Sasquatch Chronicles Blog

Jul 26

SC EP:1174 The Vagrant

Chad writes “Back in 1992, I was stationed at Ft. Lewis in the 3rd Battalion, 1st Special Forces Group (Airborne). We were running a force-on-force training operation. I don’t recall the exact location—maybe an hour’s drive from Lewis.

Our task was to defend a simulated Surface-to-Air Missile (SAM) site consisting of a trailer and container meant to resemble a rocket launcher.

We had two Special Forces Operational Detachment Alphas (ODAs) involved, roughly 20 guys total, plus a few support personnel. The site was backed up against the “no play zone,” so any attacking team could only approach from the west. It was fortified: two M-60 machine gun nests, a perimeter of seasoned operators, M-16s for each of us, a couple of HF radios—basic gear for a simulated “enemy” approach. No high-speed tech, no grenade simulators that I can recall.

The terrain was layered: a track in front of the site, then woods, then a clean trail parallel to a ridge 150 meters to the west. Beyond that, a large field of tall grass. Ferns covered the ridge slope—dense and knee-to-hip high.

Our mission was to intercept and resist any attempt to assault the SAM site, likely between dusk and sunrise. We ran rotating two-man patrols along the trail, each covering a three-hour shift.

The night of the encounter, I was paired with a Sergeant First Class—an 18D medic whom I’ll call “Guy.” He’d been in group for years. I was 22 at the time, on of the youngest on site.

Moonlight was strong—brilliant enough to allow stealth movement. We paced slowly, stopping every few meters to kneel and scan. After an hour, we paused under a shadowed area. Guy lit a cigarette with quiet precision—no glow exposed. I asked how he did that. He smirked and said, “Sniper check.”

Then it happened.

A deafening scream rang out from the ridge. At first, I thought it was an animal. But then came a bizarre shift: halfway through, it took on a human tone. Eight to ten seconds of sustained vocalization that morphed into a frantic, incoherent babble… and finally, a coyote-like cackle or laughing sound. The volume never dropped.

We scanned the ridge. I spotted a silhouette—a massive figure, turning swaying side to side near a tree at the top of the ridge. It looked human. I thought, “Who in group is that size?” We went guns up. The figure turned north and walked away.

We pursued him, assuming a diversion tactic to draw us away from the site. But despite jogging, we couldn’t close the gap. He moved quickly—strangely so. This went on for nearly a kilometer and a half.

The forest thickened. The ridge narrowed – bottle necked. And then the figure veered east—straight toward us—charging downhill like a bipedal rhino through underbrush. Not sticks snapping… limbs breaking.

I think at this moment, I realized It wasn’t human and started to categorize it.

We veered northwest off the trail to intercept. It turned north, the woods were dark – perfect place for a kill zone, an ambush, I could still track its movement. Then… silence. It stopped moving.

Total quiet. We crept forward—as noted this was textbook ambush territory. But nothing came. The smell did.

It hit in layers. First: wet dog tangled with decay. Then: putrid infection, feces, rot. It overwhelmed me. As the stench peaked, dread set in. Danger. Immediate and primal.

I glanced at Guy. He nodded: time to back out.

We backed out—me facing rear, unwilling to turn my back. I feared a charge. Surprisingly, Guy was only 15 feet behind. I suspect he walked backward too.

Eventually we hit the trail again, dazed. We stood in silence. Not tactical—just stunned. I have no concept of how long we stood there. I remember being totally surprised by how far we went, and how far off the trail we went. Almost like an unexplainable time warp.

We never spoke of it again. The only time I had heard what Guy had experienced was later that morning as he debriefed the CO and some of the others.

There is much more to this encounter that I would like to discuss with you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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49 Responses to “SC EP:1174 The Vagrant”

  13. Linda B

    Yep. I got the t-shirt. My daughter in law who knows im into sasquatch sent me a sasquatch t-shirt with the Ft. Lewis name on it. Pretty cool stuff. Thanks, Wes!

  16. Gregory M

    Wes, Army training areas are maintained by a predominately civilian work force called Range Control. Soldiers and units come and go but the civilian work force that maintains both live fire and force on force training areas often spend a career at a single post. They spend a lot of time inspecting training sites, fixing target lifters, running large scale ranges like tank, artillery and helicopter gunnery ranges to ensure Soldiers get full benefit from their training. They often know the terrain better we do. You should put out an invite for retired range control personnel at Lewis and other posts to come forward with what they know.

    I spent twenty-one years in the Army, and I agree with your guest. The only time Army leadership would care is if it became a force protection issue and threat to the well-being of Soldiers and the mission. Otherwise, it’s not mission critical and a waste of resources and a distraction from the training mission. I would place it right below DEI in terms of mission criticality. Training areas, fuel, training ammo, and time are finite elements for training and mission readiness. There’s simply no time to investigate strange anomalies.

    • Charles R

      Thanks for that great information Gregory M. Good to know and I would concur with your thoughts for one or more of these longtime Range Control employees, and hearing all the stories and/or having some of their own would be most welcome.

  29. Kenneth S

    Cool story. I’m not entirely sure why a Green Beret would light a cigarette in the dark knowing LIGHT DISCIPLINE is of upmost importance and the fact that the smell of a cigarette smoke can give away your position strikes me as a bit corny. Lighting and smoking a cigarette with a burning cherry is just about impossible to do without visible light while in the open. Ask me how I know ?

  31. Craig F

    Late listener, I thought the Sasquatch I saw beside the river was a homeless person, camping in the rough until I got a better look at its face. Way too wide and eyes not right. Stored the memory for 30 years or so, not knowing what to do with it. Thanks Wes and the brave people who share what they have seen.

  34. Charles R

    Ivan is a good name for a gorilla. Ivan did not belong at this store. I remember seeing them in the Detroit Zoo back in the 1960s. What freaking brutes they are. And to know something sometimes twice the height and even wider and stronger, and more athletic is out their in our woods is something to behold. Another good story from Ft. Lewis. I wonder if there were a tribe of them that always hung around Ft. Lewis, or if different ones come and go.

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