Hunter Films a Sasquatch Fishing in a River – Terrifying Bigfoot Encounters

RIVERBOUND: The Day I Crossed the Boundary

Chapter One: Into the Deep Wild

I still can’t believe what I saw that morning. Part of me wishes I’d never left camp, never walked down to that river, but another part of me knows I witnessed something that’ll stick with me for the rest of my life.

.

.

.

It was my fifth day alone in the wilderness, deep in the Pacific Northwest backcountry. I’d driven eight hours from home, then hiked another twelve miles into country so remote you could go weeks without seeing another person. The kind of place where cell phones are useless and your nearest neighbor is a black bear or a cougar. I’d been hunting elk, hoping to fill my freezer for winter.

The first few days had been slow. I’d seen plenty of sign—tracks, droppings, rubs on trees—but nothing I could actually shoot at. By day five, I was getting discouraged, thinking maybe I’d have to pack up empty-handed.

That morning, I woke up before dawn like always. My small tent was covered in dew, and the temperature had dropped into the low forties during the night. I’d been sleeping in my clothes to stay warm, and after five days without a proper shower, I was pretty ripe. My hair was greasy, my skin felt grimy, and I could smell myself every time I moved.

I lay there in my sleeping bag, listening to the forest wake up. Birds started calling. Somewhere in the distance, I heard what might have been an elk bugling, but it was too far away to be sure.

Then I remembered the river.

Chapter Two: The River’s Secret

I’d heard it every night since I’d set up camp—a steady rushing sound, maybe a quarter mile to the west. I’d been meaning to check it out, maybe see if there were any fish worth catching. But more than that, I just wanted to wash off some of the trail dirt. A quick dip in cold mountain water sounded pretty good right about then.

So I crawled out of my tent, pulled on my boots, and grabbed my rifle. Even heading to the river, you don’t go anywhere in that country unarmed. Too many things with teeth and claws.

I slung the rifle over my shoulder and started picking my way through the forest. The trees were thick, mostly Douglas fir and western hemlock with some cedar mixed in. The undergrowth was dense, too—all ferns and devil’s club and fallen logs covered in moss.

Every step made some kind of noise no matter how careful I was. Twigs snapping, leaves rustling, my boots crunching on dry pine needles. The sound of the river got louder as I walked. It took me maybe fifteen minutes to get close. The forest started to thin out near the water, and I could see gray morning light filtering through the trees ahead.

Then I stopped.

I don’t know why exactly. Some instinct made me freeze in place, one foot still raised off the ground. Maybe I heard something that didn’t fit. Maybe it was just a feeling. But every nerve in my body suddenly told me to be quiet and pay attention.

Chapter Three: The Fishermen

I lowered my foot slowly, carefully, trying not to make a sound. Then I heard it—a splash. Not the regular rushing of the river, but something else. Something deliberate. Then another splash and another. And between the splashes, these low grunting sounds, deep and throaty, like nothing I’d ever heard before.

My heart started pounding. I crouched down low and moved forward maybe ten more feet, staying behind the thick trunk of a cedar tree. Then I peered around it toward the river.

What I saw made my blood run cold.

There were three of them in the river. Three massive figures standing in the shallow water, hunched over, completely focused on what they were doing.

At first, my brain couldn’t process it. I thought maybe they were bears, but bears don’t stand upright like that. Bears don’t have those proportions. They were easily seven or eight feet tall, maybe taller, covered head to toe in dark matted hair, brownish-black, soaking wet and hanging in thick clumps. Their shoulders were impossibly broad, wider than any man’s, wider than any bear’s.

And they were fishing.

Chapter Four: The Impossible

I crouched there behind that cedar tree, maybe fifty yards from the riverbank, and watched. My hands were shaking. My rifle was still slung over my shoulder, but I didn’t even think about reaching for it. I couldn’t move. I could barely breathe.

The closest one was maybe thirty yards from me on my side of the river. I could see it clearly in the growing daylight. Its back was to me, but I could see the muscles moving under that wet fur—huge rolling movements as it shifted its weight and positioned itself. Its arms were long, hanging down past where its knees would be. The hands were enormous. It stood perfectly still in the water, which came up to about mid-thigh on it. The river was moving pretty fast there, white water rushing around rocks. But this thing didn’t seem bothered by the current at all. It just stood there, solid as a boulder, staring down into the water.

