sasquatch chronicles blog

It was November of 2018, and the bush was quiet in the way it often is just before night fully settles in. Gary was driving alone along a remote stretch of road in rural Australia, his truck’s headlights cutting a narrow tunnel through the darkness.

The area was thick with scrub and trees, far from towns, far from help an ordinary route he had driven before without incident. Then something moved ahead of him.

At first, it appeared as a shadow crossing the edge of the headlights, tall and fast. Gary slowed instinctively, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. The shape didn’t move like a kangaroo, and it was far too tall to be a person.

Before he could react further, the figure stepped directly into the beam of his headlights.

It stood upright, massive at least three meters tall, nearly ten feet. Its body was thick and powerful, but its head seemed strangely small in proportion, sitting low on its shoulders. For a split second, neither moved.

Then the creature lunged forward.

With a sudden burst of force, it punched the hood of the truck, the impact loud and heavy, sending a shock through the vehicle. Gary froze, gripping the steering wheel as the truck rocked slightly from the blow.

The creature leaned in. Through the windshield, their eyes met. The moment felt intense and deliberate, not panicked or confused. The Yowie’s expression wasn’t wild it was focused, almost assessing, as if it was fully aware of Gary and the machine separating them.

The stare lasted only seconds, but it felt much longer.

Without warning, the creature turned away. With long strides, it moved off the road and into the surrounding bush, its large form vanishing into the foliage with surprising speed and silence for something so big.

Gary sat motionless, listening. No footsteps followed. No sounds came from the trees.

When he finally drove on, the road felt different longer, emptier. The dent in the hood was real, the memory sharper still. Whatever had stepped into the headlights that night had done so deliberately, left no explanation behind, and disappeared back into the Australian bush as quickly as it had appeared.

Key Details of Gary’s Encounter

When: November 2018.

Where: Beechmont Road, Gold Coast hinterland, Queensland, Australia (near Deepwater National Park).

The Creature: A towering, hairy, ape like being, described as 3 meters (around 10 feet) tall, weighing nearly 400kg, with large limbs and a chimpanzee like face.

The Incident: Gary saw what looked like a boulder move, then reveal itself as the Yowie, forcing him to brake; it stood upright, stared at him, and he felt it might have struck his truck.

Aftermath: Gary experienced nightmares and was deeply shaken, telling his story to Yowie hunter Dean Harrison.

The Honey Island Swamp in Louisiana is a place where the land never fully settles. Water seeps into everything, trees rise from dark pools, and the air hangs thick with insects and mist. It was in this maze of cypress and marsh, sometime in the early 1960s, that one of the most famous encounters took place.

Late one afternoon, two men were driving along a narrow road near the swamp’s edge, heading home as daylight began to fade. The area was quiet except for the hum of insects and the distant calls of birds settling in for the evening. As they rounded a bend, something ahead on the road caused them both to slow down.

At first, they thought it was a bear.

But as they got closer, they realized the shape was wrong.

Standing near the roadside was a large, upright figure, covered in dark, matted hair. It was massive broad shouldered and tall and it stood on two legs like a person. The creature turned toward them, and when it did, they saw its face clearly.

It was not animal like in the way a bear’s face would be. The features appeared more human, with deep set eyes and a heavy brow. The men later said the eyes seemed to watch them closely, aware and alert.

The creature stepped closer to the edge of the road, and in that moment, both men froze. Neither spoke. The swamp around them seemed to go silent, as if everything else was holding its breath.

Then the figure let out a low, unsettling sound, not quite a growl and not quite a cry. The men didn’t wait to see what would happen next. One of them pressed the accelerator, and the car surged forward. In the side mirror, they caught a final glimpse of the creature as it stepped back toward the trees, disappearing into the thick swamp vegetation.

Later investigations of the area turned up large footprints, deep impressions pressed into the muddy ground. The tracks showed a wide foot with distinct toes, far larger than any known human’s.

Stories like this continued to surface over the years hunters hearing heavy footsteps moving through shallow water, fishermen glimpsing a tall figure watching from the tree line, locals avoiding certain stretches of swamp after dark. The creature became known as the Honey Island Swamp Monster, a presence tied closely to the wet, tangled wilderness itself.

Whether it was something unknown, misidentified, or simply part of the swamp’s long tradition of stories, the legend endured. In Honey Island Swamp, where visibility is limited and sound carries strangely over water, many believe that not everything that walks there has been fully explained.

This is a cast of one of the most famous footprints attributed to the Honey Island Swamp Monster. The cast is currently housed at the Abita Mystery House in Louisiana and was donated by Dana Holyfield, the granddaughter of Harlan E. Ford.

