Drone Films GIANT SASQUATCH Carrying a Deer Body – Bigfoot Encounter Story

The Twelve-Hour Hunt

Chapter One: Flight into the Wild

I still can’t sleep right. Every time I close my eyes, I see those massive hands reaching up toward my drone and I hear that bone-chilling roar echoing through the trees. What started as a simple aerial photography session in the Oregon wilderness turned into the most terrifying twelve hours of my life.

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Three weeks ago, I drove up to the Cascade Range with my new DJI drone. I’d been saving for months to buy this thing, and I wanted to test its capabilities in real wilderness. The plan was simple: spend the day flying around, getting epic forest footage, maybe catch some wildlife shots if I got lucky. I parked my truck at a trailhead about ten miles outside a small logging town. The area was remote—thick old-growth forest as far as you could see, hiking trails most people avoided. Perfect for drone photography without worrying about other people or restricted airspace.

The morning was clear and cold, probably around forty degrees. I hiked about a mile in from the road to get away from any potential interference, then set up my equipment on a small rocky outcrop that gave me a good view of the surrounding forest.

The drone launched perfectly. I spent the first hour just getting a feel for the controls and filming some standard forest canopy shots. Nothing too exciting—dense trees, a few small clearings, a stream winding through the valley below. The footage was beautiful, exactly what I’d hoped for.

Chapter Two: The First Glimpse

Around noon, I decided to push the drone further out to explore areas impossible to reach on foot. I flew it about two miles northeast, following a game trail that cut through an especially thick section of forest. The battery indicator showed I had plenty of time for exploration.

That’s when I saw it. At first, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. Through the drone’s camera, I could see something moving between the trees. Something big, way too big to be a deer or elk. I maneuvered the drone closer, trying to get a better angle through the thick canopy. The first glimpse was just a dark shape moving through the undergrowth. But there was something wrong about the way it walked—too upright, too purposeful.

My heart started pounding with excitement. Wildlife footage, maybe even a bear on two legs. I adjusted the camera and pushed the drone fifty feet closer. The shape became clearer. The creature was walking upright through a small clearing, carrying what looked like a full-grown buck over its shoulder. Not dragging it, not struggling—just carrying it like it weighed nothing. The deer’s antlers spread at least three feet across, its body close to two hundred pounds, but this thing carried it like a backpack.

It had to be at least eight feet tall, maybe nine, covered in dark brown, almost black hair. The hair was thick and shaggy, longer on the arms and shoulders, shorter around its face. Shoulders three feet across, arms disproportionately long, hanging past its knees. The head was larger than a human’s, with a pronounced brow ridge casting shadows over its eyes.

From my aerial view, I could see its scalp covered in the same dark hair, but the face seemed less hairy, more exposed skin around the mouth and nose. What struck me most was how natural it looked in that environment—perfectly at home, not lost or confused.

Chapter Three: The Moment of Contact

I kept the drone at what I thought was a safe distance, three hundred feet up and back, close enough for incredible footage. The zoom function was amazing—I could make out individual hairs on its arm, see muscles rippling under its coat as it moved. The creature walked through the clearing and headed toward a dense thicket on the far side. I followed, trying to keep it in frame. It moved through spaces between trees that looked too narrow for something its size, somehow navigating the forest without breaking stride or making noise.

For two minutes, I just watched it walk. The footage was unbelievable—clear, steady shots of what was obviously not a known animal. This was going to change everything. I was already thinking about who I’d show the video to first, how I’d prove it wasn’t faked.

Then everything changed.

The creature stopped dead in its tracks. It dropped the deer carcass and slowly turned its head upward, looking directly at my drone. Even through the camera feed, I could see its eyes—intelligent, aware, and absolutely furious.

For five seconds, we just stared at each other through the camera. The creature’s mouth opened, revealing teeth more human than animal, and it let out a roar I could hear even from two miles away, over the drone’s rotors. The sound made my blood run cold. It wasn’t just loud—it was filled with intelligence and rage. This thing understood it was being observed, and it was not happy.