Then its arm shot down fast. So fast I almost didn’t see it move. There was a huge splash and when the arm came back up, it was holding a fish—a big one. Looked like a salmon, maybe fifteen or twenty pounds. The creature brought it up to its chest and bit into it. Just bit right into the raw fish, tearing off a chunk.

I felt sick. Not disgusted exactly, just overwhelmed. This wasn’t possible. Things like this don’t exist. But I was watching it happen.

Chapter Five: The Family

The other two were further out in the river near the opposite bank. They were doing the same thing—standing still, waiting, then striking down into the water with incredible speed. One of them caught a fish while I watched. It held the salmon up and the other one made this huffing sound—not quite a grunt, not quite a bark, almost like approval, like they were communicating.

That’s when it really hit me. These weren’t just animals acting on instinct. There was something more going on. They were working together, coordinating, maybe even talking to each other in their own way.

I watched the closest one fish for maybe ten more minutes. It caught three more salmon in that time, each strike just as fast and precise as the first. The technique was incredible. It would stand frozen for thirty seconds or a minute, not moving at all, then explode into motion. Its hand would plunge into the water and come back up with a fish almost every time. When it missed, it would grunt and reposition itself slightly, then freeze again.

I got a glimpse of its face when it turned slightly to the side. It wasn’t like a human face, but it wasn’t like an ape either—somewhere in between. The nose was flat and wide. The brow was heavy, jutting out over the eyes. The jaw looked powerful, the mouth wide. When it bit into the fish, I could see teeth big and yellow-white. But the eyes, even from that distance, even in the dim morning light, I could see the eyes were different. There was something behind them. Awareness. Intelligence.

Chapter Six: Into Their World

I don’t know how long I crouched there, watching. Time seemed to slow down. It might have been fifteen minutes. It might have been twenty. The sun was coming up and more light was filtering through the trees, making the river sparkle. The three creatures kept fishing. They were efficient, methodical. Every few minutes, one of them would catch something. They didn’t eat all the fish. Some they set aside on the bank. I could see a small pile forming on the opposite shore.

Then things changed. The closest one, the one on my side, started making these low, rumbling sounds. The other two responded with similar sounds. They began moving toward the far bank, wading through water that barely seemed to affect them. Even where the river was clearly deep, maybe four or five feet, the water only came up to their waists. They climbed out onto the opposite bank, water streaming off their bodies.

That’s when I made the stupidest decision of my life. I decided to follow them.

I don’t know what I was thinking. Actually, I do know—I wasn’t thinking. Something in me just took over. Curiosity, disbelief, the need to know for sure that this was real, that I wasn’t losing my mind.

Chapter Seven: The Markers

I waited until they disappeared into the trees. Then I moved. I came out from behind the cedar and made my way down to the riverbank. Water was cold and clear, rushing past at a good clip. I could see where they’d been standing. Deep impressions in the sandy bottom, visible even through the moving water.

I looked around for a good crossing point. About forty yards upstream, there was a section where the river widened and looked shallower. I headed that way, moving carefully along the bank. When I got there, I could see it was still pretty deep—probably chest high in the middle. The current was strong, too. But I was committed. I waited in. The cold hit me like a punch. The water was glacier-fed. Couldn’t have been more than forty degrees. It soaked through my boots instantly, then my pants. Each step I took, the current pushed at me, trying to knock me off balance. The rocks on the bottom were slippery, covered in algae.

By the time I got to the middle, the water was up to my armpits. My rifle was held high over my head to keep it dry. The current was so strong I had to lean into it, fighting for every step. For a few seconds, I thought I was going to get swept downstream. My foot slipped on a rock and I nearly went under. But I made it. I pushed through to the far side and dragged myself up onto the bank, gasping and dripping. My whole body was shaking from the cold.

Chapter Eight: Territory of Giants

I stood there for a minute, catching my breath, feeling the morning air on my soaked clothes. Then I looked into the forest ahead and started searching for their trail. It wasn’t hard to find. The undergrowth was crushed down where they’d passed through. Small trees were pushed aside or broken, and the tracks—huge footprints in the soft earth, at least twice as long as my bootprints, and much deeper.

I followed. The trail led uphill away from the river. They were moving at a steady pace, not running, but not slow either. The tracks stayed close together, suggesting they were walking as a group. I kept my distance, maybe two hundred yards back, moving carefully from tree to tree.