Ford, an experienced hunter and outdoorsman, was the man who discovered and made the original cast of the mysterious track. He also claimed to have seen the creature responsible for it. Recalling the encounter, Ford said, “That thing stood eye level with me. What startled me the most were its large amber eyes.”

In 1974, zoologists from Louisiana State University met with Ford and examined the footprint casting. Based on its size and structure, the wildlife experts concluded that the creature could have weighed up to 400 pounds and appeared well adapted for both swimming and climbing.

It was the early morning hours of July 1994, and the Berlin Lake State Wildlife Area in Ohio was quiet in the way only deep wilderness can be. The air was heavy and still, and the darkness felt complete, broken only by faint starlight and the distant sounds of insects. Around 2:30 a.m., Brian Jones was moving through the area, alert but calm, expecting nothing more unusual than the usual nighttime wildlife.

As he continued forward, something ahead of him caught his attention an outline that didn’t match the shape of a deer or any animal he knew well. The figure stood upright. Tall. Too tall.

Jones stopped.

The distance between them was short about fifteen feet close enough that his heart began to race. Acting on instinct, he raised his flashlight and switched it on, the beam cutting sharply through the darkness.

The light revealed a large, human like figure, massive in build, standing still. For a brief moment, neither of them moved. Then, as the beam struck its face, the creature reacted. It raised one long arm, bringing it up to shield its eyes from the sudden brightness.

Jones held the light on it, frozen in place. Seconds stretched out. The forest remained silent.

Brian Jones Drawing From 1994

After a short time, the creature slowly lowered its arm. When it did, it looked directly at Jones. There was no wild movement, no sudden charge just a steady stare. Jones later described the expression as serious, focused, and calm, as if the creature was assessing him as much as he was assessing it.

The flashlight remained trained on the figure for a total of about thirty seconds. The encounter felt intense but strangely controlled, with neither side making a move toward the other.

Then Jones made a decision.

Sensing that the moment had gone on long enough, he backed away and soon left the area, choosing distance and safety over curiosity. The creature did not follow.

Nearly a month later, after replaying the encounter repeatedly in his mind, Jones sat down and drew a sketch of what he had seen capturing the posture, proportions, and face that had stared back at him in the beam of his flashlight that night.

Whatever the figure truly was, the moment stayed with him a silent meeting in the Ohio wilderness, brief, clear, and impossible for him to forget.

On Saturday, January 4, 1964 the Nevada State Journal reported an “Ape-faced 10-ft. Man Sighted in Sierra Snow.” The original article is below.

Ape-faced 10-ft. Man Sighted in Sierra Snow

PINECREST, Calif. (UPI) — A pilot flying a small plane near this tiny resort community recently said he saw what appeared to be a 10-foot man with an ape-like face standing in the snow watching the plane fly over.

The pilot reported the incident, which supposedly happened in the back country near Pinecrest, to the sheriff’s office in Sonora, but deputies there would not release his name or elaborate on the report.

Huge Footprints

A broadcaster from a radio station in Sonora said Friday he had talked to a sheriff’s deputy stationed in Pinecrest, and the deputy, Albert Miller, said he had been called out to the Pinecrest city dump late last week to investigate a set of huge footprints found in level snow.

Miller said the prints were very large and about six feet apart. The deputy said they were definitely not bear tracks.

Approximately a year ago, residents of the Pinecrest area reported hearing hideous screams coming from the woods near their homes and told of seeing a “gigantic man” dressed in animal hides running through the forest in the early evenings.

(General location of sighting)

Seen in Bushes

About a month after the reports of the screaming, a veteran backwoods pilot and a Pacific Gas and Electric employee on a snow survey near Pinecrest said they saw the creature standing in some bushes in the wilderness.

When they flew in at a low level to take a photograph, they said it ran into the woods. The two men estimated the creature to be about four feet taller than the foliage it was standing in, and they landed and measured them. The bushes were six feet tall.

Sheriff Miller Sardella of Sonora said Friday he has no intention of sending deputies into the backwoods to search for the supposed “monster.”

“If and when he breaks the law, we’d go after him. As long as he doesn’t do anything wrong, we’ll leave him alone,” Sardella said.

Dr. Robert J. Alley is a Bigfoot/Sasquatch researcher known for his detailed books, especially “Raincoast Sasquatch,” which compiles eyewitness accounts, lore, and evidence from the Pacific Northwest, focusing on coastal British Columbia and Alaska. His work, often featuring his own illustrations of encounters, delves into historical reports and Indigenous stories, making him a respected figure in cryptozoology for his rigorous approach to documenting the elusive hominid.

