USA Soldiers Reported Seeing a Giant Bigfoot During Vietnam Campaign – Sasquatch Story

The Jungle Guardian: Bigfoot in Vietnam

Prologue: A Secret Carried for a Lifetime

Bigfoot is real. And I know for sure the species doesn’t live only here in the States, but also in Vietnam. Why? Because back in my deployment, my buddies and I walked alongside it in what was one of the most terrifying yet incredible experiences I have ever lived.

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I’m in my seventies now, living in a small house with a yard I can’t quite keep up with anymore. Got a dog that’s almost as old as I feel some days. Most nights I sleep just fine, but not tonight. Tonight I’m sitting at my kitchen table at 3:00 in the morning, holding my old dog tags, unable to stop thinking about what happened fifty-six years ago this week.

For over half a century, I didn’t talk about it. Didn’t tell my wife before she passed. Didn’t tell my kids. Didn’t tell the VA counselor who asked about my nightmares back in the seventies. But I’m old now, and I figure if I don’t get this out before I die, the truth dies with me. And whatever that thing was out there in those jungles, it deserves better than that.

What I’m about to tell you changed everything I thought I knew about the world—changed what I thought was possible.

Chapter 1: Into the Green Hell

We went into that jungle as a squad of twelve men in the spring of 1968. Only seven of us came back. But here’s the thing nobody knows, the thing that’s been eating at me for decades: not all those deaths were from the enemy. And the only reason any of us made it out alive was because of something that shouldn’t exist. Something that watched us, terrified us, but also kept us breathing when we should have died in that green hell.

They sent us on a two-week reconnaissance patrol deep into triple-canopy jungle near the Laos border. The kind of mission where you pack light, move quiet, and pray you don’t run into anything bigger than your squad. The area was hot—lots of enemy activity, and there were stories about patrols that went in and never came back. Command wanted eyes on some suspected supply routes, wanted to know what was moving through that part of the jungle. So they picked us. Lucky us.

Those first few days were what you’d expect. Heat that pressed down on you like a wet blanket. Humidity so thick you could barely breathe. Every step felt like walking through an oven. Your uniform never dried—just stayed soaked with sweat and rain and whatever else. We moved careful, stayed alert, checked our sectors, the usual drill.

But even in those early days, we started noticing things that weren’t quite right.

Chapter 2: Signs in the Shadows

There were branches broken off trees, but way too high up—ten, twelve feet, snapped off clean. We’d find footprints near streams when we stopped to fill canteens. Big prints, bigger than any boot, pressed deep into the mud. At first, we figured maybe enemy soldiers, maybe they had some big guys. But the prints were wrong. Too wide. Toes instead of boot treads.

We didn’t talk about it much, but you could see the guys looking at those prints and then at each other, questions in their eyes nobody wanted to ask.

The jungle sounds changed at night, too. You get used to the noise in the jungle—the insects, birds, animals. But there were spots, certain areas we’d pass through, where everything would just go silent. Complete silence, like someone hit a mute button on the whole forest. That’s not natural. Animals go quiet when there’s a predator around, when there’s something they’re afraid of. We’d sit in that silence and listen to our own hearts beating too fast, wondering what the hell could scare a whole jungle into shutting up.

The ARVN soldiers with us, the South Vietnamese, started acting strange, too. Kept looking up into the trees. Wouldn’t settle down at night. When we asked what was wrong, they just shook their heads and refused to explain. One kept muttering something in Vietnamese. When we finally got him to translate, all he’d say was, “The forest has eyes.”

That didn’t make us feel any better.

Chapter 3: The Watcher in the Night

One morning, the fourth day, I think, we woke up and found our perimeter markers had been moved. Not destroyed, not stolen—just rearranged. Someone or something had come right into our camp while we slept and moved our gear around. Some supplies were in different places, but nothing was taken. It was like something was curious about us, examining our stuff.