Chapter Four: The Chase Begins

Then it started running—not toward the trees, not away, but directly toward my drone’s position. And it was fast, faster than anything that big had any right to be.

I panicked. All my careful planning went out the window as I yanked the controls, spinning the drone around and flying it back toward me at maximum speed—thirty miles per hour. But when I looked at the camera feed, the creature was keeping pace below, crashing through the forest like a freight train.

It was taking shortcuts, cutting corners where the drone had to fly around obstacles. It knew the forest in a way that let it predict where my drone was heading. Branches that would stop a bear didn’t even slow it down. I watched in horror as it plowed through undergrowth, leaped over four-foot-high logs, and never lost sight of my drone’s path.

The battery indicator was dropping fast. Fifteen minutes of flight time left. The drone was two miles out, flying back toward me at maximum speed. The creature was following the exact flight path back to me, passing every landmark I’d passed on the way out—a distinctive dead tree, a rock fall, a bend in a creek.

At eight minutes of battery life, I could see my own position through the drone camera. The rocky outcrop where I stood looked impossibly small and exposed. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to run except back into the forest.

That’s when I made a decision that probably saved my life. I threw the controller down and started running.

Chapter Five: The Forest Hunt

I didn’t wait to see what happened to the drone. I grabbed my backpack and sprinted toward the tree line, crashing through brush and jumping over logs. Behind me, I could hear the drone’s motors getting closer, then cutting out as the battery died.

I looked back once as I reached the trees. The creature had emerged from the forest, two hundred yards away, moving at that same terrifying pace. It reached my equipment pile and stopped, bending down to examine the drone controller I’d abandoned. Even from a distance, watching it handle the device was chilling. It picked up the controller carefully, turning it over in its massive hands like it was trying to understand what it was. Then it looked up, scanning the area until its eyes locked onto me.

We stared at each other across the clearing. The creature straightened to its full height, close to nine feet tall, with shoulders that belonged on a linebacker. Its face was more human than I’d realized, with intelligent eyes studying me, calculating. Then it crushed the controller in one hand—plastic cracking even from two hundred yards away. The creature dropped the pieces and started walking toward me. Not running now, walking like it knew I couldn’t escape and was in no hurry.

I crashed through the underbrush, branches tearing at my jacket and face. Behind me, I could hear heavy footsteps and the sound of trees being pushed aside. The creature wasn’t running anymore. It was tracking me, following at a steady, deliberate pace.

Chapter Six: The Stalk

The forest was thick, fallen logs creating obstacles and undergrowth catching at my legs. I tried to use this to my advantage, weaving between trees, jumping over deadfall, anything to slow down something that size. But every time I thought I was gaining distance, I’d hear those footsteps again—never closer, never farther. The creature was maintaining a steady distance, like it was herding me somewhere specific.

After twenty minutes, I had to stop. My lungs were burning, my legs felt like jelly. I crouched behind a fallen log, trying to control my breathing and listen. The forest had gone silent—no birds, no insects, no wind. Just the sound of my own heartbeat and ragged breathing.

Then I heard it—the snap of a branch, fifty yards behind me. Then another, closer. The creature was still following, moving carefully now, probably trying to figure out exactly where I was. I forced myself to start moving again, quietly this time, stepping only on rocks and fallen logs.

The next two hours were the longest of my life. I’d move for ten or fifteen minutes, then stop and listen. Every time, I’d hear those heavy footsteps somewhere behind me, sometimes closer, sometimes farther, but always there. The creature was playing with me. It could have caught me at any point. I was exhausted, lost, and making enough noise for something with its hearing to track easily. But it stayed back, following at a distance that kept me terrified but alive.

Chapter Seven: Outwitting the Hunter

Twice I thought I’d lost it completely. I’d find a good hiding spot, wait for an hour without hearing anything, then start moving again—only to hear those footsteps resume moments later. It was learning my patterns, anticipating my moves. When I tried to double back on my own trail, I found massive footprints in the soft earth. The creature had already passed that way, probably circling around to cut me off.

