hear it. He whispered something to me,
but I didn't answer. I just kept staring at the dark
shape until it stepped fully into a patch of fading light
about 50 yards away. What I saw made my chest feel
tight and my throat dry. It was not a bear.
It stood tall, well over 7 feet, with wide shoulders and thick
legs planted apart like it was ready to move fast if it needed
to. Its head looked slightly
conical, and the hair covering its body was dark but not pitch
black, more like a deep brown with lighter streaks on the
sides where the sun caught it. It didn't snarl or growl, but it
did something worse. It let on a deep grunt, almost
like a muffled roar, held inside its chest, and then it slowly
bent forward, placing its long arms on its knees as if studying
us. I could see the outline of its
eyes beneath a heavy brow, dark pits locked right on us.
The hunter beside me was frozen stiff.
I could hear him breathing in short gasp through his nose,
afraid to move or make any sound.
For what felt like forever but must have been only 20 seconds,
the thing just crouched like that, looking at us without any
fear. Then it stood up full height
again and stepped sideways behind a screen of spruce.
We could hear it moving off through the timber, each
footfall heavy enough to crack sticks like gunshots.
We stayed there on our knees until the sound faded away
downhill toward the Creek. When I finally got the courage
to stand up, my knees were so weak they almost gave out.
The hunter kept asking me what that was, but I told him to keep
quiet until we were back at camp.
That night in the wall tent, neither of us slept much.
Around 3:00 in the morning, I heard what sounded like
something brushing against the canvas outside.
At first I stepped out with my rifle ready and checked around
the camp. I didn't see anything out of
place except for a set of faint impressions in the Moss by the
Creek. Each print was bigger than my
boot by at least half again, and I wear a size 12.
The stride between the prints was nearly 6 feet from heel to
heel. I didn't show the hunter, but I
knew what had left them. We cut our hunt short and packed
up camp by noon. The hunter didn't argue on the
right out. He stared straight ahead, not
saying much. Back at the lodge, he tried to
tell other guys what we had seen, but nobody took him
seriously. They laughed and said he must
have seen a big moose in the trees.
I didn't argue with them, I just kept my mouth shut.
Since that night I still guide if I have to hunt there.
I stick to daylight hours and keep my rifle close.
I know now there's something big and smart living in those hills
that watches from the shadows and if it wants you gone you
will feel it in your bones. I've heard stories from old
trappers about Harry men in these woods, but I never paid
much mind until I looked one in the eye.
Now when the forest goes dead quiet and I smell something like
wet fur and sour Musk, I back away slow and never look back.
I've lived near Caroline, Alberta for most of my life.
My wife and I bought a small place about 5 kilometres West of
town back in 2011. It's not much, just a double
wide on a piece of land that backs onto crown land thick with
spruce and Poplar trees. We like the quiet and the space,
and at first the only trouble we ever had was the occasional bear
getting into the garbage or a moose trampling the garden
fence. That changed in the fall of
2018. I can remember it clear as day
because it started the week before Thanksgiving.
We have an old male malamute named Rocco, Big dog, over £100.
He's the kind of dog who never flinches at coyotes or even a
bear nosing around. He would growl and bark until
whatever it was. Gave up and left.
It started one night when my wife and I were watching TV in
the living room. Rocco was lying by the front
door, which has a half window, around 10 at night.
He sat up and looked toward the kitchen, ears up, nose
twitching. I thought maybe a raccoon was on
the deck, so I stood up and turned on the porch light, but
saw nothing through the glass. Rocco wouldn't stop growling low
in his chest, so I stepped out and shone my flashlight around
the yard. But there was nothing there
except a few deer tracks in the gravel.
I shrugged it off, and we went to bed later without another
thought. But around 3:00 in the morning,
both my wife and I woke up to a dull bang on the far side of the
house, right where the spare bedroom is.
It wasn't loud, like a door slamming, but it was heavy
enough to make the dresser inside rattle a bit.
Rocco started barking from the hallway, but when I got up to
check, he wouldn't go down that end of the trailer.
He just stood behind me, whining and pushing his nose against my
leg like he wanted me to go back to bed.