Salish Sasquatch writes “Dr. Robert J. Alley shares Bigfoot encounter sketches from past patients.”

A listener writes “I’m a long-time listener and thought you might be interested in an encounter my younger brother and I experienced in Ceredo, West Virginia, during the summer of 1976.

At the time, my brother Ron and I lived in a single-wide trailer that sat right next to a wooded hillside. This was in Ceredo, not far from where the Marshall University football team’s plane crashed near the Tri-State Airport.

One afternoon, Ron and I were playing in the woods with about six other neighborhood boys. We came up with a stupid but fun way to get down the hill fast (and it’s not something I’m proud of). We’d grab onto thin saplings and “ride” them downhill like Tarzan, letting go near the bottom so the trees would snap back upright. We probably did this eight or nine times.

That night, things changed.

We woke up to an incredibly loud bird call, something like a massive owl hoot but it wasn’t quite right. It sounded like something trying to yell “HOOOOT!” without fully getting the sound right. Even worse, it happened every single night for an entire week. The call would start far away, then slowly move closer until it felt like it was right outside our window, so loud it vibrated in our chests.

That weekend, we went back up the hill where we’d been playing and saw something that still freaks me out. It wasn’t just the saplings we had ridden there were fifty or sixty trees all over the hillside that had been snapped or bent over. Whatever did it was far heavier than a group of kids. That’s when it hit us, something had been watching us play and then spent the week copying what we’d done.

During the second week, the nightly calls continued. One night, we heard rocks and brush sliding down the hill right behind my brother’s room. The scream sounded like it was directly outside the window. Our neighbor’s dog started barking wildly and wouldn’t stop. Then I saw a large shadow pass across the window, completely blocking it out. Immediately afterward, the dog went silent. We never saw that dog again.

Those two weeks were intense and terrifying, and we learned firsthand that some things in the woods don’t like being disturbed.

I hope you find this account interesting, and I’d be glad to go into more detail if you’d like.”

I’ve recently started listening to your podcast, and after hearing several accounts that closely mirror an experience I had as a child, I finally felt compelled to reach out. To be honest, I’m very apprehensive about sharing this. Like many of your guests, I worry about being ridiculed or dismissed as a nut job but here goes.

I was very young, likely seven or eight years old, which would place it in the summer of 1982 or 1983.

I grew up in Roseville, Ohio, which was and still is a deeply rural area with a very small population. It sits near Wayne National Forest, in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains in Perry County. Wilderness surrounds it in every direction.

One of my fondest memories of growing up there is the endless single lane backcountry roads that snake through rolling hills, creeks, and riverbeds. Those roads seemed to go on forever. I’ve often joked that Huckleberry Finn should’ve been from Roseville instead of somewhere along the Mississippi. Nothing was easy to get to. A trip anywhere meant miles of rough driving without seeing another house, let alone a gas station or store. To put it in perspective, the school bus ride from our home to Philo High School only about twenty miles away took over an hour, simply because the roads were so narrow and treacherous that speeds rarely exceeded twenty miles per hour.

On the day of my experience, my parents and I had gone to visit their best friends in Malta, Ohio, in neighboring Morgan County. It was just as rural, with nothing but dense wilderness separating the two areas. We made that drive often, usually taking around forty-five minutes, depending on who was driving. My dad barreled down those back roads, while my mom was far more cautious especially at night.

For reasons I can’t fully remember, my parents drove separately that day. I believe my dad came straight from work, while my mom and I left from home and met him there. That detail matters, because my mom drove a convertible MG, and I remember that ride like it was yesterday. The weather was perfect, and even as a child, the beauty of that drive with the top down was breathtaking.

Later that night, I chose to ride home with my mom. The MG was a two-seater, but behind the seats was a small, carpeted area probably meant to cover the speakers. It definitely wasn’t designed for passengers, but I was tiny and fit perfectly, curled up behind her. This was well before seatbelts and car seats were the law. I lay on my back, knees bent, staring straight up at the sky.

I loved those rides home on warm nights watching millions of stars drift by overhead.

The MG was a stick shift, and most of the route consisted of tight curves and hills. But there was one stretch that ran straight along a riverbank where you could maintain a steady speed. I’d ridden this route countless times and knew every hill, every curve, and every moment when the engine would downshift.

That’s when everything changed.

As I lay there, mesmerized by the moonlit sky, I felt the car suddenly downshift in a place where it never did. We slowed almost to a stop. It was so unexpected that I sat up and peeked over my mom’s right shoulder, asking what was wrong.

At the same moment, I looked through the windshield and saw it.

