‘I SHOT SASQUATCH’ | Navy Veteran’s Bone-Chilling Encounter in the Woods – BIGFOOT STORY COMPILATION

The River’s Shadow

A Veteran’s Encounter in the Michigan Wilderness

Chapter 1: A Lonely Autumn

I never thought I’d be telling this story to anyone. Hell, I barely believe it myself. But after what happened to me last October in the backwoods of northern Michigan, I can’t keep quiet anymore. Maybe someone else has seen what I saw. Maybe they’ll understand.

My name doesn’t matter. What matters is what I witnessed out there in the wilderness.

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I’m a retired Navy veteran. Served two tours in Vietnam. I’ve seen my share of death and destruction. Lost good friends. Came home to a wife who helped me heal from all that darkness. We raised two kids, watched them grow up and move away to start their own lives. Then cancer took my wife three years ago. Just like that, the woman who’d been my anchor for forty-two years was gone.

The kids live in California now. Got their own families. I see them maybe twice a year if I’m lucky. Christmas and maybe one other visit. It’s a lonely life, but I’ve learned to live with it. The woods became my escape. I’ve always loved camping and fishing, even as a kid. After my wife passed, I started taking longer trips—sometimes a week or two at a time. Just me, my gear, and the silence of the forest. It helps clear my head, keeps the memories from eating me alive.

Chapter 2: Into the Wild

Last October, I decided to take one more trip before the holidays. Halloween was coming, then Thanksgiving, Christmas—the loneliest time of year for guys like me. I headed up to the remote areas near the Upper Peninsula, planning to do some canoeing on the rivers. I brought my old aluminum canoe, my camping gear, and my rifle. Always bring the rifle. You never know what kind of animals you might run into.

The weather was perfect that first week. Cool, but not freezing. Clear skies. I found a good spot about fifteen miles from the nearest road, set up camp by a small clearing. There was a river about half a mile through the trees, perfect for water and fishing. I’d been there before, knew the area well.

First few days went just like always. Woke up at sunrise, made coffee over the fire, spent the day hiking or fishing. Evenings by the fire, reading an old paperback or just staring at the stars. It was peaceful. Exactly what I needed.

Chapter 3: The First Glimpse

Things started getting weird on the fourth day. I was running low on water, so I grabbed my canteen and headed down to the river. It was mid-afternoon, sun filtering through the trees. I knew the path by heart—follow the game trail for about ten minutes, then head downhill toward the sound of running water.

I was maybe fifty yards from the river when I saw it. At first, I thought it was a bear—a big, dark shape standing near the water’s edge. But then it straightened up and I realized it was standing on two legs. Not like a bear rearing up. This thing was just standing there like a person.

But it wasn’t a person. It was huge. Had to be seven, maybe eight feet tall, covered head to toe in dark brown fur, shoulders broader than any man I’d ever seen, arms longer than they should be. It was just standing there by the water, completely still.

Then it saw me. Our eyes met across that distance, and I felt something I hadn’t felt since Vietnam: pure animal fear. This thing looked at me like it was deciding whether I was a threat or prey.

For maybe two seconds, we just stared at each other. Then it moved. Never seen anything that big move so fast. One second it was by the river, the next it was crashing through the underbrush, disappearing into the forest. Branches snapping, leaves rustling, then nothing. Complete silence.

I stood there for a long time trying to make sense of what I’d just seen. My hands were shaking as I filled my canteen, kept looking over my shoulder, expecting to see those eyes watching me from the treeline.

Chapter 4: Unwelcome Guests

Back at camp, I tried to rationalize it. Maybe it was a bear after all. Maybe the light was playing tricks on me. But I know what I saw. That thing was walking upright like a man, but it was no man.

That night, sleep didn’t come easy. Every little sound had me reaching for my rifle. Wind in the trees sounded like footsteps. Owls hooting sounded like calls between predators. I dozed fitfully, waking up every hour or so to check the perimeter of my camp.

Around three in the morning, I woke up to complete silence. If you’ve ever spent time in the woods, you know there’s always some kind of noise. Insects buzzing, small animals moving, wind in the leaves. But right then, there was nothing. Dead silence, like the entire forest was holding its breath.

That’s when I knew I was being watched.

I didn’t move. Didn’t even open my eyes all the way. Just lay there in my sleeping bag, listening. My rifle was propped against the tree right next to me. I slowly moved my hand toward it. The feeling of being watched was so strong it made my skin crawl. Like when you’re in enemy territory and you know there’s a sniper out there, but you can’t see him.