I didn't see anything that night, but the next day I walked
all around the trailer. There in the soft dirt near the
spare room window, were too dense in the soil, like
footprints but bigger than my boots and spaced wide apart.
I couldn't see toes because the dirt was loose, but the shape
was long and round at the front. I told myself maybe a bear had
stood up against the siding, but I knew in my gut that wasn't
right. The next night it got worse.
Just after midnight, we heard what sounded like heavy steps on
the porch. Rocco slunk behind the couch,
tail between his legs, whining like a puppy.
I grabbed my hunting rifle from the rack by the back door,
flipped on the porch light, and yanked open the door.
Nothing. No wind, no animal.
I could see just the woods beyond the yard, all black and
still. But I swear I caught a sour
smell drifting on the cold air, like wet dog and rotting leaves.
Every night for that whole week, it came back.
Sometimes it would wrap on the walls just under the windows.
Other times we heard a tapping or sliding something along the
siding. Twice we found fresh scrapes in
the paint in the morning, high up where no raccoon or any other
animal could reach. The scariest was Thursday night.
We were lying in bed, both awake because we expected it by now.
Around 2:00 in the morning, we heard a slow dragging sound by
the bedroom window, like something big brushing its side
or hand along the wall. Then we heard the boards on the
porch creak again, but this time the steps were heavier.
And then there was a pause and a loud whack against the wall near
the front door. It rattled the pitcher frame off
its nail. Rocco was under the kitchen
table by then, too afraid to even bark.
My wife whispered to me not to go outside, but I couldn't just
lie there anymore. I pulled on my boots and coat,
put a round into the rifle, and stepped out onto the porch.
The yard light barely reached the tree line, but I could feel
something standing there, just out of view.
It was so quiet except for my own breathing and Rocco whining
behind the door. I yelled out for whatever it was
to leave before I fired, though my hands were shaking bad enough
that I doubt I could have aimed straight.
Something moved behind the old woodshed, big enough to block
out the stars. For a moment I didn't see eyes
or fur, but I heard the Bush rustle and what sounded like
deep chest breathing. I didn't fire because I didn't
know where it was exactly and I didn't want to hit my own shed
or the propane tank. After that, we left every light
on all night. We called the RCMP to ask if
anyone had seen prowlers or a bear, but they just said to call
back if we saw something clear enough for them to check.
I didn't tell them I thought it was a Sasquatch.
They would have laughed me off the phone.
The next day I talked to an old neighbor down the road.
He said he had heard stories for years about big footprints up
along the river West of town, but nobody talked about it much
because they didn't want people thinking they were drunk or
crazy. We did our.
Best to ignore it, but Friday night was the worst.
Around 1:00 in the morning, my wife shook me awake because she
heard breathing right by the window next to her side of the
bed. I held my breath and listened,
and sure enough, I could hear a faint, steady huffing sound,
like a big animal sniffing around just outside.
Then came a single slow thump against the wall, as if it
pressed its hand flat and pushed gently.
Rocco was cowering under the blankets at our feet, trembling
so hard the bed shook. I felt cold sweat running down
my back, and for 10 minutes we lay there, frozen, until the
breathing stopped and we heard heavy steps crunching away
across the gravel, back toward the woods.
In the morning, I found fresh marks on the siding.
Long smears like muddy fingers had been dragged across.
There were more of those wide dents in the soft ground, too,
leading around the side of the trailer and off toward the Bush
behind our barn. I spent the next day stringing
motion lights and hammering up some plywood over the lower
windows. We even let Rocco sleep on the
bed that night, hoping he would bark if it came back.
But it never did. Just as suddenly as it started,
it was gone the next week. No more banging, no more
footsteps, no more breathing at the windows.
Rocco slowly went back to sleeping by the front door
instead of hiding under tables. But my wife still keeps heavy
curtains pulled tight at every window, even on hot summer days.
We never told the town folks exactly what we thought it was.
Some people would say cougar or bear or just kids messing
around. But I've tracked bears.
I've shot coyotes. I know what moose look like in
the yard. Nothing moves like that.
