Bigfoot is REAL and He Showed Me What Happened To 1,000 Missing Hikers – Sasquatch Story
The Devil’s Creek Guardian
Prologue: The Edge of Survival
Bigfoot is real. Not only real, but smart—smarter than most people would ever believe. The one I met was kind. He showed me that his kind are just like us: full of good and bad apples. He made me understand that somewhere in Northern California, there’s a giant Bigfoot, bigger than the one I met, that hunts hikers like myself. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me tell you how I met the kind one first.
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I’m an adrenaline junkie. I’ve base-jumped off cliffs in Norway, free-climbed rock faces in Yosemite without ropes, surfed twenty-foot waves in Hawaii, jumped out of airplanes, gone cave diving in pitch-black underwater systems, spent nights alone in the Australian outback where everything wants to kill you. My friends think I’m crazy. My family gave up trying to talk sense into me years ago. But that feeling—dancing on the edge between life and death, every sense heightened, every heartbeat a reminder that I’m alive—that’s what I chase.
But nothing I’ve ever done prepared me for what I encountered on the Devil’s Creek Trail in Northern California. Nothing could have prepared me for that.
Chapter 1: The Devil’s Creek Mystery
Devil’s Creek has a reputation. Over forty hikers have disappeared there in the last decade alone. Forty people who walked into those woods and never came back. Their cars were found at the trailhead, their gear sometimes turned up scattered through the forest. But the people themselves vanished without a trace. No bodies, no answers—just gone.
Most people stay away. Locals whisper about it over beers in dim bars, trading stories they’ve heard from friends of friends. Rangers warn hikers not to go deep into the forest. Stick to the marked trails. Never camp overnight past the third mile marker. Always tell someone where you’re going and when you’ll be back. The warnings are stern and frequent.
But me? I went there because of the danger. I’d read about the disappearances online, spent hours combing through old news articles and missing person reports. The mystery fascinated me. What could be taking these people? Bears? Getting lost? Something else? I wanted the ultimate thrill, the ultimate rush. I wanted to walk into those woods and see what everyone else was afraid of.
Now I know the truth. I wish with every fiber of my being that I didn’t. Some knowledge comes with a price. The price for this knowledge has been my peace of mind. I’ll never feel safe in the dark again.
Chapter 2: Into the Woods
It was early October when I drove six hours north from my apartment to the trailhead. I left before dawn, watched the landscape change from city to suburbs to small towns to nothing but forests and mountains. The morning was crisp and clear, the kind of perfect autumn day where everything feels sharp and alive. The air smelled like pine and fallen leaves. The sky was a deep, cloudless blue.
I packed light for a three-day trip: tent, sleeping bag, water filter, dried food, first aid kit, knife, fire starter, flashlight. My pack weighed maybe forty pounds, comfortable for a multi-day hike.
At the parking lot, there were two other cars. I’d expected the place to be deserted. Seeing other people was almost reassuring. As I loaded my pack, I heard voices. An older couple came down the trail, both in expensive, brand-new hiking gear. The man asked where I was headed. When I told him I planned to go deep—ten or twelve miles in—his face went serious. He told me it was a bad idea, that I should turn back after five miles at most. His wife joined in, her voice urgent. She said the forest didn’t feel right, too quiet, too empty. They’d only gone three miles before turning back.
Another hiker, younger and weathered, overheard us. He warned me to stick to the marked trails and definitely not camp overnight past the third mile marker. “Used to be you could go deep into these woods,” he said. “But in the last five or six years, something’s changed. People who go too far don’t always come back.”
I thanked them all for the advice. Their warnings only made me more excited. The fear in their voices, the genuine concern in their eyes—that just confirmed that there was something real to be worried about here. I wanted to see what they were afraid of.
I waved goodbye and headed up the trail.
Chapter 3: The First Night
The first few hours were perfect. The forest was stunning, painted in gold and orange and deep red. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in long, dusty beams. Leaves crunched under my boots. The trail was well-maintained at first, clearly marked with blazes. Wildlife was everywhere—squirrels chattered, birds called back and forth, a deer bounded across the trail fifty yards ahead.
Around noon, I stopped for lunch on a fallen log. I’d made it about six miles in. The trail was less obvious, more overgrown, but I had my GPS and compass. By four in the afternoon, I’d gone about eight miles. I found a clearing with a small stream—perfect for a campsite.
I set up my tent, filtered water, started a small fire. As I made dinner, watching the sun sink lower through the trees, I felt a deep sense of satisfaction. I’d come out here alone to test myself against whatever this forest had to offer. So far, it had been beautiful and peaceful.