I stayed like that for what felt like hours. Eventually, the normal forest sounds started up again. Insects, small animals. Whatever had been watching me was gone.

Chapter 5: The River Clan

Next morning, I should have packed up and left. Should have trusted my instincts. But curiosity killed the cat, as they say. I kept thinking about what I’d seen. Was it real? Was there really something that big living out here in the wilderness?

I decided to go back to the river. This time, I brought my rifle and approached from downstream, found a good hiding spot in some thick bushes where I could watch the area without being seen. Settled in and waited.

Nothing happened for the first few hours. I was starting to think I’d imagined the whole thing when I heard them coming. Footsteps. Heavy, deliberate footsteps moving through the forest. But not just one set—at least two, maybe three. They were coming from upstream, following the river.

Through the leaves, I could see the spot where I’d first seen the creature yesterday. Then they appeared. Two of them, both massive, both walking upright like humans, but clearly not human. The first was the same dark brown I’d seen before. The second was lighter, almost reddish in the sunlight. They moved with purpose, like they owned this stretch of river.

I watched them for almost an hour. They caught fish like nothing I’d ever seen—just reached into the water and grabbed them with their bare hands. No nets, no tools. Their reflexes were incredible, faster than any human. They caught enough fish for a whole family in minutes.

They communicated with low grunts and hand gestures, almost human but not quite. The sounds they made weren’t random animal noises. There was a pattern, a rhythm that suggested language.

At one point, the lighter one found something in the water—looked like a piece of metal, maybe part of an old fishing lure. It held the object up to show the other, turning it over in its hands. They both looked at it, making quiet clicking sounds. Then the darker one threw it far downstream, like they didn’t want any trace of human presence in their territory.

The strangest part was how intelligent they seemed. They weren’t just animals following instinct. They were thinking, planning, communicating.

Chapter 6: Recognition

After they finished fishing, they cleaned up after themselves, picked up the fishbones and scales, even smoothed out the mud where they’d been standing. Left the riverbank looking almost exactly like it had before, like they were trying to hide any evidence they’d been there.

Then the darker one looked directly at my hiding spot and made a low sound to the other. Not aggressive, more like a warning. They knew I was there. Had probably known the whole time. But instead of confronting me or running away, they just gathered their fish and walked back into the forest like nothing had happened. Like they decided I wasn’t worth worrying about.

I stayed hidden for another two hours after they left. Too scared to move. My legs were cramped from crouching in the bushes, but I didn’t dare stand up. What if there were more of them? What if they’d left one behind to watch me?

When I finally worked up the courage to leave, I crept down to the riverbank where they had been fishing. The ground was still damp where they’d stood, and I could make out the faint impressions of their feet in the mud. The prints were enormous—eighteen, maybe twenty inches long, wider than any human foot, with what looked like claw marks at the tips of the toes. My size 11 boot looked like a child’s shoe next to those prints.

There were other signs, too: broken branches eight feet high, scratches on tree bark that looked fresh, and a musky, wild smell.

I took pictures with my old digital camera, though I knew they probably wouldn’t come out clear. My hands were shaking too much to hold the camera steady. As I was taking the last picture, I heard something that made me freeze—footsteps in the forest behind me, heavy and deliberate. Someone—or something—was coming back.

Chapter 7: The Standoff

I grabbed my camera and ran, crashing through the underbrush toward camp as fast as my old legs could carry me. Behind me, I could hear those footsteps keeping pace. Not running, just walking with those long strides that could cover twice the distance of my panicked scrambling. Whatever was back there wasn’t in a hurry. It knew these woods better than I did.

I made it back to camp and immediately started checking my gear. Rifle loaded and ready, campfire built up high so I’d have light if something came calling after dark. But nothing happened that evening. No visitors, no sounds of movement in the forest around me. Just a normal night in the woods, except for the feeling I was being watched.

Around midnight, I heard them calling to each other. Low, haunting sounds echoing through the forest from different directions. One call, then an answer, then another—spread out all around me, maybe a mile or more apart, but definitely communicating.

I didn’t sleep at all that night. Dawn came slowly, and with it, a decision. I should pack up and leave, but something kept me from breaking camp. Maybe it was stubbornness. Maybe curiosity. Or maybe after all these years of being alone, I’d finally found something that made me feel alive again—even if it was terrifying.

Chapter 8: The Warning

I decided to stay one more day. The morning passed quietly. I cooked breakfast, cleaned my gear, tried to act normal but kept the rifle close. Around noon, I found their trail—a path through the trees I’d somehow missed before. The undergrowth was trampled, branches broken at shoulder height for something much taller than me.