The footprints were incredible—eighteen inches long and six inches wide, clear toe impressions more human than ape. The depth of the tracks told me I was dealing with something that probably weighed four hundred pounds or more.

Around three in the afternoon, I found a fast-moving creek. The water was freezing, probably snow melt from higher up the mountain, but I didn’t hesitate. I waded in up to my waist and started moving downstream, hoping the current would wash away my scent. After half a mile, I climbed out on the far bank, choosing a spot where the rocks would hide my footprints. I thought I’d been clever. I thought I’d lost it.

I spent ten minutes picking my way across a rocky slope, stepping only on stones. My boots were waterlogged and heavy, squelching with every step. That’s when I heard the splash—distant but unmistakable. Something large entering the water upstream. The creature had either picked up my trail again or predicted where I’d come out of the water.

Chapter Eight: The Final Stand

I didn’t wait to find out which. I started moving uphill toward a ridge that looked like it might give me a view of the surrounding area. The climb was steep and exhausting, loose rock shifting under my feet, wet clothes making everything harder. By the time I reached the ridge, I’d stopped shaking from cold and was warmed up by exertion.

From behind some rocks, I could look down into the valley. The creature was there, a quarter mile away, moving along the creek bank where I’d climbed out. Even from that distance, its size was obvious. It moved methodically, stopping every few yards to examine the ground, looking for signs of my passage. It was an expert tracker, reading the terrain, checking for disturbed rocks, bent vegetation, any sign that something had passed.

After a few minutes, it found where I’d left the water. I saw it crouch down, examining the spot. Then it stood and looked directly up the slope toward my position. I ducked down, heart hammering. There was no way it could see me, but something about its posture suggested it knew exactly where I was.

I tried misdirection—left obvious tracks toward a steep ravine, breaking branches and scuffing the ground, then carefully backtracked and headed west instead. I found a thick patch of evergreens and crawled underneath the low-hanging branches, barely breathing. From my hiding spot, I had a clear view of the false trail.

Twenty minutes later, the creature appeared, moving silently through the forest. Its stride was four feet long, and despite its size, it barely made any noise. The intelligence was obvious in how it read the trail, checking for patterns, looking for anything forced.

Chapter Nine: The Ambush

I watched as it disappeared over the ridge, then waited another thirty minutes before moving. I was starting to think I might actually escape. That confidence lasted ten minutes.

I was working my way west through younger trees when I caught a whiff of that musky smell again—stronger now. I froze, trying to pinpoint where it was coming from. That’s when I realized my mistake. The creature hadn’t been fooled by the false trail at all. It had followed just far enough to confirm it was fake, then circled back to pick up my real scent. Now it was somewhere ahead, waiting.

The forest had gone silent again, but this time it felt different, like something was waiting. The smell was overwhelming, so strong it made my eyes water. That’s when I heard the sound—a low, rumbling growl coming from directly ahead. I turned to run, but it was too late. Movement in my peripheral vision—something massive rising from behind a fallen tree.

It stood to its full height, and for the first time, I got a clear look at its face. Disturbingly humanlike, but enlarged and distorted. The nose was broad and flat, the mouth wide, but the eyes were what really got to me—dark, intelligent, and filled with cold calculation.

Chapter Ten: The Tree and the Fire

I scrambled up the largest cedar I could find, bark scraping my hands and face, wet boots slipping. I kicked them off twenty feet up and climbed in my socks, reaching a cluster of branches thick enough to support my weight.

The creature emerged from hiding, bigger than I’d thought, close to nine and a half feet tall. It circled the base of the tree, looking up at me with those intelligent eyes, movements deliberate and patient. Then it reached up and grabbed a lower branch, testing its strength. The branch creaked under the pressure, but held. After a few attempts to climb, it seemed to give up and started shaking the tree.

The first shake nearly threw me from my perch. I wrapped my arms around the trunk and held on as the entire tree swayed back and forth. The creature was incredibly strong. Each push sent vibrations up through forty feet of solid wood. Pine needles and small branches rained down around me.