Standing on the right side of the road at the edge of the riverbank was a massive truly massive, black creature, perfectly illuminated by the headlights and the full moon. I immediately said, “Mommy, what is that?”

I could hear the fear in her voice, though she tried desperately to stay calm for my sake. She said, “Honey, I don’t know. I need you to climb into the front seat, curl up on the floorboard, and get as small as you can.”

As she slowly approached the creature, I crawled forward. I knelt on the passenger floorboard, facing the seat, but despite her instructions, I couldn’t stop myself from turning my head to look.

The road was narrow, with a steep ditch on the left, so my mom did her best to hug the center line. As we drew closer, I remember thinking with absolute certainty that this thing was going to reach into the car and pull me out. We felt impossibly small, like we were driving a Matchbox car past something ancient and enormous.

As we passed it, I made what felt like direct eye contact.

Its size was overwhelming, but there was something unexpectedly soft and warm in its eyes. In an instant, the terror vanished. I felt completely at peace. I knew without understanding how, that I wasn’t in danger. Whatever this being was, it knew I was scared and conveyed reassurance in the gentlest way possible.

Even now, recalling that moment nearly brings me to tears.

After we passed it, I watched as it crossed the road in just two effortless steps. Its arms were unusually long, swinging naturally as it moved. It turned its head and continued watching us as we drove away almost like a farewell before disappearing into the darkness.

I climbed into the passenger seat like I was supposed to, and my mom and I finished the remaining twenty-five to thirty minutes of the drive in complete silence. We were both stunned, unable to speak about what we’d just seen.

When we got home, my dad was already there. It was close to midnight, and I was sent straight to bed, but I remember hearing my mom trying to explain what had happened. After that night, we never spoke of it again. I also don’t recall ever making that drive in the convertible or without my dad ever again.

For decades, I tried to understand what I had witnessed. I didn’t talk about it or research it. I carried it quietly.

It wasn’t until my thirties that I happened to see a documentary on television showing the Patterson-Gimlin film from 1967. The moment I saw it, I knew. There was no doubt in my mind that the creature in that footage was the same type of being I had seen from the floorboard of my mom’s MG all those years earlier.

The size, the black hair, the arm swing, the posture it all matched. But what struck me most was the head tilt and the expression. There’s something profoundly humanoid and deliberate about that movement. You can sense awareness, intelligence, even a moment of realization I’ve been seen.

There was one clear difference, though. The creature I saw was male. I know how strange that sounds, but its muscle structure and facial features were unmistakable. It was massive, incredibly fit, and lacked any feminine characteristics aside from those gentle, expressive eyes.

I can’t say definitively what I saw that night, because science hasn’t yet given it a name. But I can say with certainty what it was not. It wasn’t a man. It wasn’t a bear. It walked upright on two legs, had black hair not fur dark exposed skin on its face, and eyes capable of connection.

That moment will stay with me for the rest of my life.”

I grew up on the outskirts of the Siletz Indian Reservation along the central Oregon Coast. It’s true rainforest out there thick, wet, and wild. Looking back, I believe my father was having Sasquatch encounters throughout the 1990s.

He would say things like, “There was a man in a ghillie suit watching me from the wood line,” or tell us about a massive footprint he found outside the house after a light snowfall.

At times, he said strange, pungent odors would drift up from the creek behind our home sharp and acrid, like cat urine.

On one occasion, he told me he saw a man walking across our field in the dark. He was convinced the figure must have been wearing night vision goggles, because no ordinary person could move that confidently, or that quickly, through such rough terrain in total darkness.

When I turned eighteen, my family moved to southern Oregon, where we’ve lived ever since. I spend a great deal of time in the wilderness I love camping and my obsession with researching Sasquatch truly began during a trip to the Applegate with my late husband. We were camping at a lake we loved called Squaw Lake.

We had a large, family sized dome tent that we slept in with our three children. I’d bought it for our wedding so I could stand up and walk around inside while getting ready. I believe it was about six feet tall at the center.

My husband liked to leave the rainfly off so we could watch the stars with the kids as we fell asleep. One morning, he said to me, “Casey, I woke up in the middle of the night to a face peering down at me.”

I laughed and said, “A face? What….like a bear?”

He snapped back, “No. Like a face. And a bear couldn’t stand over the top of the tent like that without falling over.”

AI facial recognition is often marketed as precise and objective but when it gets things wrong, the consequences can be serious, even life-altering.

At its core, facial recognition works by comparing key facial features distance between the eyes, shape of the jaw, contours of the nose to massive image databases. The problem is that similarity is not identity, and humans are far more alike than these systems are willing to admit.

