‘I HAD TO SAVE IT’ – Hunter Saves a Wounded Bigfoot from a Frozen Lake – Sasquatch Encounter Story

Beneath the Ice: A Winter’s Pact

Chapter One: The Sound Beneath the Silence

Look, I know how this sounds. I’ve replayed it in my head a thousand times, trying to make sense of what happened that day on the lake. Most days I convince myself it was some kind of hallucination brought on by the cold and isolation. But then I look at the rope burns on my hands that took three weeks to fully heal, and I know it was real. I know what I pulled out of that frozen water..

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It was late January, one of those brutally cold weeks where the temperature doesn’t crack zero even at midday. I’d been ice fishing alone on a remote lake about two hours north of where I live. When I say remote, I mean truly isolated. No cell service, no other fishermen, just miles of frozen white in every direction. The nearest road was a logging trail four miles back through the woods. I’d parked my truck there and hauled my gear out on a sled. The solitude was exactly what I needed after the chaos of the holidays.

I set up my shelter around dawn, drilled my holes, and settled in for a quiet day. By midafternoon, I’d caught a decent string of perch and was thinking about packing it in early. The wind had picked up, and that kind of cold that seeps through every layer you’re wearing had started to set in.

That’s when I heard it.

Chapter Two: The Struggle in the Water

At first, I thought it was ice cracking somewhere out on the lake. You hear that sometimes—deep booming sounds as the ice shifts and settles. But this was different. This was violent, crashing, splashing. Then a sound I can only describe as desperate thrashing, like something fighting for its life.

My first thought was a moose or elk had gone through thin ice near the shore. It happens. They wander out onto what looks like solid ice near the edges, where springs keep the water from freezing as thick. Big animals like that can break through, and once they’re in that freezing water, they don’t have long.

I grabbed my fishing rod and tackle box more out of instinct than anything, and started walking toward the noise. It was coming from the eastern shore, maybe a quarter mile from where I’d set up. Every rational part of my brain was screaming at me to leave, to get back to my truck and let nature take its course, but I couldn’t. Something about the desperation in those sounds pulled me forward.

The closer I got, the worse it sounded. Whatever was in the water was fighting hard. I could hear ice breaking, water churning, and these grunting, almost growling sounds that made the hair on my neck stand up. When I was about fifty yards away, I slowed down. The ice under my feet felt solid enough, but I wasn’t taking chances near open water.

That’s when I saw the hole.

Chapter Three: Face to Face with the Impossible

A section of ice near the shore, maybe fifteen feet across, had completely broken through. The water was black and churning, and in the middle of it was something massive. At first, my brain couldn’t process what I was seeing. It was too big to be a bear, and the shape was all wrong. Bears are compact, powerful. This thing was rangy, with impossibly long arms that it was using to try to climb onto the ice edge. It was covered in dark matted hair, not fur—hair that clung to its body in wet clumps.

And when it pulled itself partially out of the water, I saw its face. That’s the moment everything changed. That’s the moment I stopped thinking about moose or elk or any normal animal. The face was almost human. Not quite, but close enough that it triggered something primal in my recognition. Broad forehead, deep-set eyes, a flat nose, but scaled up, more primitive.

The eyes met mine across the distance, and I saw something there that I’ll never forget. Intelligence, understanding, and absolute terror.

The creature was exhausted. I could see it in the way its movements were getting slower, more labored. It would pull itself up onto the edge of the ice, but the ice would crack under its weight and it would slide back into the water. Over and over, each time it seemed to have less strength. The water around the hole was tinged pink with blood.

I stood there frozen, not from the cold, but from complete cognitive dissonance. Part of my brain was still trying to rationalize what I was seeing. Maybe it was a person in some kind of costume, but no person could be that size, could survive in water that cold for that long. Maybe I was hallucinating. But the sounds were too real, too visceral.

The creature saw me and made this sound—low and plaintive, almost like a question. It wasn’t aggressive. It wasn’t trying to intimidate me. It was asking for help.

Chapter Four: The Rescue

That was the moment I stopped thinking and started moving. I ran back to my truck, lungs burning in the frozen air, grabbing everything that might help—rope, a heavy-duty tow strap, bungee cords, anything. The whole time I was thinking about how insane this was. What was I doing? This creature could kill me the moment I got close, even if I somehow managed to pull it out. Then what? But I kept seeing those eyes, kept hearing those desperate sounds, and I couldn’t stop myself.