Nothing stands that tall, and nothing makes a dog like Rocco
shiver or crawl under the table. I grew up in northern Alberta
near a tiny spot called Little River, halfway between Valley
View and Fox Creek. It's mostly oil field traffic on
the highway, farmers on the side roads, and endless Bush as far
as you can see. I always loved that about home,
how you could be alone in the spruce and Poplar and not see
another soul for days if you wanted.
But now I don't camp back there alone anymore, not since the
summer of 2014. I was 24 at the time, single,
working at a service rig out of Fox Creek, saving up to buy a
quad and maybe a truck camper. My crew was on break for two
weeks in August, so I packed up my old tent, a cooler and my dog
Buck, and headed to a spot I liked by the Little Smoky River.
It was about 15 kilometres off the gravel, no signs, no cell
service, just an old oil lease Rd. that turned into a pair of
ruts. I liked it that way.
I set up camp at a bend in the river where the banks are low
and there's a nice gravel bar for fishing.
Grayling Buck ran up and down the bank, barking at nothing and
chasing dragonflies. The first two days were perfect.
I fished, read my book, cooked fish over the fire.
At night I would hear coyotes in the distance and Buck would lift
his head and listen, but never bark.
On the third night, just after sundown, I was cleaning a fish
by the water while Buck sniffed around behind the tent.
I heard him whine, which was strange because he's never been
a coward. I looked up and saw him crouched
under the truck, staring into the trees behind the camp.
I stood up, wiping my hands, and followed his line of sight.
At first I thought a grizzly was near, but then I smelled it.
It was a wet, rotten smell, like meat spoiling in the sun.
The air was still and thick, and suddenly all the forest sounds
went quiet. Buck started growling low under
the truck. I called him, but he wouldn't
come out. I felt the hair on my arms stand
up. I grabbed my flashlight and
shone it toward the trees. Sweeping slow.
I saw nothing but shadows and spruce trees.
I tried to laugh it off, saying to myself that it had to be a
bear wandering close, but that smell stayed on the wind all
night. Buck refused to leave the truck,
so I ended up sleeping in the front seat with him.
The next morning was bright and normal again, birds singing, sun
shining. I told myself I was being silly
and maybe there was a carcass rotting nearby that I hadn't
found. Buck seemed fine now, so we
spent the day fishing and hiking up river a bit.
That night I moved the truck closer to the tent, just in
case. Around midnight, I woke up to
Buck whining and scratching at the tent door.
At first, half asleep, I thought he needed out to go pee.
Then I heard footsteps circling the tent, crunching in the
gravel, slow and heavy. It wasn't a deer and it wasn't a
bear. I know the sound of four legs,
and this was 2 legs. Buck pressed himself against my
sleeping bag, shaking so bad I can feel it through my back.
I lay there, holding my breath, listening to those steps stop
just outside the nylon wall. Then came a low grunt, deep and
rough, so close I felt it in my chest.
I didn't dare move. I didn't know how long we stayed
frozen like that. The footsteps started again,
slow circles, then a sudden loud sniff, like something was
sucking the scent off me, right through the thin fabric.
Buck let out a tiny whine and the steps stopped.
Then it walked away, crashed through the brush behind the
tent. I could hear branches snapping
and a weird rumble that sounded like speech, but too low and too
garbled to make sense of. I didn't sleep at all at first
light. I packed up the whole camp in
record time. I found huge tracks in the mud
by the river, wide as my boot and twice as long.
I didn't measure them, didn't take a photo.
I just got out of there. Two nights later, back home at
the parents acreage outside Valley View, I was lying on my
old bed trying to convince myself it was over.
Around 3:00 in the morning, Buck started barking like mad at my
bedroom window. I jumped up, flicked on the yard
light, and there, behind the wire fence near the tree line,
stood a shape so big it made the spruce look skinny.
I couldn't see its face, but the yard light caught a glimpse of
its shoulder and the slope of a head.
Buck barked himself hoarse, but the thing didn't flinch.
It stood there maybe 10 seconds, then turned and melted back into
the trees. The next day, I found the fence
bent down where it must have crossed.
For a week, Buck wouldn't go outside alone.
I wouldn't either. At night.