One of the greatest dangers is false positives when the system confidently identifies the wrong person.

There have already been documented cases where people were:

1. Wrongfully arrested
2. Detained for hours or days
3. Investigated for crimes they did not commit
   —all because an algorithm matched their face to a grainy image or low-quality surveillance photo.

Artificial intelligence got a man wrongly arrested at the Peppermill casino. He’s now suing a Reno police officer in federal court. Watch the video below:

In the fall of 1956, a small group of hunters set out near the rural community of Paris, Michigan, expecting nothing more than a quiet evening tracking deer. The air was cold and still, the kind that carried every snapped twig for miles.

They parked their truck along a forest road and moved in on foot, rifles slung over their shoulders, boots crunching softly through leaves and early frost.

It didn’t take long to find sign.

Fresh tracks cut through the underbrush large, deep impressions that suggested a heavy animal moving fast. The hunters assumed it was a wounded deer. The spacing of the prints looked wrong, though longer than expected but adrenaline and excitement pushed the concern aside.

They followed the trail deeper into the forest.

As the light began to fade, the woods seemed to close in around them. The trees grew tighter, their branches weaving together overhead, blocking the last of the daylight. The forest was unnaturally quiet. No birds. No wind. Just the sound of their own breathing and the slow crunch of boots on leaves.

Then one of the men stopped.

The tracks had changed.

What had clearly been four legged impressions suddenly shifted into two distinct footprints, set wide apart, pressing deep into the soil as if something incredibly heavy was now walking upright. The hunters stared down in silence, unsure of what they were seeing.

Before anyone could speak, something moved ahead of them.

On a low ridge just beyond the trees, a shape stood silhouetted against the dimming sky. At first glance, it looked like a man tall, broad, standing still. But as their eyes adjusted, the details became impossible to ignore.

The head was wrong.

It was unmistakably canine, with a long snout and pointed ears rising above its skull. The body was covered in dark hair, thick through the shoulders and chest. It stood upright, easily seven feet tall, arms hanging loosely at its sides. Its legs bent backward like a dog’s, yet it balanced effortlessly.

The creature was watching them.

No movement. No sound. Just a silent stare that felt deliberate and intelligent. One of the hunters whispered a curse under his breath. Another raised his rifle, hands shaking.

Then the creature tilted its head.

That small, almost curious gesture snapped whatever spell had held them frozen.

A shot rang out.

The crack of the rifle shattered the silence, echoing through the trees. The bullet struck somewhere near the ridge whether it hit the creature or the ground beside it, no one could say. But the response was immediate.

The thing let out a howl.

It was deep and powerful, starting like a wolf’s call and then rising into something wrong longer, louder, almost human in its tone. The sound vibrated in the hunters’ chests, sending a surge of fear through every one of them.

The creature turned and moved.

It didn’t run like an animal. It strode fast, smooth, upright disappearing into the trees with long, confident steps. Branches barely moved as it passed. Within seconds, it was gone.

The forest went silent again.

No one spoke.

After a long moment, one of the men finally said what they were all thinking “That wasn’t a bear.”

They didn’t follow the tracks.

The hunters turned around and walked back the way they came, rifles still raised, eyes scanning the tree line. Every shadow seemed to move. Every sound felt closer than it should have been. When they reached the truck, they piled in without discussion and left the area immediately.

None of them returned to that spot.

The men told a few people what they’d seen, quietly, without exaggeration. Over time, the story faded into local legend one more strange tale whispered among hunters and woodsmen.

But those familiar with Michigan lore would later recognize the details: the upright stance, the canine head, the unnatural howl.

Another encounter to add to what would eventually be known as the Michigan Dogman phenomenon and one of the earliest sightings tied to the deep forests near Paris, Michigan.

Whatever stood on that ridge in 1956 had been watching them long before they ever knew it was there.

The winter of 1937 came early to northern Michigan. Snow lay thick in the forests of Wexford County, pressing the pines low and muffling the land into an uneasy quiet. Robert Fortney had lived in those woods most of his life.

He was a farmer and outdoorsman no stranger to isolation, hard weather, or the sounds of animals moving through the dark. That night, he was driving alone along a remote stretch of road, returning home after visiting a friend.

The moon was high, casting pale light across the frozen ground. His truck rattled along the narrow dirt road, engine humming steadily, tires crunching over packed snow. Nothing felt out of place until something moved ahead of him.

At first, Fortney thought it was a large dog standing at the edge of the road.

Then it stood up.