I followed it for about half a mile before I lost my nerve. The trail led deeper into the forest, away from the river, toward a part of the woods I’d never explored. The trees got thicker, the shadows darker. It felt like I was walking into their territory, their home ground.

That’s when I realized I wasn’t just being curious anymore. I was being stupid. These creatures had tolerated my presence so far. But if I started following their trails, poking around their territory, that tolerance might not last.

I turned around and headed back to camp, but I couldn’t stop thinking about what might be at the end of that trail. Where did they live? How many were there? Did they have families, children, some kind of community deeper in the forest?

Chapter 9: Surrounded

As darkness fell, I made my second mistake. I should have stayed put until morning. But I was worried about leaving my gear unattended and thought I knew the woods well enough to navigate in the dark. I was wrong.

I’d made it maybe a quarter of the way back when I heard the first branch snap off to my right, maybe fifty yards away. Could have been a deer, but something in my gut told me it wasn’t.

The forest had gone quiet again. That same unnatural silence. No insects, no small animals, no wind—just dead calm, like everything was holding its breath.

I started walking again, faster now. My flashlight beam danced across the trees, creating moving shadows that looked like figures lurking just out of sight. Every fallen log looked like a crouching shape. Every low branch looked like an outstretched arm.

Then I saw them—eyes reflecting my flashlight beam about chest high, maybe thirty yards away. Then another pair to my left, another to my right. They had me surrounded.

Chapter 10: The Encounter

I backed up against a large oak tree, trying to keep all of them in view. “I know you’re there,” I called out, my voice cracking. “I’m not here to hurt anybody. Just let me go back to my camp.” The words sounded stupid, but something strange happened. The eyes stopped moving. The forest went completely still, like they were listening.

Then one of them stepped into my flashlight beam—the lighter colored one from the river. Up close, in the harsh light, I could see details that made my blood run cold. Its face was more human than ape, but wrong in ways I couldn’t explain. The proportions were off—eyes too deep, jaw too wide, forehead sloping back at an impossible angle. When it opened its mouth, I saw too many sharp teeth.

It made a sound—not quite a growl, not quite a word. Then it tilted its head and made the sound again, like it was asking a question. I realized it was trying to communicate with me.

“I’m sorry,” I said, not knowing if it could understand, but hoping my tone would convey what words couldn’t. I was just curious. I didn’t mean any harm.

The creature studied me for a long moment. Then it made a different sound, longer, more complex. Almost immediately, I heard answering calls from the darkness. The other sets of eyes started moving again, but not toward me—they were pulling back, disappearing into the forest. The creature in front of me made one final sound, lower and more urgent—a warning. Then it too stepped back into the darkness, leaving me alone with my flashlight and racing heart.

Chapter 11: Departure

I started walking again, following what I hoped was the path back to my camp. Behind me, I could hear soft footsteps in the leaves—not threatening, just present, like they were escorting me, making sure I actually left their territory.

It took me another hour to find my camp, stumbling through the dark woods with the constant sensation of being watched. When I finally saw my campfire flickering through the trees, I almost cried with relief. I turned around one last time before entering my camp. In the glow from my fire, I could just make out several large shapes standing at the edge of the tree line, watching me, making sure I stayed put.

They stayed there for most of the night, silent watchers in the darkness. I could see their eyes reflecting the firelight, never moving, never making a sound. Around three in the morning, they finally disappeared.

Chapter 12: The Last Goodbye

I should have packed up right then and there, thrown everything in my truck and driven straight home. But I was exhausted. I convinced myself I’d be safe until morning. I was wrong.

Halfway back to camp, that unnatural silence fell over the forest again. Every bird, every insect, every small animal went quiet at the same time. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. I stopped and listened. Nothing.

Then I heard it. A single branch snapping somewhere off to my left. Not the kind of sound a deer or rabbit makes. Something big had stepped on that branch.

I unslung my rifle and flicked off the safety. The familiar weight calmed my nerves a little. But this wasn’t Vietnam. This was something else entirely.

The beam of my flashlight only reached about thirty feet, creating a small circle of visibility in an ocean of darkness. Beyond that, anything could be lurking.

Another sound, this time from directly ahead. Something moving through the underbrush with deliberate steps. My camp was only a few hundred yards away when I saw it—a massive shape standing between two trees directly in my path. Just standing there, motionless, like it was waiting for me.

I raised my rifle and looked through the scope. Even in the dim light, I could make out details I wished I couldn’t see. This was the same creature I’d seen at the river, the dark brown one. Up close, it was even more terrifying. Its face was almost human, but not quite.