Every few minutes I’d stop and listen. Sometimes I could hear them ahead, branches breaking, the sound of something heavy moving through brush. Once I heard one of them make a low call and another answered. The sounds echoed through the forest, impossible to pinpoint exactly.

As I followed, I started noticing other things. Strange things. High up on some of the trees, maybe seven or eight feet off the ground, the bark was stripped away in long vertical gouges. Like something tall had reached up and clawed at the wood. Some of the gouges looked old, the exposed wood weathered and gray. Others looked fresh, the exposed wood pale and still weeping sap.

Chapter Nine: The Camp

Then I saw the first marker. Hanging from a low branch was this twisted bundle of grass and small sticks woven together in a rough circle. Attached to it were what looked like small bones, bird bones maybe, and some feathers. It was turning slowly in the breeze, and something about it made my skin crawl. It was deliberate. Someone or something had made it and hung it there on purpose.

As I kept following the trail, I saw more of them. Every hundred yards or so, another one hanging from a branch. The patterns varied slightly, but they all had that same intentional quality. Some had more bones. Others had what looked like dried berries or seed pods woven in. One had a small animal skull, maybe a squirrel or rabbit, tied to the center with what looked like twisted plant fibers.

These things weren’t just animals. They were making things, marking territory or decorating or communicating.

About a quarter mile from the river, I came across something that made me stop cold. On the ground between two large trees was a circle of stones. Not just scattered rocks, but deliberately arranged in a perfect circle, maybe six feet across. In the center was a pile of charred wood and ash—a fire pit. The stones were smooth river rocks, all roughly the same size, placed with obvious care. The ash in the center was old, weathered by rain, but underneath I could see layers of it. This pit had been used many times.

Chapter Ten: The Chase

I looked up and saw more markers in the trees surrounding the circle. Dozens of them hanging at various heights. Some were elaborate with multiple elements woven together. Others were simple, just a bundle of grass tied in a knot. The effect was almost like decorations, like they’d adorned this place, made it special somehow.

My heart was pounding. I was standing in what amounted to their camp, their meeting place. If they came back and found me here, there’d be no escape. But I couldn’t make myself leave. I had to see more.

I moved past the fire circle and continued following their trail. The tracks led me through a section of forest where the undergrowth had been trampled down into clear paths, multiple paths actually, branching off in different directions like a network. These weren’t game trails made by deer or elk. They were too wide, too deliberate. They’d been made by something that walked upright.

I followed the main path, the one with the freshest tracks. Every thirty or forty feet, I’d see more evidence of their presence. A young tree bent completely over and held down by a heavy rock placed on its trunk. A log that had been moved off the trail and propped against a tree. Small piles of stone stacked in cairn-like formations.

Then I heard them ahead, closer than before. I froze and listened. They were making sounds—those same low grunts and rumbles I’d heard at the river. But now I could hear more variety in the sounds. Different tones, different rhythms. One would make a sound and another would respond. Back and forth like a conversation.

Chapter Eleven: The Boundary

I crept forward, moving from tree to tree, barely breathing. Through the branches ahead, I could see movement. I got closer, maybe sixty yards away, and found a thick cluster of ferns to hide behind. They were in a small clearing, all three of them. And they weren’t just standing around. They were doing something—working.

The largest one was holding a large piece of tree bark, maybe three feet long and two feet wide. It was examining the bark, turning it over in his hands. Then it set it down on a flat rock and picked up a smaller rock, one with a sharp edge. It started scraping at the bark with the rock, making deliberate strokes, shaping it. The other two were doing similar things. One was working with what looked like long strips of plant fiber, twisting them together, making rope.

I realized its fingers moved with surprising dexterity considering how large they were. The smallest one was gathering more bark from a dead tree nearby, peeling off large sections and carrying them over to the others. I watched them work for maybe ten minutes. They were focused, methodical. The big one would occasionally make a sound and hold up the bark it was shaping, showing it to the others. One of them would grunt in response—approval or critique, I couldn’t tell. Then it would go back to scraping and shaping.

They were making something. Tools maybe, or containers. The shaped bark could have been used for carrying water or storing food. The rope could have had a dozen uses. This wasn’t just survival instinct. This was craftsmanship, planning for future needs.