After ten minutes, the shaking stopped. The creature walked away, disappearing into the forest. But I didn’t trust its departure. I stayed in that tree for the next six hours, the longest night of my life.

As darkness fell, I used my emergency lighter to create small fires on the branches below, dropping burning pine needles and bark to the forest floor, creating a ring of small fires around the base of the tree. The creature came back just after sunset, emerging from the forest like a shadow. In the flickering firelight, it looked even more imposing, eyes reflecting the flames.

Chapter Eleven: The Escape

It never came closer, but it never left. Sometimes I’d catch glimpses of movement in the darkness beyond the fires. Around midnight, one of the fires started to die down. I dropped more pine needles, but the creature immediately moved closer, testing the boundaries.

I spent the whole night feeding those fires, my hands covered in burns, my lighter running dangerously low. The cold was almost as bad as the fear. October nights in the mountains get down into the thirties, and I was still wearing wet clothes. I shivered constantly, teeth chattering, worried the sound would attract more attention.

Around three in the morning, my lighter finally died. The fires faded, and I watched in terror as the circle of light shrunk. That’s when I heard it start to move, not toward the tree, but around it, circling just outside the dying firelight.

When the last fire died, I was left in complete darkness. I could smell that musky odor getting stronger, and I knew it was moving closer.

First light revealed the creature sitting motionless fifty yards away, exactly where it had been all night. It looked almost patient, willing to wait as long as necessary. In the gray morning, I saw scars across its chest and arms, the way its massive hands rested casually on its knees.

Chapter Twelve: The Final Gamble

I had two energy bars and six ounces of water left. My mouth was dry, my stomach cramping. I couldn’t stay in the tree forever, but I couldn’t see any way past that thing.

That’s when I came up with a plan. I tied my energy bars to small rocks using paracord, hurled them as far as I could to the left, trying to make them land at least a hundred yards away in thick forest. The creature immediately got up and went to investigate.

As soon as it was out of sight, I scrambled down the tree and ran in the opposite direction. I made it a quarter mile before I heard the roar—full of rage and frustration. The creature had found the energy bars and realized what I’d done. Within seconds, I could hear it crashing through the trees behind me, and this time, there was nothing careful or patient about its pursuit.

I could see my truck through the trees ahead, three hundred yards away at the trailhead. The sight of that familiar blue paint was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. But three hundred yards might as well have been three miles. The creature was gaining ground fast.

At one hundred fifty yards, I tripped over a log and went down hard, cutting my hand. Blood started flowing, but I didn’t stop. I scrambled to my feet and kept running, leaving a blood trail.

Fifty yards from the truck, I could feel the creature right behind me, its breathing so loud it drowned out everything else. That’s when pure luck saved me—a low-hanging branch spun me off my original path toward a cluster of boulders. The creature overshot my position by twenty yards, giving me the seconds I needed.

Chapter Thirteen: Aftermath

I burst onto the gravel access road, fumbling for my keys with shaking, bloody hands. The truck started on the first try. As I threw it into drive, I looked in the rearview mirror. The creature had emerged from the forest, standing at the edge of the trees, watching me leave. In daylight, it looked even more massive. But its posture wasn’t agitated or frustrated anymore. It just stood there, perfectly still, watching—studying my truck, memorizing it.

It didn’t follow me onto the road. It just stood there, arms hanging at its sides until I drove around a bend and lost sight of it. But even after it disappeared, I couldn’t shake the feeling it was still watching somehow.

I drove those mountain roads faster than ever, every time checking the mirror, expecting to see that massive shape running down the road behind me. But there was nothing except empty asphalt and forest.

At the first gas station, I sat in the parking lot for an hour, hands still shaking. The attendant kept looking at me through the window. I probably looked like I’d been in a car accident—torn clothes, dried blood, a thousand-yard stare.

When I finally made it home, I told my wife I’d had an accident while hiking, which wasn’t exactly a lie. I never went back for my drone equipment. Whatever’s left is probably still scattered around that clearing.

