The Whatcom Disappearance: Did Bigfoot Claim a Tourist?
In the summer of 1988, a quiet, methodical man disappeared in the rugged isolation of the northern Cascade Mountains of Washington State. Mark Lawson, a 36-year-old engineer from Seattle, vanished without a trace. When a search party eventually located his camp, they found a ripped tent and footprints—human in shape, but impossibly large. Mark Lawson’s body was never found, and the park rangers’ informal report contained one chilling, handwritten sentence: “Looks like he was carried away.”
Mark Lawson was a civil engineer for Boeing, a private, reserved man who found solace in the wilderness after his divorce. He was an expert hiker who had navigated the Cascade routes since the age of 15, often possessing better knowledge than professional guides. His Seattle apartment contained a meticulous collection of topographic maps he had personally marked with water sources and dangerous areas. After his divorce, his trips to the mountains became more frequent, but he never shared what he saw or experienced there.
In early July 1988, Mark took five days off and informed his boss he was heading north to the remote Whatcom range. He packed his backpack with the precise gear of an experienced solo hiker: tent, sleeping bag, canned food, map, compass, portable radio, and a Pentax camera loaded with three rolls of film.
On July 14th, Mark registered at the entrance to North Cascades National Park, listing his route as Birch Lake, planning two overnight stays and a return by the 16th. A ranger noted his confidence and speed as Mark set off toward the pass at 9:30 a.m., disappearing around a bend shortly thereafter.
I. The Unsettled Camp
Birch Lake lies nine miles from the park entrance, accessible via a winding trail through a mixed forest. Mark had chosen this spot for its solitude; it was not popular, being low on fish and high on mosquitoes. The first night, July 14th, seemed to pass quietly. The nearest camp, occupied by a group of university students, was five miles away, and they reported hearing nothing unusual.
By the evening of July 16th, Mark had not returned to the checkpoint. The duty ranger waited until 9:00 p.m. before reporting him overdue. Since delays were common, the park office decided to wait until morning before escalating the situation.
On the morning of July 17th, when Mark still failed to appear, a search party was assembled: four rangers, two volunteers, and a service dog. They followed the designated route to Birch Lake but found no sign of his camp. After methodically searching the shoreline, one ranger suggested Mark might have changed his route and ventured further into the wilderness.
The group split up. The service dog led one group eastward, off the marked path. Two hours later, nine miles from the lake, they came upon a small clearing in a dense copse of trees. There stood Mark Lawson’s green two-person tent.
The sight was immediately alarming. The tent zipper was torn off, and the fabric was ripped in several places. The entrance gaped open. Inside, the sleeping bag was crumpled, and the backpack lay open, its contents scattered. On the ground lay a broken flashlight, an open can of stewed beans with a spoon stuck inside, and a camera tripod broken in half, one leg missing. The camera itself was gone.
II. The Colossal Prints
The ranger who first approached the tent noticed the ground around the camp was heavily trampled. Grass was flattened and moss was crushed. When he crouched down, he saw footprints that caused him immense alarm.
They were large and deep, shaped like human feet, but measured approximately 16 to 17 inches long and about eight inches wide. The toes were widely spaced, the heel massive, and the prints were deeply imprinted in the ground, suggesting immense weight.
The rangers quickly measured and photographed the tracks. The service dog, when brought near, whimpered, backed away, and refused to come closer. The tracks circled the tent and then headed north into the forest.
The search party followed the prints for about 200 meters. They remained clear and deep, but where the moss gave way to rock, the tracks abruptly vanished. After an hour of fruitless searching, the group returned to the tent.
Near the tent, one ranger noticed another strange detail: a wide, two-foot strip of trampled moss running from the tent toward the forest for about 50 meters. It looked as if something very heavy had been dragged across the ground. There were no footprints or paw prints alongside this strip, only the drag marks themselves. The strip ended abruptly at a large boulder, beyond which the trail disappeared into the rocks.
The rangers exchanged silent, troubled glances. Though no one spoke the word, the scene looked inexplicable and extremely strange.
III. The Screams in the Night
Reinforcements arrived by evening, and the group set up a temporary base. That night, Ranger David, a man in his fifties, spoke quietly to a younger colleague. He mentioned seeing similar huge tracks ten years prior while searching for another missing tourist. In that instance, they had closed the case and blamed a bear, but David never believed it; bears leave claw marks, and these incidents lacked them. He added that the local Nooksack Indians called this creature Sasquatch, saying it sometimes took people into the forest.
Around 3:00 a.m., the guards heard a strange sound coming from deep in the north: a long, drawn-out cry, similar to a human voice but too loud and too low for a normal person. The eerie echo hung over the valley. The cry repeated two more times, then fell silent, leaving behind a profound tension. The service dog hid behind the volunteer’s legs, clearly sensing danger.
They waited for morning.
On July 18th, the search continued, with one group heading directly toward the source of the nighttime cries. As they walked deeper, they noticed a strange, pungent smell—a mixture of wet wool, rot, and something animalistic—that grew more intense as they advanced.
They soon came across three huge cedar trees, all about three feet in diameter, freshly felled and lying across their path. The roots had been torn from the ground with great force, indicating enormous physical strength. The rangers concluded the trees had been uprooted intentionally.
A mile further, they arrived at a small clearing with a strange pile of branches, rocks, and moss stacked roughly four feet high. When they dismantled the pile, they found a blue jacket with the name “M. Lawson” embroidered on the chest. Beneath the branches, they found a shirt, socks, and one boot—all torn and dirty. Mark Lawson’s belongings were there, but his body and his camera were not.
IV. The Follower
As the group hurried back to base with the evidence, the same drawn-out scream repeated, much closer this time—about 200 meters away. The rangers froze. The scream was short and sharp, followed by silence.
As they began running back, they heard the distinct crackling of branches somewhere behind them. They saw no one, but the crackling continued, sometimes closer, sometimes moving away, constantly following the group as if something large was shadowing them in the shadows of the trees. They were met halfway by the coordinating team and returned to base pale and exhausted.
David ordered an immediate withdrawal. The search was too dangerous to continue.
Back at the park office, the items were sent for analysis. The jacket, shirt, and boot belonged to Mark Lawson, and small traces of his blood were found on the fabric. The Whatcom County Police launched an official investigation, sending in another search party with a helicopter. They discovered several more large footprints similar to the initial find, as well as more fallen trees, but Mark Lawson’s body was never found.
On July 22nd, the official search was called off. Mark Lawson was declared missing.
V. The Safety Coordinator
The local newspaper, the Bellingham Herald, published a short, dismissive article on the disappearance, briefly mentioning the “strange tracks” without details. However, Ranger David did not forget. He returned to the site alone and photographed the tracks, the fallen trees, and the pile of belongings, keeping the film in his personal archive.
A month later, a man from the parks department, calling himself a “safety coordinator,” came to question David. David showed him his photos of the enormous tracks. The coordinator silently took them, putting them into a folder, and strictly forbade David from distributing the “official information” to outsiders, citing the potential for tourist panic and damage to the park’s reputation.
David formally agreed but internally resolved to share the truth if anyone genuinely inquired.
In the fall of 1988, another disaster struck the same area. Three students from Oregon, following roughly the same route as Mark Lawson, disappeared. Their camp was found in a similar condition—tents torn, belongings scattered, clear signs of a struggle—but their bodies were never recovered.
This case received far more press attention. Washington State authorities, officially citing the danger of avalanches, closed access to this part of the park indefinitely. Unofficially, no one wanted to risk further casualties in an area where two parties had been completely and silently removed, leaving behind only the chilling evidence of something huge, unknown, and powerful.