Sometimes I'd hear a tapping sound at the back corner of the
house, just past my window, like fingers drumming on the siding.
I never saw it again at home, but I know it watched.
I still live there, still hunt, still fish.
But I don't camp alone. Buck died two years ago and now
when I head out to the Bush, I take friends and I keep watch
when the fire burns down. I know there's something out
there and I can't help but wonder if it was the same one
that came to the river camp and then followed me back home.
It makes my skin crawl to think it might have tracked my scent
all those miles across creeks and farmland just to stand
outside my window. I still can't decide if I'm
lucky or cursed to have crossed paths with it twice.
All I know is not many people around here can say they've had
a Sasquatch come that close not once, but twice and live to tell
it. I still feel my skin crawl when
I think back to what happened to me and my brother Mark at Ram
River Campground. It was August 2015.
We'd taken a weekend off work to go camping and hiking.
I'd been to that spot a few times before, usually just for a
night or two, because it's quiet and set in the forest where it
feels deep and wild. We got there on a Friday
afternoon and picked a site near the edge of the loop, away from
the other campers. There were maybe four other
sights taken, but you couldn't hear much but the wind through
the spruce and the odd Raven. We set up our tent, got a fire
going, and sat up late cooking sausages and telling stories.
That first night felt fine. It got really chilly after
sunset, but the fire kept us warm.
We turned in around midnight, tired from the drive and the
short hike we did on the Ridge Trail before supper.
I slept like a log till maybe 3:00 in the morning.
I woke up first because I thought I heard footsteps, heavy
ones, on the gravel drive just behind our tent.
I lay still at first, listening hard.
This was steady and heavy, like a grown man pacing back and
forth. Then it stopped, right behind
the tent, and I heard what sounded like breathing.
Deep, steady breaths that almost seemed to rattle like chest
congestion. I poked Mark awake and mouthed
for him to listen. He froze too.
Neither of us dared unzip the tent.
It walked around the back again, real close, then leaned on the
side of the tent. I could smell something rank and
damp, like wet fur and earth mixed with old rot.
After what felt like forever, it moved off into the trees behind
the site. We heard branches snap for a
minute, then silence. Mark and I didn't sleep after
that. We just laid there waiting for
any sound until the sun came up. The next morning we checked
behind the tent. There was a clear line where the
Moss was mashed down and a few spruce saplings bent at odd
angles. I could see something big had
circled the tent more than once, flattening the grass.
Mark said maybe a black bear, but I knew by the way it pressed
the tent and the breathing that it was standing on 2 legs.
We stayed another day because we didn't want to seem scared.
We did a short hike to a lookout point, but both of us felt on
edge the whole time. By dusk we were back at the
fire, talking quietly, jumping at every sound in the Bush.
That second night was worse. Just before 3, we heard it come
back. Same heavy steps on the gravel.
It pushed against the side of the tent, this time hard, and
thumped the back wall like it was testing it.
Then it moved around to the front and we could hear it
breathing again. Maybe two or three feet from our
heads. Mark whispered that he could see
a shadow move past the moonlight coming through the tent fabric.
Suddenly it slapped the tent wall twice, hard enough that it
shook the whole tent. Our small propane Lantern fell
over inside. Mark grabbed the hatchet we
always kept beside a sleeping bag, but neither of us had the
nerve to open the flap. We heard it grunt low, then
stomp off into the Bush, crashing through the trees like
a bulldozer. Neither of us spoke until dawn.
We quickly packed up and I found deep scuff marks in the gravel.
Some tree branches were snapped and my chest height and higher.
Mark said maybe someone was playing a prank, but I don't
know anyone that big or anyone that smells that bad.
Since then I've gone back for day hikes but never stayed the
night at Ram River again. I love the area, the air is
clean, the views are beautiful, but I always feel like something
is standing just inside the tree line.
It was September of 2017 when I had the one experience that
changed how I see the woods forever.
I grew up in Alberta near Red Deer and spent most of my free
time camping and hiking anywhere I could get to.
On a weekend that fall, I wanted to explore some areas West of
Rocky Mountain House. I've never hiked before.
A friend told me about a rough trail past Prairie Creek.
