Helicopter Pilot Captured Footage of a Bigfoot Dragging a Human Body – Shocking Sasquatch Story

Late September 2019, Pacific Northwest, just east of the Cascades. I was thirty‑four, a veteran helicopter pilot with twelve years of flying search and rescue and charter tours over some of the most remote wilderness in North America. Clear morning, cold wind, and Maya Reynolds in my passenger seat with her camera and too much ambition.

We were supposed to circle the ridge, get aerial shots for her documentary, and head back by noon. What we captured on camera that day was unthinkable—ten minutes of footage showing something massive dragging a human body into the trees. I erased it three days later, believing it would put others in danger. That decision cost me my job, my credibility, and any chance of proving what happened. Maya went back alone to find the truth. She never came out.

Some secrets stay hidden for a reason, and some of us carry the weight of knowing them anyway.

Chapter One: The Flight

Maya had booked the charter flight two weeks prior. She said she needed aerial footage of untouched wilderness for a documentary about disappearing ecosystems. Standard job. I’d flown hundreds of filmmakers over these mountains, watched them point cameras at old growth forest and glacier‑fed streams, heard them talk about capturing truth, like the landscape owed them something.

Maya seemed different—quieter, more focused. She arrived at the hangar early, gear already packed, routes already mapped. We lifted off just after 8:00 a.m., rotors cutting clean through cold September air.

The flight plan was simple: follow the ridge line east toward Cold Water Ravine, circle the upper basin, return via the logging roads. Ninety minutes, maybe two hours if the weather held.

Below us, Douglas fir stretched unbroken for miles. I knew every peak, every watershed. This was my territory. I’d flown it so many times I could navigate by feel, by the way sunlight hit certain rock faces, by the shape of shadows in the valleys.

Routine. Comfortable. The kind of flight where your mind wanders to grocery lists and unpaid bills.

Then, just past the ridge above Cold Water Ravine, I saw something that didn’t belong.

Chapter Two: The Shape in the Trees

Movement. That’s what caught my eye first. Not the shape, not the color—just movement that was wrong for the landscape. Too deliberate, too large.

I adjusted our angle slightly to get a better view. Below us, maybe eighty feet down, something was moving through the trees near the ravine’s edge. Dark, massive, walking upright.

My first rational thought was bear. Had to be a bear, even though we didn’t get many grizzlies this far west. But the proportions were wrong. Too tall, too broad through the shoulders, arms too long. It moved like a human but built like something else entirely.

Maya’s hand touched my shoulder. She was pointing, camera raised, face pale. She’d seen it too.

I circled back, descending slightly, giving her a better angle. The helicopter’s shadow passed over the treeline, and the figure paused, turned, looked up at us.

That’s when my stomach dropped. It was dragging something. A body.

Chapter Three: The Body

I could see the shape clearly now—legs trailing limply, one arm catching on underbrush, pale skin visible against the dark forest floor. The creature pulled the body with one massive hand, moving steadily toward deeper cover.

Maya was filming, camera pressed to the window, breathing hard into her headset microphone.

“Ethan, tell me you saw that. Tell me I’m not—”

“I saw it,” I said.

Every instinct screamed to climb, to put distance between us and whatever that thing was. But Maya was already checking her footage, rewinding, confirming. We had it recorded. Proof.

And I already knew that was going to be a problem.

Chapter Four: The Landing

“We have to call it in,” Maya said. “There was a person. Someone’s dead down there.”

She was right. But I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think past what we’d just seen. Bigfoot. The word sat in my throat like poison.

I found a clearing half a mile south, brought the helicopter down smooth despite my shaking hands, killed the engine. Silence followed—absolute, unnatural.

We stayed together, hiked into the forest. The smell hit me first. Wet fur, thick and musky, mixed with pine and decay.

Ten minutes later, we found him. Caleb Moore, according to the ID in his scattered gear. Local survivalist. He’d been tracking something. High‑end trail cameras, plaster casting kit for footprints, audio recording gear still running. He’d been hunting Bigfoot, and he’d found it.

