The story of Alexander Caulfield Anderson is one of the earliest written “Sasquatch type” encounters in British Columbia, and it stands out because he was a highly respected explorer. The year was 1864, deep in the wild spine of what would one day be called the Fraser Canyon.
Alexander Anderson was no stranger to the wilderness. He had spent years crossing rivers that could swallow a man whole, riding through forests so thick they seemed to breathe, and navigating lands where few Europeans had ever set foot. Nothing in those years had prepared him for what he was about to face.
The day had been quiet too quiet, no birdsong, no wind in the trees. Just the dull rhythm of his horse’s hooves against the earth. Then came the sound.
A crack.
Not the natural snap of a branch falling, but something heavier… deliberate. Anderson straightened in his saddle. Another crash echoed through the trees to his left. Then another, farther off to the right. He wasn’t alone. His horse shifted nervously beneath him, ears pinned back. Anderson scanned the forest, eyes narrowing. The trees stood tall and unmoving, but something moved between them just beyond clear sight.
Then he saw it. A tall figure, far taller than any man he had ever known. It was standing between the trunks. Its body was thick, powerful and covered in dark hair. It did not crouch like an animal. It stood upright. Watching.
Before he could fully comprehend it, another shape appeared. And another. They were surrounding him. A sudden whistle of air split the silence, a stone slammed into a tree beside him. His horse reared, nearly throwing him. Another rock flew, this one striking the ground at his feet. Then another. The forest erupted into motion.
They were throwing them. He caught glimpses as they moved, massive limbs, long arms, dark forms slipping between shadows with unsettling speed. One let out a deep, echoing cry that didn’t belong to any creature he knew. He turned his horse and fled, branches whipping past his face as he pushed through the trail. Behind him, the crashing continued heavy footfalls, the sense of something keeping pace just out of sight.
As suddenly as it began, it stopped. The forest fell silent again. When Anderson finally slowed, breath ragged and heart still racing, he did not look back.
Years in the wilderness had taught him many things but that day taught him something new: There were things in those forests that did not wish to be found.