He said there was a small clearing up high where you could
pitch a tent and have a view for miles.
I packed my gear on a Friday, loaded my old Ford and drove out
alone. I planned to spend 2 nights hike
in camp and come out Sunday afternoon.
I didn't take my dog because he was recovering from a cut paw.
I almost wish I had him with me. By late afternoon I found the
trailhead. It wasn't marked, but I had a
paper map and some GPS on my phone.
I hiked in with my pack for about an hour and a half,
climbing gently through spruce and some Poplar stands.
It was cool but calm. I remember thinking how quiet it
was. Just before dusk I found the
clearing my buddy described. It was perfect.
Flat ground, some boulders for a windbreak, and a view over the
tops of dark trees rolling on forever.
I set up my one man tent, built a small fire and cooked a can of
Stew in my old tin pot. I felt good.
There was a bright Half Moon rising and the air smelled
clean. Around 10 I crawled into my
sleeping bag and lay there listening to the fire pop
outside. It burned down to coals while I
drifted in and out. Then, sometime around midnight,
I woke up to a noise that made my skin prickle.
I heard heavy crunching steps in the brush behind my tent.
Not little steps, I mean solid, weighty footfalls.
Step, step, pause. I lay frozen, staring at the
roof of my tent. My mind raced.
Moose, maybe, but they walked different.
It sounded too heavy, and it sounded 2 legged.
The steps moved closer, slow but steady, till they were right at
the back of my tent. I held my breath and I swear I
could hear something breathing through the fabric, a low
dragging sound, in and out, like big lungs working slowly.
Then I heard a grunt, deep and almost raspy.
I didn't move, I didn't even blink.
It circled the tent, crunching over sticks and old pine cones,
moving to the front where my boots at.
It stopped again. I heard it sniffing wet sucking
sniffs that made my stomach turn.
Suddenly it thumped the tent. I almost whimpered, but I bit my
lip. The thing stood there a few more
seconds, then I heard slow steps moving back into the trees.
I lay in my bag until dawn, wide awake, every noise outside
making me flinch. When the sun rose, I crawled out
and saw tracks where the pine needles were mashed flat and
moved. They were big human shaped
prints, way too big for my boots, which are a size 11.
I counted 4 in a line before the marks vanished into hard ground.
I told myself it might not come back and I was safe in daylight.
I stayed close to camp that day, gathering wood and eating jerky.
I didn't dare leave my clearing. The woods felt too heavy, like
the shadows we're watching. Every time I heard a branch
crack, I spun around fast. Just before dark, I built the
biggest fire I could manage. I dragged deadfall and broke up
logs until I had a blaze that lit up the whole clearing.
I thought fire would keep anything shy away.
Around midnight, the woodpile was burning low.
I sat by the flames, poking at the coals when I heard a loud
crack down the hill behind me, like a thick branch snapping
into two. I stood up fast, heart banging
so loud I swear I heard it in my ears.
Then came another crack, closer, then a deep grunt that sounded
almost like a cough. I grabbed my hatchet and my
flashlight. I flicked the beam toward the
trees, but all I saw was black tree trunks and drifting mist.
Then something moved, a shape too big to be a man, too upright
to be anything else I knew. It stepped half between a spruce
and I caught a glimpse of matted fur and a broad shoulder.
It grunted again, louder, and took two steps closer to the
edge of the clearing. I backed up until my calves hit
my tent. The fire popped and I swear
whatever it was flinched back into the trees but didn't leave.
I couldn't see eyes, but I felt it stare like heat crawling over
my skin. Then it did something that made
me lose control of myself. It roared a horse chest deep
roar, not loud like a lion, but raw, that vibrated my chest.
I made sure I had my hatchet, grabbed my pack and bolted
straight down the trail, flashlight bouncing off every
tree. I didn't stop running until I
saw the glint of my truck in the moonlight at the trailhead.
I didn't look in my rearview mirror once.
Since then, I've been back to the Rockies plenty of times, but
never that same spot again. I don't care what people say
about imagination or misidentifying a moose.