As darkness fell, I heard something moving in the brush around my campsite. Just rustling, branches snapping. I assumed it was a deer or raccoon, clapped my hands loudly to scare it off. The rustling stopped. I went into my tent, sealed it up, hung my food bag in a tree, and fell asleep to the sounds of the forest.
Chapter 4: Something Moves
I woke with the sunrise. Mist rose from the stream. I climbed out of my tent to make breakfast—and immediately noticed something was wrong. My backpack, which I’d left leaning against a tree, was now sitting on the other side of the clearing, fifteen feet away. I walked over, heart pounding. The pack wasn’t torn open. Nothing was scattered. It had just been moved. Picked up and carefully set down in a different spot.
All my food was still there. My gear untouched. Nothing missing. But someone—or something—had definitely moved it during the night.
I tried to rationalize. Maybe it was a bear. But bears tear into packs looking for food. They don’t gently relocate them. And I hadn’t heard any noise. Maybe a raccoon? But raccoons aren’t strong enough to move a forty-pound pack. This was deliberate. Something had picked up my pack and moved it with purpose.
I stood in the morning mist, trying not to let my imagination run wild. There had to be a logical explanation. Maybe I was misremembering where I’d left it. Maybe I’d been tired and put it down in a different spot. That had to be it.
I made coffee and oatmeal, packed up my camp, and decided to continue deeper. The mystery was unsettling, but I wasn’t going to let it scare me off.
Chapter 5: The Forest Goes Silent
The second day of hiking started normal. The path was faint, the forest denser. The trees were older, massive trunks covered in moss and lichen. Less sunlight reached the forest floor.
Around noon, the forest went completely silent. No birds, no insects, no wind. Just heavy, oppressive silence pressing in from all sides. I stopped, listening to nothing. In the wilderness, silence means a predator is near.
My skin crawled. Every hair stood up. My mouth went dry. Something was wrong.
I slowly turned, scanning the forest. Nothing—just silent trees and shadows.
Then I heard footsteps behind me. At first, I thought I was imagining it. But no, there it was. Step, step, step, matching my pace exactly. I walked forward—the footsteps followed. I stopped—they stopped. I walked again—they walked again.
I spun around, heart pounding, expecting to see someone or something right behind me. Nothing. Just empty forest. But I knew what I’d heard. Those footsteps were real. Something was following me.
I started walking faster—the footsteps kept pace. I jogged—they jogged. My heart was racing now, adrenaline flooding my system. This wasn’t the good kind of adrenaline. This was pure fear.
I remembered a trick: if something is following you, hide and watch your back trail. I found a boulder and crouched behind it, making myself small. I waited. Five minutes. Ten. Twenty. Nothing moved. The forest held its breath.
Finally, I stood up, feeling foolish. Maybe I was imagining things. I stepped back onto the trail—the footsteps resumed immediately, step for step behind me.
My blood went cold. Whatever this was, it had watched me hide. It had waited while I waited. It had known I was trying to spot it, and it had stayed hidden until I gave up. This wasn’t an animal. This was something intelligent, something patient.
Chapter 6: The Encounter
I kept walking, listening to those footsteps behind me. What could this be? A mountain lion? No—they stalk silently and ambush. A bear? Bears aren’t this subtle. Another hiker? Why would someone follow me, staying hidden?
By late afternoon, I was genuinely frightened. The adrenaline rush I’d been seeking had turned into something darker, something I didn’t want. This wasn’t fun anymore. This was terror.
I stopped to rest in a clearing, pulling out my water bottle with shaking hands. The footsteps stopped when I stopped. I could feel eyes on me, the feeling so intense it was almost physical.
That’s when I caught movement in my peripheral vision. Off to my left, fifty yards away, something massive moved between the trees, upright, walking on two legs. But it was too big. Way too big.
I turned, staring. It stood in a patch of sunlight, eight or nine feet tall, covered in dark brown fur, massive shoulders, arms hanging past its knees. A sagittal crest on top of its head. The proportions were wrong for a human. Too big, too powerful.
It was a Bigfoot, standing right there looking at me.
There was no mistaking it. This wasn’t a bear standing up. This wasn’t a person in a costume. This was something real, something alive, something that wasn’t supposed to exist.
We stared at each other. Time stopped. I couldn’t move, couldn’t think. My brain screamed that this wasn’t possible. But it was right there, solid, real, breathing. Its eyes were dark and deep-set, intelligent, aware.
We were two intelligent beings encountering each other, sizing each other up.