When I got back to the hole, the creature had stopped thrashing. It was just barely clinging to the edge of the ice, its massive head resting on the surface. Its eyes were half closed, and its breathing was shallow. Hypothermia was setting in. I could see the violent shaking that had taken over its body, the last desperate attempt to generate warmth.

I approached slowly, testing the ice with each step. The solid stuff was about ten feet from the edge of the hole. Past that, cracks spiderwebbed across the surface. I got down on my belly and started crawling, distributing my weight. The creature watched me approach. It didn’t have the strength to be aggressive, even if it wanted to be.

Up close, it was even more massive than I’d realized—eight feet long, maybe more, easily 600 pounds. I could see the injuries now: deep gashes along its rib cage, another wound on its thigh. The edges were ragged, not clean cuts. Something with multiple points—antlers, maybe—had gored it.

I carefully looped the strap under one arm, then reached across, my face inches from its face, to loop it under the other arm and around its chest. The whole time I was prepared for it to grab me, to pull me into the water. But it didn’t move. It just watched me with those dark, intelligent eyes.

Once I had the strap secured, I started backing away, paying out the rope as I went. When I reached solid ice, I stood and ran the rest of the way back to my truck. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely tie the tow strap to my trailer hitch.

Chapter Five: Shelter and Survival

The truck strained for a second. Nothing happened, and I thought the creature was either too heavy or had frozen to the ice. Then I felt movement. The truck inched forward. I couldn’t see what was happening behind me, so I just kept steady pressure on the gas. Ten feet, twenty, thirty. The ice behind me must have been shattering under the creature’s weight as I pulled it across. Finally, I felt the truck move more freely. I stopped, jumped out. The creature was out of the water, lying on the ice about fifteen feet from the hole, shaking violently.

I dragged it off the ice and onto the snowy shore. Only then did I stop. It collapsed onto its side, that massive chest heaving, shivers racking its frame. I piled everything warm I had—emergency blankets, sleeping bag, jackets, even towels—on top of the creature. The body was too large, the cold too extreme, but I did what I could.

Its eyes opened briefly, looking at me with what I could only interpret as understanding before closing again. I knew I had to do more. Hypothermia, this severe, needed active warming. I grabbed my small camping stove and a pot, filled it with snow, and got the water heating. While the water heated, I examined the wounds more closely. The gashes were deep and starting to clot, but they looked clean.

I poured warm water over its hands and feet, trying to bring feeling back. After twenty minutes, the violent shaking started to subside. The creature’s breathing became more regular, deeper. Encouraged, I focused on the wounds. My first aid kit was basic, but it was all I had.

When I approached with the antiseptic wipes, the creature’s eyes opened. It watched me carefully as I knelt beside it. I gestured to the wound, then to the wipe, trying to communicate what I was about to do. The creature looked at the gash, then back at me, and gave the slightest nod.

Chapter Six: The Pact

The moment the antiseptic touched the wound, it flinched hard. Its massive hand shot out and grabbed my wrist, not violently, but firmly. The strength in that grip was incredible. I froze, certain I’d just made a fatal mistake. But the creature just held my wrist, looked me in the eyes, and made a sound that was almost like a question. “Are you helping or hurting?”

“I’m helping,” I said quietly, even though I knew it couldn’t understand. “It’s going to sting, but it’ll keep infection out.” The creature studied my face for a long moment, then slowly released my wrist. It settled back and closed its eyes, tensing but allowing me to continue.

I cleaned both wounds as gently as I could. The bandages looked comically small against its massive frame, but I wrapped them as best I could. When I finished, the creature opened its eyes and looked at the bandages, then at me. It reached up with one massive hand and carefully touched the gauze, exploring the texture, seeming almost curious about the man-made material.

The sun was starting to set. In another hour, darkness would fall and the temperature would drop even further. The creature might have survived drowning and hypothermia, but it wouldn’t survive a night exposed on the ice. But what could I do? It was too weak to walk, too heavy for me to move any significant distance.

The creature seemed to sense my frustration. It opened its eyes and tried to move, tried to sit up, but its arms gave out and it collapsed back down. It made a frustrated sound, almost like a growl, and slammed one fist into the snow. I know, I said more to myself than to it. I know you want to move, but you can’t. Not yet.

That’s when I made the decision. I couldn’t move it to the truck, but I could build shelter around it.

Chapter Seven: Night Watch

There was a large boulder about thirty feet from the shore with some fallen trees nearby. I used those to create a leanto structure with the boulder as the back wall. It wouldn’t be pretty, but it might keep the worst of the wind off. For the next hour, I worked like a man possessed, dragging fallen logs, chopping branches, positioning everything to create walls. The creature watched me work, its eyes following my movements.

