A Hunter Discovered an Isolated Woman Living With a Bigfoot. What She Revealed Will Shock You!
In the mist-shrouded forests of Oregon’s Cascade Range, where legends linger and the wild remains untamed, a story has emerged that defies belief—a story of solitude, survival, and an encounter with the impossible. For decades, the myth of Bigfoot has haunted the Pacific Northwest. But for one man, the legend became reality. This is the true account of Roger Holmes, a veteran hunter, and the astonishing secret he uncovered deep in the Oregon wilderness.
The Hunter’s Path
Roger Holmes, 52, is not a man easily shaken. A hunting guide by trade, he’s spent over three decades tracking elk, black bear, and cougar through the dense forests surrounding Timber Falls, a remote town of just over 800 souls. Rugged, practical, and solitary since the death of his wife Sarah, Holmes is the kind of man whose word carries weight in these parts.
“I know these woods like the scar on my left hand,” Holmes says, recalling the knife slip from his first elk hunt at age fifteen. His life is one of routine—early mornings, strong coffee, and long days spent navigating ridgelines and game trails. But in October 2003, Holmes’s world was upended by a discovery that would haunt him for years.
Tracks in the Mud
It was a crisp autumn morning, the kind that paints the Pacific Northwest in gold and amber. Holmes had just finished guiding a group of city-dwelling hunters—dentists from California who returned home with empty hands but full cameras. With a rare stretch of free time, Holmes set out alone, prepared for a few days of solitude and hunting.
Driving his battered Ford F250 east into the Willamette National Forest, Holmes left behind the last vestiges of civilization. The familiar static of his radio faded, replaced by the symphony of the woods. He parked near an abandoned fire lookout tower, shouldered his pack, and set off along a game trail he’d walked dozens of times before.
Three miles in, Holmes paused to rest and drink from his canteen. That’s when he saw them—tracks in the mud by a creek. Not bear, not elk, but something else. Something massive.
“The print was seventeen inches long, eight wide, with seven toes,” Holmes recalls. “I put my hand next to it and felt like a child.” The print was fresh, the edges sharp, pressed deep into the damp earth. Holmes’s hunter’s instinct took over. He followed the tracks, each step leading him further from the familiar and deeper into mystery.
Something in the Woods
The tracks continued, regular and purposeful, striding in a way no human could. Holmes’s sense of isolation grew. No cell signal, no other hunters, no one who knew exactly where he was. But curiosity overrode caution. He pressed on, marking his route carefully, mindful of the dangers.
As the forest grew older, the trees towering and ancient, Holmes heard a sound that chilled him—a low rumble rising to a melodic howl, echoing through the woods. Everything fell silent. The birds, the squirrels, the wind itself seemed to pause. Holmes froze, heart pounding, rifle ready.
“I’ve heard elk bugle, mountain lions scream, wolves howl,” he says. “This was none of those things.”
The tracks led Holmes to a hidden valley, untouched and pristine, where civilization felt a thousand miles away. And there, beside a stream, stood a cabin—rough-hewn, weathered, but maintained. Smoke curled from the chimney. Someone was home.
The Woman in the Cabin
Holmes approached cautiously, calling out his name and intentions. The door opened, and a woman appeared—a sight so unexpected that Holmes felt as if he’d stepped into another world.
She was in her late thirties or early forties, her hair wild but once braided, her face tanned and lined by years outdoors. Her clothing was a patchwork of flannel and deerhide, her eyes fierce and protective.
“Who are you?” she asked, her voice rough from disuse. Holmes introduced himself, explaining how he’d followed the strange tracks. The woman, after a long pause, told him to leave—immediately and without questions.
But Holmes persisted, sensing something more. “Are you alone out here?” he asked.
Her answer was chilling. “I’m not alone.”
The Creature Revealed
From the shadows behind her, a rumble sounded—a presence so massive Holmes felt the air shift. A figure rose, ducking beneath the cabin’s low ceiling. Covered in dark, shaggy hair, with a broad, human-like face and intelligent eyes, the creature stepped into the light.
Bigfoot.
Seven and a half feet tall, shoulders nearly filling the doorway, arms long and muscular, hands ending in thick, dark nails. Holmes stared, transfixed. Every campfire story, every rumor, every skeptic’s laughter—all fell away in the face of the impossible.
The woman stood protectively before the creature. “You need to leave,” she repeated. “Forget you ever saw this place.”
But Holmes couldn’t move. He lowered his rifle, signaling peace. The tension eased. The creature—whom the woman called Moss—watched Holmes with wary curiosity.
Ellen Wade: The Missing Woman
The woman introduced herself as Ellen Wade. The name triggered a memory for Holmes. Later, in the solitary hours after his return, he would search the internet and find her story: Ellen Marie Wade, missing since 1991, presumed dead after vanishing during a Forest Service research trip.
Ellen shared her tale. She’d gotten lost during a field expedition, separated from her team after a mountain lion attack scattered their camp. Weak, dehydrated, and desperate, she was discovered—saved—by Moss. He brought her food and water, protected her, and over time, a bond formed.
“I realized I didn’t want to go back,” Ellen said. “Out here, I felt more alive than I ever did in civilization. And he needed someone. He’d been alone for so long.”
The world believed Ellen was dead. Her parents mourned, search teams combed the woods, but she stayed hidden to protect Moss. “If people found out, they’d destroy him,” she said. “So I let them believe I was gone.”