The creature rose from all fours to its hind legs in a smooth, deliberate motion. Fortney’s foot eased off the gas as his headlights fully illuminated it. What stood before him was taller than a man, easily seven feet or more, its body thick with muscle and covered in dark, coarse hair. Its head was unmistakably canine long snout, pointed ears but its posture was wrong. Too upright. Too balanced.

Too human.

The creature turned and looked directly at him.

Fortney later said that moment froze him more than the winter air ever could. The eyes reflected the headlights, glowing faintly, fixed on him with an intelligence that made his stomach drop. This wasn’t an animal startled by a vehicle. It wasn’t confused.

It was watching him.

Suddenly, the thing stepped fully into the road.

Its legs bent backward like a dog’s, yet it walked upright with shocking ease. As Fortney slowed nearly to a stop, the creature crossed the road in front of his truck, its shoulders rolling with each step. Its arms hung long at its sides, ending in hands or paws he couldn’t clearly make out through the windshield.

Then it did something that erased any lingering doubt in Fortney’s mind.

It smiled.

Not a snarl. Not a threat display. A deliberate, unsettling grin that pulled back its lips and exposed teeth too large and too numerous to be comforting. The expression carried something mocking, as if it knew exactly how much fear it was causing.

Fortney slammed on the brakes.

The engine sputtered as his truck rolled to a halt. His hands shook on the steering wheel. For a brief, terrifying second, he thought the creature might approach the vehicle but instead, it turned its head, glanced into the woods, and stepped off the road.

With two long strides, it vanished between the trees.

The forest swallowed it whole. No crashing branches. No retreating footsteps. Just silence.

Fortney sat there for several moments, heart pounding, breath fogging the windshield. When he finally found the strength to move, he pressed the accelerator and didn’t slow down again until he reached home.

He told his family what he had seen that night.

They believed him.

In the years that followed, Fortney never wavered in his account. He insisted the creature was neither man nor animal, but something else entirely something that walked the Michigan forests long before roads ever cut through them.

Decades later, his story would be cited as the earliest known modern Dogman encounter, predating the term itself and forming the foundation of what would become one of Michigan’s most enduring legends.

And according to those who still live deep in those woods…whatever Fortney saw in 1937 never left.

The Confessionals writes “Joe’s encounters don’t just blur the line between myth and reality; they obliterate it. In this episode, he recounts the night he came face-to-face with a Dogman and made a split-second decision that ended the creature’s life, an act that still follows him years later.

But that moment was only one chapter in a much larger pattern that includes repeated Bigfoot encounters, territorial aggression in the woods, and intelligent creatures that seemed to understand weapons, intent, and fear. Joe describes behavior that goes far beyond animals, strategic movements, government intimidation displays, and moments that felt deliberately personal.

As the stories stack up, a disturbing question emerges: what happens after you cross the line from witness to participant? This conversation explores the cost of survival, the reality of predatory entities in the wilderness, and why some encounters don’t end when you leave the woods; they follow you home.”

A listener writes “I’ve been listening to your podcast for a long time now, and I consider myself a believer in Bigfoot. I grew up in Texas working on cattle ranches and farms, and my family has long traditions of hunting and camping. I’m no stranger to the outdoors.

In 2021, my father passed away from cancer, and it happened quickly. About two months after he died, I decided to hike the Appalachian Trail and I completed it. Since then, I’ve completed five thru hikes. For anyone unfamiliar, a thru-hike means hiking a long National Scenic Trail from start to finish in one continuous journey.

I’ve hiked the Appalachian Trail, the Vermont Long Trail, the Arizona Trail, the Pacific Crest Trail, and the Oregon Coast Trail all thru-hikes. Long before any of that, I spent my childhood and early adulthood hunting, camping, and running through woods and swamps. The outdoors has always been part of my life.

This experience happened in 2023 while hiking the Pacific Crest Trail. My girlfriend was hiking with me, and she was present during the encounter. I also have GPS coordinates for where this occurred, saved in the FarOut app that hikers use.

We were hiking through the Dixie Fire burn zone in Northern California. One evening, we set up camp about 30 feet off the trail, next to what looked like an old forestry road. The road wrapped around a small mountain, and our campsite was near the top maybe 100 to 150 feet below the summit. The road was so overgrown in places that it clearly hadn’t been used by vehicles in a long time.

The area was extremely secluded. The last road access behind us was about 20 miles back, and the next road ahead our destination for the following day was also roughly 20 miles away. There were no visible house lights, no towns, nothing in any direction.

We ate dinner without a campfire and sat in our two-person tent for a while because we couldn’t sleep. Around 11:30 p.m., while we were sitting up talking about our day and plans for the next, we heard a wood knock two knocks, spaced out and deliberate. We froze instantly. A second or two later, we heard two more knocks, then a few seconds after that, a single knock that sounded much farther away.

