Sasquatch Chronicles Blog

A listener writes “I’m 46 now, but this happened when I was in my mid-20s.

I grew up in Arizona and had the chance to join a university field course near Prescott in north-central Arizona. I drove there with a girl I had a huge crush on, though I never found the courage to ask her out. As it turned out, she spent most of the drive talking about another guy, so I arrived feeling a little deflated.

Our class stayed in a small research cabin deep in a remote forest. Before the trip, I kept joking that I hoped a Sasquatch would peer through the cabin window one night. She never thought it was funny.

For several days, we surveyed local wildlife, especially reptiles, heading into the field in the mornings, afternoons, and even after dark.

One morning, I woke up before everyone else and decided to hike alone. About an hour into my walk, I stumbled across an old concrete well. Curious, I looked inside and found dozens of beautiful tree frogs clinging to the damp walls. It was an incredible sight. I dropped my backpack, grabbed my camera, knelt beside the opening, and started taking pictures.

Then everything changed.

The forest went completely silent.

At first, I barely noticed. I simply thought it was unusual and kept photographing the frogs. A few moments later, I heard footsteps coming from my left, along a slight rise about 20 to 30 feet away.

My first thought was that another student had wandered onto the trail. Honestly, I wasn’t in the mood for conversation, so I quietly leaned back against a nearby tree and figured I’d let them pass without realizing I was there.

But as I listened, something didn’t feel right.

The footsteps didn’t sound like a person walking on two feet, yet they didn’t resemble any animal I recognized either. That’s difficult for me to admit because identifying wildlife and understanding animal behavior is literally what I do for a living.

Whatever it was moved at a steady pace behind me, seemingly unaware of my presence. I expected it to emerge into a small opening where I’d finally see it.

Instead, the footsteps stopped.

Everything became perfectly still.

I sat there, listening and watching, for what felt like ten minutes. Nothing moved. No branches cracked. No leaves rustled. The silence was absolute.

Then, without warning, the footsteps started again, continuing in the same direction as before. They gradually faded into the distance until I couldn’t hear them anymore.

Almost immediately afterward, the forest came back to life. Birds started calling again. Insects resumed their constant buzzing. Within seconds, everything felt completely normal.

I’ve replayed that morning in my mind for more than twenty years. I still have no idea what I heard, and I’m certainly not claiming it was Sasquatch. It could have been something entirely ordinary that I simply failed to identify.

Still, after spending my career working in remote forests around the world including countless nights in the mountains of New Guinea it’s one of the very few experiences I’ve ever had that I genuinely can’t explain.”