We tightened up our watch rotation after that, doubled up the guards, but it didn’t help us sleep any easier.

The third night is when I first saw it.

I pulled watch from 0200 to 0400, the worst shift because that’s when you’re the most tired and the darkness feels the heaviest. I was sitting with my back against a tree, rifle across my lap, trying to stay awake by counting the mosquito bites on my arms. That’s when I heard it—something big moving through the jungle. And it wasn’t trying to be quiet. Whatever it was, it walked through dense vegetation like it didn’t care who heard it coming.

My first thought was enemy patrol. My second thought, when I caught sight of it between the trees, was that my mind was playing tricks. The silhouette was enormous, at least nine or ten feet tall, walking upright on two legs. But the shape was wrong for a man—too broad across the shoulders, too massive. It moved like a person, but bigger than any person I’d ever seen.

It stopped about fifty yards from our camp and just stood there. And I swear to God, it was studying us, looking at our sleeping positions, our gear, like it was figuring us out. I had my rifle up, finger on the trigger, but I didn’t shoot, didn’t even call out. I just froze and watched, trying to understand what I was seeing.

My flashlight was hanging on my gear, and I reached for it slow, clicked it on, and swept the beam toward where the thing was standing. For just a second, maybe less, the light caught its eyes. They reflected back red, like a dog’s or a deer’s do in headlights. But these were higher up—way higher, at least eight feet off the ground. Then it was gone, just melted back into the jungle without making a sound, which seemed impossible for something that size.

I sat there the rest of my watch, didn’t wake anyone else, didn’t report what I’d seen. Figured they’d think I was losing it. But when the sun came up, I went to the spot where it had been standing. There in the mud, clear as day, was a handprint pressed into the soft ground next to a tree, like it had leaned against the trunk while it watched us. That print was eighteen inches long, five fingers, creases and lines like a human palm—but the size was all wrong.

Chapter 4: The Forest Person

Over the next few days, the whole squad started noticing things. We’d be moving through the jungle and hear something big pacing us, staying parallel to our route, off in the thick vegetation. Branches would crack, leaves would rustle, but whenever we stopped to look, there’d be nothing there. Just the sounds moving away, staying ahead of us or behind us, but always there. We were being followed, and we all knew it.

The smell hit us sometimes, too. You know how a wet dog smells, that strong animal odor? Imagine that mixed with something musky and wild, something that’s never been near soap. It would roll over us when the wind shifted, so strong it made your eyes water. You could taste it.

We found more footprints. Found trees with bark stripped off in long tears, way up high where no person could reach. One guy swore he saw something massive moving through the canopy above us, using the branches like highways. Our squad leader kept saying we were paranoid, but I could see the fear in his eyes, too.

On day five, we stopped near a stream to refill our canteens. While the guys were filtering water, I walked upstream to check the area. That’s when I found it—a kind of nest or resting spot made from branches and leaves, built into the crook where a massive tree trunk split into two, at least twelve feet off the ground. It was woven together in a way that looked deliberate, intentional. Under the tree were more signs: scat bigger than anything I’d seen, piles of fruit rind, and bones, small animal bones picked clean and arranged in a pile.

Something lived here. Something big enough to sleep twelve feet up in a tree. Something that ate fruit and meat both.

I called the squad leader over. He looked at it all, looked up at that nest, and his face went pale. He told me not to touch anything, told me to get back to the group. We filled our canteens fast and moved out, putting distance between us and that spot. As we left, I looked back and thought I saw movement in the trees—something large shifting, watching us go.

Chapter 5: Face to Face

Later that day, we were moving through a section of jungle when the point man stopped and raised his fist. Everyone froze. He was looking at something ahead and looked scared. I moved up to see what he’d found.

There, in a small clearing, was the Bigfoot. Clear as day in full sunlight filtering through the canopy. It was digging in the ground, using its hands to excavate something. From where we were hiding, maybe forty yards away, I could see everything—the muscles moving under its dark brown hair, the way its fingers worked, almost human but bigger, stronger. It pulled something out of the ground—roots or tubers—and ate them right there, sitting cross-legged like a person.