A Secret Life
Holmes returned to Timber Falls, shaken by what he’d seen. Days passed in a blur. He researched Ellen’s disappearance, finding articles, obituaries, and retrospectives—all confirming her story.
Unable to let go, Holmes returned to the hidden valley, bringing supplies—medicine, food, tools. Ellen and Moss welcomed him, cautiously at first, then with growing trust. Holmes became a lifeline, a connection to the outside world. He brought antibiotics, blankets, a propane heater for winter, and books for Ellen.
Moss, for his part, was revealed as more than myth. He was intelligent, gentle, and deeply connected to the forest. Ellen translated his gestures and sounds, describing a language of movement, tone, and touch. Moss’s knowledge of the woods was profound, passed down through generations of his kind.
“He’s more human in the ways that matter than many humans I’ve known,” Ellen said.
The Last of His Kind
As the seasons changed, Holmes learned more about Moss’s history. He was possibly the last of his kind, the remnant of a species that once thrived in these forests. Disease, hunting, habitat loss—Ellen speculated on their disappearance. Moss remembered others, but hadn’t seen another like himself in decades.
The loneliness of that reality weighed on Holmes. Moss’s trust, when he offered his hand in peace, was a gesture Holmes would never forget.
Winter’s Trials
The winter of 2003 was harsh. Holmes worried for Ellen and Moss, but heavy snow made visits risky. When the weather cleared, he brought Christmas supplies—coffee, chocolate, a radio, and gifts. Ellen sang carols, her voice rusty but sweet. Moss listened, fascinated by the music.
For Moss, Holmes brought a hunting knife—a replacement for a blade lost years before. Moss examined it with appreciation, understanding its value. In the firelight, the three shared a simple Christmas, forging a bond that transcended the ordinary.
Holmes reflected, “I’d spent the year mourning everything I’d lost. But here, I’d found something new. Not a replacement, but something different and valuable—a family, strange and secret, but family nonetheless.”
A Crisis in the Valley
With spring came new challenges. On a routine visit, Holmes found Moss gravely ill—feverish, struggling to breathe. Ellen was desperate. Holmes faced an impossible choice: Moss needed medical help, but exposing him would destroy everything.
Holmes contacted a trusted veterinarian, Dr. Sarah Chen, posing his questions as if about a bear. With her advice, Holmes secured strong antibiotics and anti-inflammatory medication. He returned to the valley, administering the medicine with Ellen’s help. They kept vigil as Moss fought for his life.
Slowly, Moss recovered. The ordeal deepened the bond between the three. Holmes stayed for weeks, living alongside Ellen and Moss, experiencing their rhythm, their connection to the forest.
Ancient Secrets
One evening, Moss led Holmes and Ellen to a hidden cave. Inside, ancient paintings adorned the walls—images of Moss’s kind, families, hunting, gathering, living. Handprints, massive and unmistakable, testified to generations past.
Among the paintings, Holmes saw a scene of cooperation—a creature like Moss beside a human, reaching out in friendship. Ellen translated Moss’s mournful sounds: “A long time ago. Before humans grew numerous and fearful. Before the forest shrank.”
Standing in that cave, Holmes understood the full weight of his secret. This was not just about protecting two lives, but preserving a memory—a link to a time when the world was bigger, more mysterious, and humans were not the only intelligent beings in the woods.
A Promise Kept
Holmes promised to keep their secret. To protect Ellen and Moss, to safeguard the last mysteries of the wild. His visits continued—bringing supplies, news, and companionship. In return, he received purpose and a sense of wonder that had been lost with Sarah’s passing.
“I discovered something in those mountains that changed everything,” Holmes says. “Some things are worth more than fame or recognition or even truth. Some things are worth protecting, even if no one ever knows you did it.”
The Secret Family
As months passed, Holmes’s double life became routine. To Timber Falls, he was the quiet widower, the reliable guide. But in the valley, he was part of something extraordinary—a secret family, a living connection to the magic and mystery of the natural world.
Ellen documented their lives in a handmade journal, recording encounters, seasons, and Moss’s reactions to the changing forest. Holmes read entries describing Moss’s grief at clear-cut stumps, his pride in ancient groves, and his sorrow at being the last of his kind.
Moss, aging but resilient, taught Holmes and Ellen how to move through the forest without disturbing it, how to listen to the rhythms of nature. Ellen, once a scientist, found peace in the simplicity of life with Moss, free from the noise and demands of civilization.
The World Shrinks, The Mystery Remains
In December 2004, Holmes reflects on a year of transformation. The world outside grows smaller—roads, towns, cell towers encroach on the wild places. But in the hidden valley, magic endures.
“Some secrets are still safe, hidden in valleys where maps don’t reach and most people never go,” Holmes writes. “And as long as I’m alive, I’ll make sure they stay that way.”
Holmes’s story is not just a tale of survival, but of devotion, sacrifice, and the protection of something priceless. The legend of Bigfoot is alive—not as a monster, but as a gentle, intelligent being whose existence challenges everything we think we know about the world.
The Value of Wonder
The story of Roger Holmes, Ellen Wade, and Moss is a reminder that the world is still full of mysteries. That in the shrinking wild, there are secrets worth keeping, lives worth protecting, and magic worth believing in.
Holmes’s final words echo through the forest: “Some things are worth more than truth. Ellen and Moss—they’re worth everything.”