I know what I heard and I know what I saw just standing inside
the trees. There's no doubt that it was a
Sasquatch. Back in the summer of 2018, I
took my 2 teenage sons camping near Brazeau Reservoir,
southwest of Drayton Valley. It was early July, warm days and
cool nights, and the forest there always gave me a sense of
peace. I grew up around these woods,
fishing the creeks and picking berries with my grandma, so I
always felt at home. I figured it was the perfect
place to show my boys how to rough it a bit away from phones
and TV. We got there on a Friday
afternoon. The small campground was quiet,
only one other camper down near the boat launch.
We picked a spot at the far end, tucked close to where the trees
grew thick before the marsh started.
We set up the tent, got a fire going and cooked hot dogs while
the sun dipped low behind the tree line.
The first night we sat by the fire for hours.
My youngest, Ethan, got sleepy and went into the tent, but my
oldest, Ben, stayed out poking the coals and talking about
fishing plans for the next morning.
Around 11, the frogs in the marsh got loud, croaking like a
choir. Then all of a sudden they
stopped dead. It got so quiet my ears buzzed.
I glanced at Ben, but he didn't seem to notice.
I listened hard and thought I heard a slow rustle back in the
trees behind our camp. It sounded heavy, like a big
animal moving slow through thick brush.
My first thought was maybe it was a moose, but moose make more
noise pushing through undergrowth and they don't sneak
around. The rustling stopped for a bit.
I threw a couple more logs on the fire, telling myself it was
nothing. We turned in not long after that
and I lay in my sleeping bag trying to push the sound out of
my head. Sometime after midnight, I woke
up to a weird noise. It was a faint tapping sound,
like sticks being knocked together.
Tap, tap, then silence, then tap, tap, tap.
It came from back in the trees near the marsh.
My pulse jumped. I knew raccoons sometimes messed
around at campsites, but this didn't sound like a small
critter. It sounded like wood on wood.
I strained my ears, lying dead still while the boys slept
beside me. The tapping came closer.
Then I heard a low grunt, maybe 20 or 30 feet from the tent.
Then something brushed against the back wall.
My stomach nodded so tight I couldn't breathe right.
For maybe a minute. It was quiet.
Then came a long, dragging sniff.
Like huge lungs smelling. I swear I felt that sniff move
the canvas a bit. I thought about unzipping the
door and shining my flashlight, but I was too scared to see what
was out there. Finally the sniffing moved away.
I listened hard until I couldn't keep my eyes open and I drifted
off before dawn the next morning.
The boys didn't know a thing about it.
They were busy roasting bread over the fire and talking about
fish again. I checked around the back of the
tent and saw big scuffed patches in the leaf litter, like someone
had been standing there. I shrugged it off, half hoping
it was a dream. We spent that day by the water
trying to catch walleye. By sundown, the boys were wiped
out. They crawled in their sleeping
bags and were out cold before the fire even died down.
I sat by the embers with my camp mug, staring into the woods.
Not long after I heard the frog stop again.
Then came a single sharp crack, like a branch being snapped.
It echoed through the trees. My breath caught at my throat.
I strained to listen, and just past the edge of the firelight I
saw a huge dark shape move between 2 trees.
It was upright, thick from top to bottom.
I stood up fast, hard, banging. The shape didn't come closer,
but stayed right there in the shadows.
Then came that tapping again, louder this time, maybe 2 sticks
clacking in rhythm. It lasted maybe 10 seconds, then
silence. I backed toward the tent, eyes
locked on the trees. I could hear deep, raspy
breathing again, and once a low grunt rolled out that made my
skin crawl. Then a rock, a decent sized one,
hit the dirt near the fire and rolled right to my foot.
I ducked inside the tent and zipped it tight.
I lay awake with my hunting knife in hand, listening to slow
footsteps crunching in the underbrush.
For what felt like hours, they circled our camp more than once.
Every time I almost drifted off, a stick crack or a grunt would
jolt me awake again. By dawn, I made-up my mind.
We packed up that morning. No arguments from the boys.
They thought I just wanted to beat the weekend traffic.