Chapter Fourteen: The Questions That Remain

The drone crashed somewhere in the forest when the battery died, taking all the footage with it. The cuts on my hands healed, but I still have the scars—thin white lines that remind me every day of those twelve hours.

For the first few weeks, I couldn’t sleep without every light in the house turned on. I’d wake up in the night, convinced I could hear heavy footsteps outside or catch a whiff of that musky smell.

I’ve looked at satellite images of that area, trying to figure out where I encountered the creature. But the forest is so thick, you can’t make out details—just an endless green canopy that could hide anything.

What bothers me most isn’t the fear, though that was real. It’s the intelligence I witnessed. This wasn’t a primitive beast acting on instinct. It showed tactical thinking, patience, and problem-solving. The way it tracked me, set up ambushes, predicted my movements. That takes a kind of intelligence that challenges everything we think we know about what lives in our forests.

And the restraint it showed troubles me more. It could have killed me at any point. But it chose not to. Was it just playing with me, enjoying the hunt, or was there some other reason it kept me alive?

Chapter Fifteen: The Legacy of Shadows

The most disturbing possibility is that it was studying me, learning about human behavior, capabilities, and weaknesses. The way it examined my drone controller, the patient way it watched me from the base of that tree—it felt like scientific observation.

If these creatures are as intelligent as my encounter suggests, what are they planning? How many are out there? How long have they been watching us?

Since my encounter, I’ve discovered how many people around here have their own stories. The mailman told me about massive footprints near his hunting cabin. A woman at the grocery store described seeing something tall and hairy cross the road in front of her car last winter. Most had never told anyone before, afraid of being laughed at. Now we have an informal network of local believers, people who nod knowingly at strange sounds or unusual animal behavior.

It’s comforting to know I’m not alone. Of course, for every believer, there are three skeptics. Most say I saw a bear. I don’t argue anymore. I know what I saw and I know the difference.

I’ve replaced my drone, but haven’t flown it in remote areas since. Sometimes I think about what I might have captured with better equipment. But then I remember how quickly everything went wrong. Better evidence might have gotten me killed.

Part of me wants to go back, with better gear and more preparation. Another part thinks that would be the worst decision. The creature let me leave once. It might not be so merciful a second time.

Chapter Sixteen: The Ethics of Mystery

There’s also the ethical question—do I have the right to intrude again? These beings have gone to great lengths to avoid human contact. They’ve developed sophisticated strategies for remaining hidden, and they’ve been successful for centuries. Who am I to violate that privacy for my own curiosity?

Late at night, I find myself planning return trips, different routes, better gear. I tell myself it’s just theoretical, but I know I’m probably fooling myself. Part of me needs to know if what I experienced was real or if my mind created it under extreme stress. Another encounter would confirm my sanity—or get me killed.

This experience has changed how I think about wilderness areas. I used to see forests as peaceful, predictable. Now I know there are things living in those deep woods that we don’t know about, don’t understand, and probably can’t control.

I’ve become more interested in local history and folklore. Stories that used to sound like mythology now seem like historical accounts.

I don’t know what I’ll do with my story long term. Part of me thinks the world deserves to know. Another part worries about what would happen if the story went viral—thrill seekers flooding the mountains, disrupting the balance.

The creature I encountered showed restraint. Do I have the right to betray that mercy by exposing its existence?

Chapter Seventeen: The Truth in the Trees

Here’s what I know for certain. There’s something living in the deep forest of the Pacific Northwest that doesn’t match any known species. It’s large, intelligent, and remarkably elusive. It’s been successful at avoiding human contact for decades, maybe centuries.

Three weeks ago, I stumbled into its world. I was lucky to walk away. Lucky that the creature chose to let me go rather than eliminate a potential threat. Lucky that my truck started when I needed it most.

I don’t know if I’ll ever fully understand what I experienced out there. But I know it was real. The scars on my hands are real. The memories that wake me up at night are real.

Whatever that creature was, wherever it came from, it’s still out there in those mountains—hunting, hiding, watching. And now it knows that at least one human has seen it clearly and lived to tell the tale.

I just hope it doesn’t decide that was a mistake.

End.