Caleb’s neck was broken. Dead maybe twelve hours.

The footprints surrounding his body were massive—eighteen inches long, five‑toed, pressed deep into the soft ground. They circled his position like he’d been stalked, studied before the final confrontation.

Chapter Five: The Deputies

We called it in. Sheriff’s deputies arrived just as full darkness settled over the forest. Carson and Webb, both middle‑aged, professional. They took our statements separately.

I told them about the aerial survey, about spotting something large, about landing to investigate and finding Caleb’s body. Clean, factual, no mention of Bigfoot.

Maya was less restrained. She argued with Carson, gesturing at her camera, trying to show him the footage. He looked, shook his head, handed it back. “Bear,” he said. “Carrying a carcass.”

Maybe he was right. Maybe it was easier than the alternative.

Chapter Six: The Knocks

We sat in the helicopter cabin, not starting the engine yet, just sitting in the dark. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

Then the first knock came. Hollow, deliberate, echoing through the night. Boom. Three seconds of silence. Another boom. A third.

Three knocks. Evenly spaced.

Maya grabbed my arm. “What was that?”

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because I knew. Wood knocks. Communication. Bigfoot announcing its presence, marking territory, sending a message.

The sound came again. Three knocks from a different direction. Closer.

Then something hit the helicopter hard. The airframe shuddered. Another blow to the tail boom. A third strike rattled the door.

Through the window, I saw it. A massive hand, dark fur, fingers as thick as my wrist. Pressed against the glass for one impossible second, then withdrew.

Chapter Seven: The Escape

I slammed the ignition, brought the engine online, collective full up before the rotors were even at flight RPM. Dangerous, but I didn’t care. We had to leave.

The helicopter lifted roughly, tail swinging as I fought for control. Below us, shadows moved between the trees. Huge, deliberate shapes tracking our ascent.

We flew in silence back to the hangar, landed hard. Three distinct impact marks on the fuselage, dents shaped like massive knuckles.

“It was warning us,” Maya said quietly.

“Or warning us not to share what we saw.”

Chapter Eight: The Choice

We had ten minutes of clear, undeniable evidence. Proof.

We could release it, become famous, change scientific understanding. Or we could destroy it, protect whatever that creature was, protect ourselves from the circus that would follow.

I deleted it. All ten minutes. Watched the file disappear, emptied the trash, made sure it was gone.

Maya never forgave me. She went back alone. She never returned.

Chapter Nine: The Aftermath

The search for Maya lasted two weeks. Deputies, firefighters, search and rescue teams combed thirty square miles of wilderness. Nothing. No tracks, no equipment, no sign she’d ever been there.

The official report called it missing person, presumed lost. No foul play suspected.

But I knew better.

I lost my job. Termination notice: gross negligence, destruction of evidence. My reputation collapsed. I became the crazy pilot who’d lost his mind.

Chapter Ten: The Gifts

One night, I heard the knocks again. Three hollow booms from the trees behind my rental house.

In the morning, I found a gift on the porch. A piece of curved wood, smoothed and polished, carved with simple geometric patterns.

It wasn’t a warning. It was acknowledgement. A message that my choice had been seen, understood.

More gifts followed. Woven baskets filled with huckleberries. Feathers. Stones. Carved wood pieces.

I began leaving things in return. A mirror. A piece of pottery. A harmonica. They disappeared within hours, replaced with new offerings.

We had an understanding, Bigfoot and I. A relationship built on mutual respect and shared secrecy.

Chapter Eleven: The Watcher

Three years passed. Maya was declared legally dead. Caleb’s family held a memorial. The helicopter company forgot I’d ever existed.

The knocks continued, regular as clockwork. Three hollow booms at 2 a.m.

I dreamed of Maya often. She’d be standing in the forest, camera in hand, motioning for me to follow. I’d try, but my legs wouldn’t move. The trees would close around her, and she’d vanish into darkness.

Other dreams were gentler. I’d see Bigfoot standing in a clearing, just standing, watching