At one point when I was struggling to position a particularly heavy log, it made a grunting sound. I looked over to see it gesturing, pointing at the log, then at a different angle. I adjusted the log the way it had indicated, and suddenly the structure made more sense. The angle provided better support. The creature had just helped me build its own shelter.

When I’d created a basic frame, I pulled out the tarp from my truck and lashed it over the top and sides, creating a windbreak. The creature watched with what I can only describe as fascination, studying how I tied the knots, how I secured the corners.

The hard part was moving the creature. I rigged up a sling using more rope and the tow strap and managed to drag it slowly toward the shelter. It helped as much as it could, pushing with its good leg, but progress was agonizingly slow. About halfway there, it grabbed my arm and pointed at my technique, showing me how to pull at an angle that made the drag easier. It was actively helping, understanding the physics of what we were trying to do.

By the time I got it inside the leanto, full darkness had fallen, and I was soaked with sweat despite the freezing temperature. I packed every warm thing I had around it. The creature accepted each item, adjusting them around itself with surprising dexterity.

Then I built a fire at the mouth of the shelter, just outside the opening. Not too close, but close enough that the heat would radiate inward. I gathered more firewood, enough to last through the night. The creature had fallen into what looked like sleep, its breathing steady and deep.

Chapter Eight: Between Two Worlds

I kept the fire going, adding wood every thirty minutes like clockwork. My watch showed 8:00, then 10, then midnight. The creature slept on, occasionally making soft sounds like it was dreaming. Once it reached out with one massive hand, and I thought it was waking up, but it just shifted position and settled again.

I had a lot of time to think that night about what I’d found, about what it meant. I’ve hunted these woods for twenty years and never seen anything like this. Never heard stories from other hunters about anything like this. But here it was, real and breathing and very much alive.

Around 3:00 in the morning, the creature woke up. Its eyes opened slowly and it looked around the shelter with what appeared to be confusion. Then its gaze settled on me sitting by the fire and something changed in its expression—recognition, maybe. It made a soft sound, low and rumbling, but not threatening.

I moved slowly, reaching for my water bottle. I held it out, pantomiming drinking. The creature watched, then reached out with a shaking hand and took the bottle. It brought it to its lips and drank deeply, water spilling down its chest. When it finished, it handed the bottle back carefully, deliberately.

We sat there in silence for a while, the fire crackling between us. The creature shifted, trying to get more comfortable, and winced when the movement pulled at its wounds. I gestured to the bandages, then made a questioning motion. It looked at me for a long moment, then nodded slowly, clear communication.

I know it hurts, I said quietly. But you’re going to be okay.

Chapter Nine: The Language of Survival

The creature tilted its head at the sound of my voice, and I had the distinct impression it was trying to understand not just the words, but the tone, the intent behind them. Then it did something that made my breath catch. It raised one massive hand and placed it over its chest, over its heart. Then it extended that same hand toward me. The gesture was unmistakable across any species barrier.

“Thank you,” I nodded. “You’re welcome.”

It settled back against the shelter wall, pulling the sleeping bag tighter around itself. But its eyes stayed on me, not with suspicion or fear anymore, but with something else. Curiosity, maybe, or trust.

After a few more minutes, it reached out and picked up a stick from the ground near the fire. At first, I thought it was just fidgeting, but then I realized it was drawing in the dirt between us. Simple lines at first, then more complex patterns. It drew what looked like trees, then a crude representation of an animal with antlers. Then it pointed at its own wounds.

A moose attacked you, I said, understanding. Or an elk. It made a sound that might have been agreement and continued drawing. It sketched out what looked like water, then drew itself falling through. The whole story laid out in simple pictures in the dirt. Then it drew something else—a stick figure. Me, with a line connecting to a shape that had to be the truck. It pointed at the drawing, then at me, then made a pulling motion. It understood exactly what I’d done, how I’d saved it.

Chapter Ten: The Gift of Friendship

The creature looked at the drawing for a long moment, then deliberately smoothed it away with its hand. It started a new drawing, this time showing two figures standing side by side. It pointed at one figure, then at itself, pointed at the other, then at me. The message was clear. We were connected now.

I stayed awake the rest of the night, keeping the fire going, and the creature dozed on and off. Every time it woke, it would look over at me first, as if checking that I was still there. Each time when it saw me, it would settle back into sleep.