When it saw me raise the rifle, it tilted its head slightly, curious. Then it growled—a deep rumbling that made my teeth ache and my hands shake. This thing was warning me, telling me I didn’t belong here.

It started walking toward me, deliberate, confident. I kept the scope trained on its chest, finger on the trigger, but I didn’t want to shoot. Something about the way it moved, the intelligence in its eyes—it felt wrong to just gun it down.

When it was about twenty yards away, it stopped. We stared at each other across that short distance. Then it did something I didn’t expect. It stepped behind a large oak tree, disappearing from view.

A rock came out of nowhere, flying straight at my head. I threw myself to the side, felt the rock whistle past my ear and crash into the tree behind me. I rolled, came up with the rifle, and fired without thinking. The muzzle flash lit up the forest for a split second. In that moment, I saw the creature stumbling backward, clutching its right arm. Dark blood started to flow between its fingers. It howled—a sound of pure pain and rage. Other howls answered from deeper in the forest.

The wounded creature looked at me one more time. Even injured, even bleeding, there was no fear in its eyes, only anger and something else—disappointment, maybe. Then it turned and vanished.

Chapter 13: Escape

I didn’t wait around to see what would happen next. I ran back to my camp, threw my gear into my pack, grabbed my canoe. The whole time I could hear movement in the forest around me. They were out there, watching me pack up and leave.

The river was my only way out. The nearest road was fifteen miles through thick forest, but the river would take me downstream to a small village about eight miles away.

When I reached the riverbank, I could hear them—movement all around me in the darkness. Heavy footsteps, branches snapping, low grunts and calls. They were surrounding me, but staying just out of sight.

As I pushed off from the shore, they started appearing along the riverbank. First one, then another, then more. I counted at least six, maybe eight. All different sizes, different shades of brown and gray. A whole family, maybe, or a tribe.

Some of them were holding rocks. I was a sitting duck in that canoe. But they didn’t throw the rocks. They just watched me paddle downstream, their eyes reflecting the moonlight, following my progress. Even after I’d shot one of them, they let me go.

Chapter 14: Reflections

I made it to the village just after midnight, pulled my canoe up on the boat ramp, and sat there shaking before I could trust my legs to carry me to my truck. Drove straight home without stopping. Didn’t sleep for three days.

I’ve been back to those woods since then—not to the same spot, I’ll never go back there, but to other areas nearby. Haven’t seen any signs of them. Maybe they moved on. Maybe they were never really there and I just had some kind of breakdown. Wouldn’t be the first veteran to have his mind play tricks. But I know what I saw. I know what I experienced.

Those creatures were real, and they were intelligent. They had families, territories, their own way of communicating. They’ve probably been living in those forests for generations, maybe centuries, staying hidden from people like us.

Sometimes I wonder if I should have handled things differently. Maybe if I’d approached them peacefully, tried to communicate, they would have accepted me. But I was scared. Scared and alone and faced with something I didn’t understand. I reacted the way I’d been trained to in Vietnam—identify the threat and eliminate it. Shoot first, ask questions later.

Maybe they weren’t a threat at all, just a family trying to live in peace.

Chapter 15: The Lesson

I still go camping, but I stay closer to civilization now. State parks, campgrounds with other people around. I tell myself it’s because I’m getting older, but the truth is, I’m afraid of running into them again. Not because I think they’ll hurt me. I’m afraid because I don’t know how I’d react. Would I run? Would I shoot again? Would I finally try to make peaceful contact? I don’t know. And I’m not sure I want to find out.

People ask me sometimes if I believe in Bigfoot, Sasquatch, whatever you want to call them. I used to say, “No, of course not.” Now, I just change the subject. Because I know they’re out there. I’ve seen them, shot one of them, looked into their eyes and saw intelligence staring back at me. They’re real, they’re smart, and they want to be left alone. Maybe that’s for the best.

Sometimes late at night, when I can’t sleep, I think about that moment when we first saw each other by the river. Two different species, both just trying to live our lives. For those few seconds, there was no fear, no aggression, no violence—just recognition. One thinking being acknowledging another.

Maybe that’s all any of us can hope for in this world—a moment of understanding before fear and instinct take over.

I shot Bigfoot, and I’ve regretted it every day since. Not because I did the wrong thing—I was defending myself—but because I wonder what might have happened if I’d found the courage to lower my rifle instead of raising it.

Guess I’ll never know now. But I’ll never forget those eyes, that intelligence, that moment of recognition between two very different kinds of beings sharing the same small piece of wilderness.

They’re out there somewhere. And maybe they’re better off staying hidden from people like me.

End.