We stayed frozen for almost ten minutes, just observing. The way it moved was so humanlike, but also completely different—more fluid, more efficient. When it finished eating, it stood up. That’s when we saw how truly massive it was—ten and a half feet tall, maybe more, arms that hung down past where humans would stop, hands that looked like they could crush a skull without effort.

Then it turned its head in our direction. We all stopped breathing. Its eyes scanned the treeline where we were hiding. For a second, I was sure it saw us, but it didn’t react. Didn’t seem alarmed. Just looked for a moment, then turned and walked away into the jungle. It moved absolutely silent despite its size, just flowing through the vegetation like water.

The ARVN soldiers started calling it “rừng.” When we asked what that meant, they said it translated to “forest person” or “wild man.” They said the old people in the villages had stories about them—huge creatures that lived deep in the jungle where people didn’t go. We’d always figured those were just legends. But now we were living in one.

Chapter 6: The Day of Fire and Fury

Day six, everything went to hell. We were moving through dense jungle, visibility down to maybe fifteen feet. The point man had just signaled for us to hold up when the whole world exploded in gunfire—enemy ambush, twenty or thirty of them from the sound of it, hidden in the vegetation all around us.

We went from quiet patrol to chaos in a second. Bullets snapped through leaves, thudded into trees, kicked up dirt. Everyone dove for cover. Two of our guys got hit in the first burst. One went down and didn’t move. The other took a round in the leg and started screaming, bullets still flying.

We tried to establish a defensive position, but we were outnumbered and scattered in bad terrain. The firefight lasted maybe twenty minutes, but felt like hours. The noise was overwhelming—the smell of gunpowder, jungle rot, and blood mixing together. I could hear the wounded man screaming, our squad leader yelling coordinates into the radio, enemy soldiers shouting in Vietnamese, tightening the noose around us.

Then I heard something different—a roar. Not a human sound, not a weapon, but a roar that seemed to come from everywhere at once. It was so deep I felt it in my chest, in my bones. The kind of sound that triggers something primal in your brain, something left over from when our ancestors were prey.

Every hair on my body stood up, and for a second the gunfire actually slowed down, like everyone had heard it and didn’t know what it was.

Through the smoke and vegetation, I saw it—the Bigfoot, massive, dark brown hair covering its entire body, easily ten feet tall and built like it could pull trees out of the ground. It was between us and some of the enemy positions, and it looked angry.

The enemy saw it, too. Their shooting changed direction. I heard panic in their voices. The creature roared again, mouth open, massive jaws, teeth that looked almost human but bigger, stronger. The sound seemed to vibrate the air itself.

Then it charged—not like a man running, but like a force of nature. It crashed through vegetation that would stop a person cold. Branches as thick as my arm snapped like twigs. I watched it grab a tree trunk—eight inches in diameter—and rip it out of the ground, roots tearing free with a sound like thunder. The Bigfoot swung that tree like a club and I heard it connect with something, heard men screaming in Vietnamese.

The enemy was firing at it now, full automatic, dozens of rounds. The Bigfoot didn’t even slow down. Through gaps in the vegetation, I saw it grab an enemy soldier and toss him. The man flew through the air like a rag doll. Saw it overturn a heavy machine gun emplacement, just flipped it like cardboard. The enemy broke, abandoned everything, and fled.

The Bigfoot stood there for a moment, watching them go, making sure they weren’t coming back. Then it looked toward our positions, looked right at where some of us were hiding. For a second, I thought it might charge us, too. But then it just turned and walked away, following the enemy soldiers into the deep jungle, making sure they kept running.

Chapter 7: The Jungle Guardian

We Americans just lay there, too shocked to move. Nobody gave orders. Nobody said anything. We just listened to the sound of the enemy running away, listened to something large moving through the jungle after them.