By dawn, the creature was noticeably stronger. It sat up on its own, examining the bandages I’d put on its wounds with great care. I offered it food—energy bars and jerky from my truck—and it took them cautiously, sniffing each item before eating. It seemed to prefer the jerky, chewing it slowly and thoroughly. After the third piece, it held up one hand in a stopping gesture. Enough. But then it pointed at me, then at the remaining food in my hand. The meaning was clear—I should eat, too.

We sat there in companionable silence. The sun was fully up now, warming the air a few degrees. The creature would occasionally shift position, testing its strength, and I could see improvement with each movement.

Chapter Eleven: The Farewell

Eventually, I knew I had to go. The creature was improving, but I couldn’t stay here forever. I made several more trips to my truck, bringing everything I thought might be useful—more food, all my remaining first aid supplies, extra blankets. I even brought a container and filled it with water from a hole I’d chopped in the ice. I tried to communicate through gestures, pointing at the food, at the water, at the shelter, trying to indicate that it should stay here, stay warm, keep the wounds clean.

When I pulled out a bottle of antibiotic pills, I pantomimed taking one. I left the bottle and held up one finger—one per day. The creature looked at the pill bottle, then at me. It picked up the bottle, examined it, then carefully opened it and shook one pill into its massive palm. It looked at the pill, then at me, then mimed swallowing it, showing me it understood.

Then it did something that caught me completely off guard. It reached out and touched my shoulder with one massive hand. The touch was gentle, deliberate. It looked directly into my eyes and made a sound, low, resonant, but somehow tender.

And then it spoke. Not in English, not in any human language, but a single word in its own language that I somehow understood the meaning of: friend.

I don’t know how I knew what it meant. Maybe it was the tone or the gesture or the look in its eyes, but I knew that’s what it was saying.

“Friend,” I repeated, my voice rough with emotion I hadn’t expected to feel.

Chapter Twelve: The Signs Remain

I didn’t want to leave. The guilt was overwhelming, but I also knew I had to get back. Had to make sure people weren’t searching for me. Had to maintain some kind of normalcy. I stood slowly and the creature’s eyes followed me. I backed toward the treeline where I’d left my gear, and it watched but didn’t try to follow.

“I’ll come back,” I said out loud, even though I knew it probably didn’t understand English. “I promise I’ll come back.”

The hike back to my truck took two hours. I was exhausted, cold, and my mind was spinning. What had I done? What would happen now? Every few minutes, I’d stop and look back toward the shelter, wondering if I should have stayed longer, wondering if the creature would survive without me there.

When I finally reached my truck, I sat in the driver’s seat for a full ten minutes before I could bring myself to start the engine. Starting the truck meant leaving. Leaving meant accepting that I might never see the creature again. Might never know if it survived.

The next day was torture. By noon, I couldn’t take it anymore. I loaded my truck with supplies and headed back.

The shelter was still there, but the creature was gone. My heart sank. The supplies I’d left were scattered around, clearly used. The water container was empty. The food was gone. The antibiotic bottle was there, and when I picked it up, I saw that exactly two pills were missing. Two days, two pills. It had followed my instructions.

But most importantly, there were tracks leading away into the forest. Deep tracks, much deeper than when I’d first dragged it from the water. The stride was longer, too, more confident. It had regained its strength and left under its own power.

Chapter Thirteen: The Last Gift

Three days after that, I returned again. The supplies were gone. In their place, arranged on the boulder, was a stack of stones—not random, deliberately placed. Five smooth stones stacked largest to smallest like a cairn. They were balanced so perfectly that they couldn’t have fallen that way naturally.

The creature had left them there. I sat down next to the cairn and just stared at it for a while. This was communication. This was intentional. The creature wanted me to know it had been here. Wanted me to know it had received the supplies. Maybe even wanted me to know it was okay.

Over the next two weeks, I made five more trips. Each time I brought food, mostly meat and protein-heavy items. Each time the supplies disappeared, and each time something was left in their place. Once I found an arrangement of sticks laid out in a pattern—two figures facing each other, arms outstretched. Friend, I thought. Another time, an unusual rock with a hole worn through the center, positioned so that if you looked through the hole, you could see the exact spot where the shelter had been.

The tokens were small, but unmistakably deliberate. Each one showed thought, intention, intelligence.

Chapter Fourteen: The Mystery Endures

On my final trip in early March, the ice on the lake was starting to break up. Spring was coming, and with it, the creature would have more resources, more food available. It wouldn’t need my help anymore. I left what I thought would be my last supply drop—mostly long-lasting protein bars and dried meat.

