Why I'm a Sasquatch fan.

THINGS YOU NEED TO KNOW.

Hundreds of eyewitness accounts, from coast to coast.

This is for entertainment only, because we don’t know if the mysterious creatures known as Bigfoot, Sasquatch, the Abominable Snowman, Yeti, Skunk Ape, or Ape Man actually exist. These beings belong to myth and legend. They can spark fear and excitement when people share their experiences. The stories draw you in and play with the mind.

Let’s be clear: you don’t need a real-life encounter to be a fan or to want to know more. If you’re like me, you have a story even if you’ve never seen one.

My story—and the reason I have a Sasquatch website and a sticker on my vehicle window—is not because I had a real encounter. That never happened to me.

It starts on a youth camping trip. Not a camping trip, exactly. (By the way, this is how most of the scary stories begin. Okay, I digress.)

This wasn’t a family trip. It was a summer youth camp—Kookamunga? I honestly can’t remember the name. All I know is it was the kind of place parents send you so they can get rid of you for a couple of weeks. Two weeks away from home, surrounded by teenage “young adults” who loved pulling crazy tricks on scared 8 to 10 year olds.

Back then we were left with strange, well-intentioned, slightly unhinged camp counselors. All day they gave us tasks. Complete one and you earned a 3-inch leather circle with holes punched top and bottom so you could add it to the strap around your neck. Swimming, puzzles, making more leather circles—the necklace grew until it dangled almost to the floor with every achievement. I was proud of those awards.

I still remember those days: swimming, hiking, playing in the woods. Every evening before the campfire we “filled our stomachs with fresh, healthy food.” Not really. It was more like hot dogs, chips, fries, and hamburgers that tasted like McDonald’s, only colder and less fresh. We were probably setting ourselves up for a lifetime of questionable eating habits.

The cafeteria was a big log cabin with high beams meeting at the center of the ceiling, windows along two walls, the kitchen at one end and heavy wooden doors at the other. Outside, steps led down to a large round seating area around a fire pit. That’s where we listened to stories about the area, Native history, camp lore—whatever the staff could invent to hold our attention.

I made a few friends among the other kids whose parents had also shipped them off so they could sow some wild oats. My friend bunked above me in a cabin up the hill, reached by a narrow winding trail that looked more like a deer path than a real walkway. Next to the entrance sat the restroom building with its trough-style sink for the evening wash-up.

A few nights in, at the campfire, a counselor launched into a “true story” that supposedly happened nearby, back when settlers passed through.

Here's the story how I remember it.

A group of travelers on horseback decided to camp for the night in a clearing at the bottom of a steep wooded valley. The counselor described weary wagon-train people sitting around a fire a lot like ours when they heard a strange whistling and yowling from the hillside above. He even shone a flashlight into the trees behind him so we could feel what those travelers felt.

The sounds grew. They had heard coyotes and wolves before, but this was different—deep, echoing through the valley, with whistling that seemed to come from several places at once. It spooked the horses and a dog. At first it came from high on the hill. Then it moved closer down toward their camp.

Someone fired a shot into the air to scare whatever it was. That only made the yowling louder and nearer. Soon they heard branches breaking and rocks hitting the ground just outside the wagon circle. A few men grabbed guns and torches and started up the hill.

The people left behind watched the torches climb. The noises continued, then stopped. Then came yelling, crashing trees, gunshots, and loud roars from more than one direction. The torches vanished.

The counselor finished by saying the remaining men later found the others’ dismembered remains—limbs hanging from branches and scattered through the woods. No one knew what did it, but the Native people in those parts spoke of a creature called Sasquatch, also known as Bigfoot: human-like, covered in fur, over seven feet tall, with 20-inch footprints. One touch could knock a person unconscious. Children who wandered out at night might be snatched, and eaten.

That was the first time I ever heard of Sasquatch or Bigfoot and this is how it will forever be etched in my mind.

Right after the story, they sent us to bed. We walked the dark path back to the cabin talking about how crazy it was. I laughed and said it was all made up. No way it was true.

After a while they gave us 15 minutes to get cleaned up. This is where it went wrong—very wrong. Funny for some people. Not for me.

It was pitch black dark. My friend and I needed to brush our teeth and wash up before bed, but time was short. We grabbed towels and toiletry bags and headed down the trail.

About ten seconds later we realized we hadn’t told our cabin counselor we were leaving. The rule was you always let them know. We yelled back that we were going to the restrooms and got the okay.

Ten seconds after that, another counselor jumped out of the bushes right into the path. I screamed. My so called friend shoved me toward this crazy monster leaping at us. I dodged whatever was reaching for me—at that moment I thought it was a creature that was going to eat me—and I have never run so fast or screamed so loud.

Five seconds later I realized it was a prank. I kept going to the restroom and tried to pull myself together. That took a while.

When we finished we hurried back to the cabin in silence, expecting something to jump out at any second. Lights out the moment we hit our bunks.

I slept terribly. It didn’t help that the award necklace I’d hung on the corner of my bunk, right by my face, looked exactly like Bigfoot every time I opened my eyes. I told myself, “Don’t move and you’ll be okay.” Only in the morning did I realize the Bigfoot that had kept me company all night was that darn achievement necklace.

I know this isn’t a sighting. But it left a mark. It planted the legends and the wonder that is still with me today.

Let’s explore these creatures and their stories together. If you have a story, visit our blog and tell us. Questions? Reach us at info@sasquatchee.com.