The firefight had lasted maybe twenty-five minutes from start to finish, but those last few minutes had been something out of a nightmare.

When the shooting finally stopped, the jungle went quiet again, that complete silence like the forest was holding its breath. We checked for casualties. One man dead, one wounded badly. We got a tourniquet on him, got him on his feet with help, and started moving fast. Didn’t matter where—just away from that spot.

That night, we set up a cold camp—no fires, ate rations cold, tried to sleep. The wounded man had a fever already, infection setting in. He kept mumbling about demons, about giant demons in the jungle.

But it wasn’t just him talking after the ambush. The silence was broken. Guys started sharing things they’d been keeping to themselves—eyes watching from the darkness, breathing outside the perimeter, tufts of hair caught on thorn bushes. One of the younger guys started crying, said he’d seen the creature watching our camp multiple times, had convinced himself it was hallucinations from stress. Now he knew it was real, and somehow that was more terrifying than thinking he’d gone crazy.

Chapter 8: A Pact of Silence

The next three days were a different kind of hell. We kept moving toward extraction, but the wounded man slowed us down. His leg was getting worse. We became aware, all of us, that we weren’t alone. The Bigfoot was following us. We’d see it sometimes through the trees, just standing there watching, never coming close, never threatening, just observing.

At night, we’d hear it moving around our perimeter, heavy footfalls circling our camp like it was standing guard. On my watch, I saw it checking our perimeter, actually patrolling like a soldier would, stopping to look outward into the jungle, listening, then moving to the next position. It was guarding us, protecting us from whatever else was out there.

One night, a trip flare went off on the opposite side of camp. The Bigfoot stood in the open, looking toward us, but not at us—at something beyond our position. Beyond it, barely visible in the dying light of the flare, were the shapes of men retreating into the darkness—enemy scouts running away. The Bigfoot had stopped them from sneaking up on us, probably saved our lives without us even knowing we were in danger.

Chapter 9: The Final March

On day ten, our squad leader made a decision. We needed to split up. The faster guys would push ahead to the extraction point, try to get help sent back for the wounded. Me and two others would stay behind with the wounded, set up a defensive position, and wait. It was risky as hell, but we were out of options.

That evening, the Bigfoot walked right to the edge of our camp, stopped twenty feet away, standing in a patch of moonlight. It looked at the two wounded men lying there, looked at me. Straight at me, eye contact, and I couldn’t look away. It made a sound—low, rumbling, not aggressive, not threatening, almost like it was asking a question. I just stayed still, rifle still pointing, but my finger off the trigger.

After a minute, the Bigfoot backed away into the jungle.

Morning, our squad leader’s plan went into action. The fast group moved out. We found a decent spot, set up, and waited.

That afternoon, the Bigfoot emerged from the trees about forty yards away, stopped when it saw our weapons pointed at it. Just stood there, hands at its sides, looking at us. One of the other guys started to squeeze his trigger. I yelled at him to wait.

The Bigfoot slowly sat down, right there in the open, lowering itself to the ground in a non-threatening posture. We kept our weapons on it, but we didn’t fire. Minutes passed. Then the Bigfoot stood up, moved slowly, carefully toward our position, every step deliberate.

It knelt down next to the unconscious wounded man, the one with the bad infection. Gently, it slid its hands under the soldier and lifted him up, cradled him in its arms like he weighed nothing. The other two soldiers raised their weapons. I told them to hold.

The Bigfoot looked at me again with those intelligent eyes. It made that rumbling sound again, and I realized it was communicating, telling me something, asking permission maybe, or telling me to trust it. I nodded.

The Bigfoot turned and started walking away, heading in the direction of our extraction point, and we followed, carrying our other wounded man. That creature moved through the jungle like it was strolling through a park. Fast but not running. It knew paths we’d never have found, routes that made the walking easier. It would get ahead of us, then stop and wait, letting us catch up. Never seemed impatient, never seemed bothered by the weight it carried.