Chapter 7: The Chase
Then my survival instincts kicked in. Every fiber screamed at me to run. So I ran. I tore through the forest, branches whipping my face and arms, roots trying to trip me. Behind me, I heard the Bigfoot crashing through the undergrowth, moving fast.
It was faster than me, much faster. It should have caught me in seconds. But it didn’t. It stayed behind me, thirty or forty yards back, never gaining, never falling behind—just following.
I ran until my legs gave out, stumbled, fell into a ravine, landed hard, gasping for air. This was it. I’d gone looking for danger and found something I couldn’t handle.
I heard it approaching, those heavy footsteps. It came to the edge of the ravine and looked down, then climbed down, moving carefully. It stopped ten feet away, just stood there. I was too exhausted to move, too exhausted to be afraid.
It raised one massive hand, extended a finger, and held it to its lips—the universal gesture for quiet, for silence. I stared, shocked. It understood gestures. It was trying to communicate. This wasn’t just an animal. This was something that could think.
Its eyes weren’t aggressive or hungry. They were worried, almost frightened, like it was afraid of something. If this creature was afraid, what could possibly scare it?
It gestured again, pointing down, telling me to stay low, to stay quiet. Then it crouched beside me. Both of us pressed against the side of the ravine and waited.
Chapter 8: The Hunter
Then I heard other footsteps—heavier, slower, more deliberate. Each step made the ground vibrate. The Bigfoot beside me tensed up, every muscle rigid.
Through the trees above the ravine, I saw another shape—much larger than the one beside me. Ten or eleven feet tall, maybe more. Its face was scarred and mean, patches of fur missing, showing dark skin. Its mouth hung open, revealing large teeth. It sniffed the air as it moved, hunting for something—hunting for me.
The smaller Bigfoot grabbed my arm, pulling me deeper into the ravine, behind some fallen logs and thick brush. We pressed into the shadows and stayed absolutely still.
The large Bigfoot passed right above us, so close I could have reached up and touched its foot. The smell was overwhelming—thick, musky, rotten. I fought the urge to gag.
It stopped above us, sniffed the air, growled—a low, rumbling sound of pure menace, pure hunger. Every instinct screamed at me to run. The smaller Bigfoot kept its hand on my shoulder, keeping me still, keeping me quiet. I could feel it trembling. It was as scared as I was.
We stayed frozen for what felt like eternity. The large Bigfoot took a few more steps, still searching, then finally moved on.
We didn’t move. We stayed pressed against the ravine wall for another ten minutes, neither of us willing to risk making a sound.
Eventually, the smaller Bigfoot relaxed and gestured for me to follow.
Chapter 9: The Truth
This creature had just saved my life. It had been following me, not to hunt me, but to protect me. When I ran, it had chased me to keep me moving, to herd me away from danger. It had known the large Bigfoot was out there, and it had been trying to keep me safe.
We climbed out of the ravine, the Bigfoot moving first, checking the coast. Then we moved through the forest, winding paths, hidden routes, crossing streams at specific points. It showed me massive footprints—two feet long, a foot wide—the hunter’s tracks. It pointed at them, then at its own feet, showing me the difference in size.
It showed me claw marks gouged deep into bark, starting twelve feet off the ground. It showed me backpacks and jackets hanging from trees—missing hikers’ belongings, scattered like grave markers.
It led me to a small cave hidden behind rocks and brush. Inside, camping gear was arranged along the walls, boots lined up, jackets hung, water bottles placed carefully. Dozens of items, different brands, different years. Each item represented a person who had come into these woods and never left.
The Bigfoot pointed at the items, then in the direction of the hunter. It was showing me, making me understand—the large Bigfoot was hunting humans, killing them. The smaller one had collected their belongings, perhaps as evidence or remembrance.
Chapter 10: The Escape
As evening approached, the light changed, the temperature dropped. The Bigfoot kept us moving, urgent, pulling me along faster, getting me into hiding spots quickly. We hid in a hollow tree trunk, pressed together in the darkness, the Bigfoot’s fur rough against my skin. The large one passed nearby, hunting actively, sniffing the air, looking for me.
My protector kept its hand on my shoulder, reassuring, comforting. After the large one passed, we moved to another hiding spot behind a massive log. We repeated this pattern as full darkness fell. Each time the hunter got closer, each time my heart pounded harder.
Finally, as the last light faded, the smaller Bigfoot gestured that we needed to separate. It pointed at me, then at a small cave entrance, then at itself and gestured toward the forest. It was going to lead the danger away from me, draw the hunter off, give me a chance to hide.