In the back of my mind, I knew something wasn’t right, but it still didn’t feel real. As soon as the knocking stopped, my girlfriend became visibly scared. She put her headphones on and said, “Nope.” I stayed quiet, trying to process what we’d just heard.

Carefully, I got out of the tent without turning on my headlamp and slowly moved to a nearby tree about as wide as my shoulders. I’m 5’11” and weigh about 175 pounds. I leaned against that tree and stood there silently for about 30 minutes. I wanted to make sure what we’d heard wasn’t people hunters or someone wandering around. I didn’t see any flashlights or electronic lights at all.

Eventually, I decided to go back to the tent and get ready for bed. I turned on my headlamp and walked away from camp to relieve myself. As I crossed toward the other side of the dirt road, I heard a growl directly in front of me. I couldn’t see anything, but the sound felt like it was only about 10 feet away. My hair stood up instantly. This growl felt different deep, powerful, and unmistakable.

I slowly backed up, thinking it might be a bear or some other predator warning me off. When I reached the tent vestibule, I heard a single whoop from another direction. I was startled and began to unzip the tent to get back inside when everything erupted.

Loud whoops started coming from all around us multiple directions, similar tones, different locations. I unzipped the tent to tell my girlfriend something was happening, but she already knew. She could hear and feel the sounds through her headphones. I told her to start packing immediately we needed to leave.

I knew we were in danger. It felt like a group or a family was moving through the area.

As my girlfriend packed the inside of the tent, I heard a loud crash about 30 feet away, coming from the trail. I turned my headlamp toward the sound, and what I saw felt unreal like something out of a movie.

At first, all I could see was from the knees down. Even that was enough to make my blood run cold. The size alone was overwhelming. Then I slowly looked up and I mean I had to bend my neck and deliberately force myself to look higher.

Standing there, completely still, was a Bigfoot.

It looked incredibly old almost ancient. Its feet were enormous, almost comically large at first glance, like oversized clown shoes. But as I scanned upward, my mind started to fracture. It was too big. Too human, but not human. It had to be over 10 feet tall.

Its hair appeared light gray or white. The skin I could see was leathery and dark, almost charcoal in color. Its eyes reflected my headlamp, flashing brightly. Its mouth stayed closed the entire time, shaped like a gorilla’s. The brow ridge extended far over its eyes, and its nose was extremely wide almost mismatched to its face. It had a thin, scraggly beard and no visible ears.

The only movement it made was a subtle shifting of its upper body its shoulders slowly moving side to side, as if scanning the area. Its chest and much of its stomach were hairless. The rest of its hair looked wild and unkempt, sticking out in all directions, like it had just woken up. There were dried leaves stuck to its left arm, which made me think that was its dominant arm.

I knew it was male from its anatomy and the sheer size of it was staggering. It looked massively muscular, like something unnaturally powerful. Its hands and fingers were huge, hairless, and thick like oversized bananas.

I leaned into the tent and told my girlfriend, “I don’t care how you pack hurry. We need to get out of here now.”

She started crying as she packed. She knew by my voice and demeanor that something was seriously wrong. When I looked back up, the creature was gone. No sound. No movement. Just gone.

We packed as fast as we could, shaking and terrified. Once we were ready, we moved toward the trail where I had seen it. We hiked about five miles through the night. The entire time, we heard whoops and knocks but eventually, they stopped.

We kept hiking until we reached the road and made it to town.

To this day, my girlfriend won’t talk about what happened. Anytime I bring it up, she turns pale, even though she never saw the creature herself.

The experience hasn’t stopped me from hiking or camping, but I’m far more cautious now. I won’t hike or camp alone anymore. Other than my girlfriend, I haven’t told anyone this story. I’ve casually mentioned wood knocking to people just to gauge reactions, but the pushback made me stop.

I’m emailing you because I want this experience documented and out there, but I’m not sure I’m ready to come on and talk about it. I’m a shy person, and honestly, I’m still scared to vocalize this story. I’m sure there are more details I could share, but until now, no one has ever asked because I’ve never told it.”

I have seen a lot of these videos being posted online. Why people think Tesla’s see “ghosts” Tesla’s screen sometimes shows humanoid stick figures or vague shapes that look like people, even when no one is there. This has led to viral videos claiming Tesla’s detect spirits in cemeteries.

The official answer is Computer vision errors: Tesla’s cameras and AI are constantly trying to identify pedestrians, cyclists, signs, trees, fences, and shadows. In complex environments (like graveyards), the system can misclassify objects.