We tossed everything in the truck and drove back to Dayton
Valley before breakfast. Back in late September 2020, I
was working as a pipeline surveyor up near Rainbow Lake,
Northwest Alberta. It's way up there, close to the
Northwest Territories. I've been on this contract for
about 3 weeks already. My crew rotated out every two
weeks, but I stayed longer to finish some mapping work.
So for a few nights it was just me and my quad, staying in an
old work trailer we kept near a cut line deep in the brush.
I'd seen plenty of wildlife over the years, wolves, black bears,
even a Wolverine once. Nothing really rattled me too
bad. I knew how to handle myself out
there alone, or so I thought. On this trip I was mapping an
old right of way, riding the quad as far as I could, then
walking in when the brush got too thick.
Each evening I'd radio my check in, cook up canned soup or Stew,
and fall asleep with a propane heater keeping me toasty warm.
It was quiet, just the wind through the trees and the odd
coyote yipping far off. But by the 4th night alone,
things started to feel different.
That evening I heard banging near the tool shed out behind
the trailer. It was dark, so I grabbed my
flashlight and stepped outside, thinking maybe a bear was
sniffing the garbage drum. When I swung the beam around I
saw nothing but trees in my shed.
The banging stopped as soon as I opened the trailer door.
I walked over, looked around, saw no tracks in the soft dirt.
I chalked it up to wind and went back inside, telling myself I
was getting jumpy after so many days alone.
The next night, around 2:00 in the morning, I woke up to a
feeling something was near the trailer.
I sat up and I heard what sounded like footsteps.
Slow crunching footfalls. I held my breath and listened.
They stopped at my window. Then I heard three soft taps on
the wall. My mouth went dry.
I wanted to peek out the blinds, but my gut told me not to.
I lay back down and stared at the ceiling, listening to that
slow walking. Circled the trailer two or three
more times before it drifted off toward the trees.
At sunrise, I went out, more curious than scared Now I found
Prince, big broad Prince, pressed deep into the soft earth
around the trailer. I counted 10, maybe 12 steps
circling the whole unit. That morning I called my
supervisor and asked him to send another guy up early.
Said I didn't feel right staying solo much longer.
He said someone would come up after the weekend.
That night, my last night alone, was when it all blew wide open.
I was dozing in my bunk when a loud crash slammed me awake.
Something hit the side of the trailer so hard the whole unit
rocked on its jacks. I bolted upright, heart
hammering, listening to thuds outside like fists pounding
metal. Then I heard deep, rough
breathing. It was so close I could hear the
inhale and exhale, wet and Radley, like a bear's breath,
but deeper. Next something scraped down the
side of the trailer, nails or claws from the roofline almost
to the ground. The sound made my hair stand on
end. I held my breath, afraid to even
move the blankets. Suddenly the whole trailer
shifted again. I realized this thing, whatever
it was, was pushing or rocking the whole unit, trying to tip
it. Maybe the jacks creaked.
My water jug fell off the counter with a bang.
I grabbed my rifle out of the gear bag under my bed.
I couldn't see anything from inside, but I knew if this thing
tore the door off, I'd need something.
I cocked it and sat there on the floor, waiting for the next hit.
After what felt like forever, the pushing stopped.
I heard heavy footsteps crunching away toward the cut
line. It paused, let out a grunt so
low I felt it in my bones. Then silence at first light.
I packed my clothes and gear. I left the trailer unlocked and
rode the quad out fast, 20 kilometres back to the gravel
road and didn't stop until he reached the highway where the
crew trucks were staged. I waited there until my relief
showed up at noon. He laughed when I told him, but
when we drove back he went quiet fast.
One side was dented in where something huge had slammed it,
and there were muddy handprints. Actual prints, 5 fingers bigger
than a dinner plate smeared on the back window.
We towed that old trailer out that same day.
Boss asked if I wanted to finish the last days of the contract,
but I said no thanks. I don't mind bears and wolves,
but I didn't want to spend another night out there with a
Sasquatch running around. Since then I've gone back to
Rainbow Lake for work, but I won't stay solo in a trailer out
in those woods again. Not ever.
Thanks for listening everyone. Before I go tonight, I just want
to remind you my new book is out on Amazon.
I would be deeply grateful if you could grab a copy to show
your support. Thank you so much and until next
time, take care.