I sat by the boulder for a while, hoping maybe I’d see something. The forest was quiet except for the sound of water dripping from branches as the snow melted. I watched the tree line, scanning for movement, for any indication that I wasn’t alone. Nothing, just the endless trees and the silence of the wilderness.

I stood to leave, and that’s when I heard it. That same soft, low rumbling coming from somewhere in the shadows between the trees. I turned toward it, squinting into the darkness of the forest. I couldn’t see anything, but I knew it was there, watching, maybe saying goodbye in its own way.

“I hope you’re healing,” I called out. My voice sounded small in the vastness of the forest. “Stay safe.”

The sound came again, and this time there was something different about it—a different tone. If I had to guess, I’d say it sounded like contentment, like peace.

Chapter Fifteen: The Forest’s Secret

Thank you, I said, not sure if I was thanking it for surviving, for trusting me, or for something else entirely.

Silence. Then, just before I turned to leave, I heard it one more time. That single word in its language that somehow carried meaning across the species barrier. Friend.

“Friend,” I replied, my voice breaking slightly. I walked back to my truck slowly, stopping every few yards to look back. I never saw anything, but I felt watched the entire way. Not threatened—accompanied, like it was making sure I made it back safely the way I’d made sure it survived.

I never saw the creature again after that. I’ve gone back to that lake many times over the past few months. I’ve searched for tracks, for signs, for anything that might indicate where it went. Nothing. It’s like it vanished completely, melted back into the wilderness from which it came.

Sometimes I wonder if I imagined the whole thing. If the cold and isolation made me hallucinate some elaborate scenario. But then I look at my hands at the rope scars that are still faintly visible. I think about my sleeping bag that never came back from that leanto. I remember the weight of that bottle when the creature handed it back to me. The careful precision of those movements. It was real. I know it was real.

Chapter Sixteen: The Choice That Matters

I’ve never told anyone the full story. My friends know I had a rough fishing trip where I had to help an animal in distress. They assume I meant a deer or something normal. I let them assume. Who would believe the truth? But I know what I did. I know what I saw.

And somewhere out there in the deep forests north of here, there’s a creature that should have died in that frozen lake. A creature that’s alive because for some inexplicable reason, I chose to help instead of run.

I think about it every time I’m out in the woods now. I watch the treeline more carefully. I pay attention to sounds in ways I never did before. Part of me hopes I’ll see it again, get confirmation that it really survived, that it recovered fully from its wounds. But another part of me hopes I never see it again. Because that would mean it’s out there living its life, surviving in whatever way these creatures survive, far from humans and our tendency to destroy the things we don’t understand.

I saved it that day on the lake. But in some weird way, maybe it saved me too. Changed how I see the world. Changed what I believe is possible. Made me understand that there are mysteries in these forests that are worth protecting, worth preserving, worth keeping secret.

Chapter Seventeen: The Last Cairn

The last time I visited the boulder was three weeks ago. I didn’t bring supplies. Spring was well along and the creature would be able to find its own food. I just wanted to check on the place one more time. The leanto had collapsed under snowmelt, the tarp torn and scattered, but the boulder was still there, solid and permanent.

And on top of it, arranged in a small circle, were seven stones. I hadn’t put them there. The wind couldn’t have arranged them that way. Someone or something had deliberately placed them.

I left them exactly as they were.

Some stories don’t need endings. Some mysteries don’t need to be solved. I pulled a creature from a frozen lake, kept it alive through the worst night of my life, and sent it back into the wilderness where it belongs. That’s enough. That has to be enough.

But I still check the boulder every few weeks just in case. And I still watch the treeline when I’m out there alone. Because once you’ve looked into the eyes of something that shouldn’t exist and seen recognition looking back at you, you can never quite see the forest the same way again.

Whatever that creature was, whatever it is, I hope it’s out there somewhere, healed, strong, and alive. That’s all I really wanted from any of this. Just to know that the choice I made that day mattered. That the crazy, impulsive decision to help instead of run actually meant something.

I’ll probably never know for sure. But when I’m out there in the deep woods, when everything is quiet and the wind is still, sometimes I hear that soft, low rumbling sound in the distance. And I choose to believe it’s a thank you, acknowledgement from one living being to another.

I saved it. And in doing so, maybe I proved something to myself about who I am when no one else is watching. When it’s just me in the wilderness and a choice between running away or doing something that matters, I chose to do something that mattered.

And I’d make the same choice again.

End.