That is the official answer, check out these videos

The Rocky Mountain Sasquatch Organization posted this on Facebook and writes “Joe Karpinski found this moose on a 25ft broken tree in northern BC, one of the most eerie things he has ever stumbled across.”

What could cause this?

A listener writes “Hey Wes, I’ve been listening to your show for the past couple of months, starting from the very beginning. I wanted to share one of the only truly strange encounters I’ve ever had.

This happened sometime in the late ’90s or early 2000s, when I was about eight or nine years old. I was lying in bed on the second floor of our house around 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning. I couldn’t sleep, which wasn’t unusual for me, so I looked out the window next to my bed that overlooked our driveway.

That’s when I noticed a blue-green orb, roughly the size of a basketball. I watched it for a couple of minutes as it slowly floated around my stepmom’s car, bobbing slightly up and down as it moved. It circled the car once or twice in a smooth, deliberate way.

Eventually, I got bored and lay back down. I never saw anything like it again after that night, but the fact that it seemed focused on the car always stuck with me.

If you have any questions, feel free to reach out.”

Alice writes “My boyfriend introduced me to your podcasts more recently. I maybe had a sighting, but it was so fast I cant swear to it.

Three of us were on vacation in Newfoundland about 15 years ago. My one girlfriend was driving that night, I was in the passenger seat, my son was in the back. We drove up to see the massive iceberg that became national news off the west coast.

Driving back south late that night, north of Gros Morne Park, something ran across the road in front of us. I wasn’t driving, so I think I got a better look. I told my friend to stop, I wanted a better look. Whatever it was, it was gone. In fairness, I had a crappy flashlight. Have you ever gotten any other reports from that province?

I’d have sworn I saw a gorilla, with longer hair. It was definitely on two legs, but not giant. It was maybe my height, I am 5’4″.

While still up there, next chance we got to an internet connection, I looked at every source but I could find anything. Considering when this was, the internet was not quite so robust. More recently I have seen mentions of sasquatch, but more so legends rather than sightings.

A little background on me, I just retired after 25 years as a federal police officer out of DC. I was with a department you will likely have never heard of. If you Google us, we are not the typical federal agency as we are actually police officers, policing. Before that, I spent 4 years in the Army. No shocker, as an MP.

I grew up having spent most of my life in the woods; camping, hiking and such. I have traveled extensively across all of the US and Alaska, camping everywhere along the way. Internationally, I’ve traveled the same way. We are now currently in south western PA renovating my family’s farmhouse. I’ve never had my feet planted in one spot for this long.

I became interested in your podcasts after a few odd thing having happened here. Its a remote location surrounded by farms and forested mountains. While we sat by the fire one night, we heard a fantastic set of screams from across the valley moving unbelievably fast. They sounded like the Ohio Howl, which I’m only now familiar with as of two months ago following what we heard. My boyfriend played that for me and wow it sounded the same. Obviously that is unrelated to my Newfoundland trip. With the screams, plus some odd tree things on the back of the property, I’m keeping my eyes open and trying to not rationalize everything.”

Sam writes “I am 34 yrs old from Northeast Ohio. Experience 1: 16 yrs old – camping in semi rural area near Canal Fulton (late summer). While standing at the edge of a pond (around midnight) I heard a blood curdling scream coming from across the pond in a wooded area (roughly 100 yards away). The scream sounded like a woman getting violently murdered (lasted for 3-4 seconds). After a moment of silence a second call was made – started off as a high pitch scream and then inflected into a deep roar (lasting 6-8 seconds). At that point I realized it wasn’t a human or animal that I recognized. No activity following the 2 calls.

Experience 2: Salt Fork State Park (July 2025). At the beginning of the trailhead – 75 ft away I saw a figure (all black) moving away from me at an incredible rate – this lasted 1-2 seconds. It disappeared for another 1-2 seconds behind brush and a small ridge. It emerged roughly 150ft away walking upright to the left from my line of view. Lasting another ~2 seconds before disappearing. There was a slight grade down to where the figure popped up 150 ft away vs my position.

The figure was at my eye level and I’d estimate it in the 7 ft range. Additional observations: it made no sound, when it walked it glided (no up and down movement as you would observe in a human). The area it was standing in was thick brush and very difficult to move in (I had my cousin walk back there for reference). To me it emulated the movement of a professional track athlete dressed in all black. There was a heavy grouping of deer in this area.”

From The Shadows writes “Theresa’s sighting of a huge, dog-like creature that crossed the road in front of her forever jarred her. She also shares with us encounters with an evil looking entity that visited her on two different occasions in her bedroom.”