Hours passed. The sun was getting low. At one point, the Bigfoot stopped and gently set our friend down in a clear spot, walked off into the jungle, and came back with water in leaves and some kind of plant, which it crushed and applied to the wound.

Chapter 10: The Last Goodbye

We walked until it was almost dark. The jungle opened up, the canopy thinning, and then we saw it—the valley, our extraction point. The Bigfoot carried our friend to the edge of the clearing and laid him down in the grass, so gentle, so careful. It arranged him comfortably, then stood up and looked at us. At me, at the two other guys, at the wounded man who was conscious enough to stare up at it with wide, confused eyes.

I felt like it was saying goodbye, like it was making sure we understood that we were safe now. I nodded. Thank you seemed insufficient. For saving our lives, for carrying our dying friend miles through hostile jungle, for protecting us from the enemy, for doing something I still didn’t understand.

The Bigfoot turned and walked back toward the treeline, back toward the deep jungle. The last thing I saw was its silhouette disappearing into the trees as darkness fell.

An hour later, the rest of our squad showed up with a medic from the firebase. The medic immediately went to work on our wounded men. Our squad leader asked how we’d made it to the extraction point so fast. We looked at each other, me and the two guys who’d seen everything. What could we say? We told the squad leader we’d had help. That we’d gotten lucky with the terrain.

The squad leader looked skeptical, but didn’t push it.

As we were getting ready to board the helicopter, the squad leader grabbed my arm, looking past me toward the jungle. There, standing in the shadows at the edge of the treeline, was the Bigfoot. In the bright morning light, with the helicopter’s rotors kicking up wind and noise, it just stood there watching us leave. I raised my hand—a wave of thanks. The Bigfoot’s head tilted slightly, and I swear I saw it nod. Then it took one step back and the jungle swallowed it.

Epilogue: The Price of Silence

We flew out, and the wounded recovered. We went through debriefing, told the officers what they wanted to hear. But then we got pulled into a tent with intelligence officers who asked about the Bigfoot. They didn’t laugh, didn’t call us crazy. They took notes. Asked for details. Then told us what we’d seen was classified. Told us not to talk about it. Said it was a matter of operational security. We signed non-disclosure agreements. We were ordered to keep silent.

For years, I kept the secret. I went home, got married, had kids, built a quiet life. Sometimes I’d see articles about Bigfoot sightings. People would laugh. I never laughed.

I kept in touch with the two other soldiers who’d seen it. One died in a car accident in the eighties. The other developed dementia, ended up in a nursing home, sometimes talking about the big soldier who saved us. Near the end, I’d visit and let him talk, because I knew the truth.

Now I’m the last one left who fully remembers.

After my wife passed, I started thinking more about the Bigfoot, about whether the story should die with me. My kids are grown. What’s the military going to do if I talk? Take away my pension? I’ve lived my life.

So I’m telling this story simply, exactly as it happened. I’m not asking anyone to believe it. Just putting the truth out there. That thing in the jungle was real. It was intelligent, and it chose to help us when it could have let us die.

I’ve spent fifty-six years wondering why. Maybe it saw we were just young men scared and far from home. Maybe it understood suffering. Maybe it was just a moment of compassion between two kinds of beings.

I’ll never know the answer, but I’m grateful. The Bigfoot gave me these years when it carried my friend to safety, when it kept the enemy away from us. The least I can do is tell the truth about it now.

I’m still sitting here with my dog tags, but I feel lighter now. Dawn is starting to break outside my kitchen window. However many days I have left, I’m okay with that. The Bigfoot gave me this life, and I didn’t waste it. And somewhere, maybe still in those jungles, or maybe somewhere else where the wild places haven’t been completely tamed, I hope that creature is still out there. Hope it found peace. Hope it stayed safe and hidden and free.

It gave me my life back that day in 1968. This story is the only way I know to say thank you.

END