Before it left, it placed its massive hand on my chest, right over my heart, then pointed to its own chest. The message was clear: We’re the same. We both have hearts. We both matter.
Then it crashed off through the forest, making noise, drawing attention to itself.
I crawled into the cave, pressed against the back wall, shivering from cold and fear and exhaustion. In the distance, I heard roaring—the sound of two massive creatures fighting. Trees broke, rocks fell, the ground shook.
Eventually, the sounds died down. The forest went quiet. I didn’t know who had won, if my protector was still alive.
Chapter 11: The Return
Dawn came slowly. The forest was quiet. I stayed in the cave, afraid to move. Hours passed. Birds began to call again—a good sign. Then I heard footsteps approaching. My heart raced. A shape appeared at the cave entrance—the smaller Bigfoot. It was alive, but hurt, bleeding from gouges and bite wounds, moving stiffly, but it had survived.
It gestured for me to follow. We walked a long, winding path through the safest parts of the forest, avoiding danger. After six hours, I saw the trailhead parking lot. My truck was still there.
The Bigfoot stopped at the edge of the forest. It wouldn’t come closer to civilization. We stood at the treeline, fifty yards from the parking lot. I wanted to say thank you, to explain my gratitude, but I didn’t have words. So I placed my hand on my chest, then pointed at the Bigfoot. It watched me, nodded slowly—a human gesture. It understood.
It turned and walked back into the forest. I watched it go, that massive form disappearing into the trees, melting into the shadows. Within seconds, it was gone.
Epilogue: The Truth in the Shadows
I walked to my truck on shaking legs. My hands trembled as I started the engine. I drove too fast down that winding mountain road, just needing to get away. The drive home passed in a daze. My backpack, my gear—all gone, abandoned in the forest. I was scratched, filthy, but alive.
Who could I tell? Who would believe me? My family would think I’d lost my mind. My friends would laugh. The authorities would be skeptical. I filed a report at the ranger station—said I’d gotten lost, spent a couple nights sleeping rough, made it back to the trailhead. They warned me again about going deep, gave me a lecture about safety. I nodded and left.
But I couldn’t let it go. I researched the Devil’s Creek disappearances. Hundreds of people have vanished in forests across the Pacific Northwest. There are peaceful Bigfoot encounters, but also sinister stories—people hunted, stalked, chased, the forest going silent. Reports of an aggressive Bigfoot in Devil’s Creek go back decades. Some say there’s something else out there, something even other Bigfoot fear.
Bigfoot are real. Most are peaceful, shy, want nothing to do with us. But there are exceptions—rogues, outcasts, predators. And there are protectors, like the one who saved me, who try to keep us safe.
It’s been three months since I came back. I still can’t sleep properly. The nightmares are constant. I see the large Bigfoot in my dreams, that scarred face, those dead eyes. But I also dream about my protector—the intelligent eyes, the gentle hand, the gestures, the way it risked itself to save me.
I wonder if it’s still out there, still watching over that forest, protecting lost hikers. I still love the rush, the feeling of being alive on the edge. But I’ll never go back to Devil’s Creek.
Some thrills aren’t worth it. Some dangers are too real, too immediate, too deadly.
I think about those missing hikers all the time. How many just got lost? How many fell victim to something that isn’t supposed to exist, but does? There’s a predator in these woods, maybe more than one. And they’re hunting humans. But there are also protectors out there—Bigfoot who risk their lives to save ours.
If you’re planning to hike in remote wilderness areas, especially places known for disappearances, listen to the warnings. Don’t ignore the advice of locals and rangers. Don’t go deep into the forest alone. Don’t assume you’re at the top of the food chain.
If something starts following you, pay attention. If it’s aggressive, get out. But if it’s herding you, if it reveals itself but doesn’t attack, consider that it might be trying to protect you from something worse.
Sometimes the monster you can see is trying to save you from the one you can’t. Sometimes the thing in the shadows is on your side.
I hope my protector is still out there, still watching, still saving people who don’t even know they need saving. Sometimes the scariest looking thing turns out to be your salvation. Sometimes you survive because something you didn’t even know existed decided you were worth saving.
Sometimes the line between monster and guardian is thinner than you ever imagined.
I’m still here, still alive, still remembering the feeling of that massive hand on my shoulder, still seeing those dark, worried eyes. I know I’ll never be the same. I’ve seen behind the curtain. I’ve glimpsed a reality most people don’t believe in. I can’t unsee it.
Bigfoot is real. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. I’ve been saved by it. I know what happened to those missing hikers. Some met the hunter. Some met the guardian. I met both—and I’m one of the lucky ones who lived to tell about it.
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