Chapter Twelve: The Standoff

Suddenly, a branch snapped under my boot. The crack echoed through the ravine, through the whole forest, and everything stopped. For maybe three seconds, nothing moved. The world seemed to freeze.

Then I saw all three of them appear at the cave entrance. They’d been inside and now they were coming out, moving into the open. They stood perfectly still, just like they’d done in the river, not moving a muscle. Their heads turned slowly, scanning the forest, listening.

The largest one started moving up the ravine toward me, not running, but walking with purpose, its eyes scanning the trees. The other two spread out slightly, flanking it on either side. They were hunting, and they knew something was here.

I had maybe ten seconds to decide. Stay hidden and hope they passed by or run.

Every instinct in my body screamed at me to run, but I forced myself to stay still. If I moved, they’d see me for sure. If I stayed frozen, maybe they’d miss me.

The largest one was twenty yards away now. Fifteen. I could see its face clearly, the heavy brow, the wide nostrils, the eyes. Those eyes were scanning back and forth, and I knew that any second they’d lock on to me.

Ten yards, it stopped, sniffed the air again, turned its head slowly, looking right and left. Then it looked directly at me. Our eyes met. I saw recognition there. It knew. It knew exactly where I was and what I was.

Chapter Thirteen: The Escape

For one frozen moment, we just stared at each other. Then its mouth opened and it let out a roar that shook the trees. Not a howl, not a scream—a roar, deep and loud and filled with rage.

I ran. I exploded from my hiding spot and crashed through the undergrowth, running back the way I’d come. Behind me, I heard all three of them screaming. Not human screams, not animal screams. Something in between, something primal and terrifying that seemed to come from a different age.

Branches whipped my face. Thorns tore at my clothes. I hurdled a fallen log and nearly went down on the other side, catching myself on a tree trunk. Behind me, the screaming continued, joined by the sound of massive bodies crashing through the forest. They were coming after me, all three of them, and they were fast.

I ran harder than I’ve ever run in my life. My lungs were burning. My legs felt like they were going to give out. The rifle was banging against my back with every step, the strap digging into my shoulder. It was heavy. It was slowing me down. I made a split-second decision. Without stopping, I reached up and unbuckled the strap. Let the rifle slide off my shoulder. It fell to the ground behind me, and I kept running. Immediately, I was faster, lighter. I poured everything I had into my legs and flew down the mountainside.

Chapter Fourteen: The River’s Mercy

But the sounds behind me weren’t getting any quieter. If anything, they were getting closer. I risked a glance back and saw movement through the trees—a massive shape, darker than the shadows, coming after me. Then another. They were spread out, moving through the forest on parallel paths. They weren’t just chasing me. They were coordinating, trying to cut me off.

The forest opened up slightly, and I found myself on a rocky slope. Loose stones shifted under my feet. I half slid, half ran down it, sending small avalanches of rocks tumbling ahead of me. At the bottom was a small ravine, maybe six feet deep. I jumped without thinking, landed hard on the other side, rolled. My shoulder hit something sharp, a rock or a stick, and pain flared, but I pushed up and kept moving.

The river was ahead. New energy flooded through me. The river meant safety. I didn’t know why I thought that, but something deep in my brain told me if I could just reach the water, I’d be okay.

The ground was sloping down now, getting steeper. I was running almost out of control, my feet barely touching the ground before lifting again. The trees were thinning. I could hear the rush of water getting louder. Behind me, the screaming reached a fever pitch.

I burst through the last line of trees and saw the water rushing past below. The bank was steep here, maybe a ten-foot drop to the water’s edge. I didn’t slow down, just launched myself over the edge.

Chapter Fifteen: The Divide

For a second, I was airborne. Then I hit the water. The cold was instant and total. My momentum carried me under and I tumbled through the current, completely disoriented. I didn’t know which way was up. My clothes were pulling me down. Water rushed past my face into my mouth and nose. My lungs were screaming for air. I kicked and clawed at the water, fighting the current. My hand hit something—a rock—and I used it to push myself toward what I hoped was the surface.

My head broke through. I gasped and coughed, sucking in air and water. The current was pulling me downstream fast. I couldn’t see clearly. My eyes were full of water, but I could hear the screaming from the bank. I went under again, got turned around. My knee hit a rock hard enough to send shooting pain up my leg. I surfaced again, coughing, barely able to breathe. The current was taking me away from where I’d entered. I let it. Anything to put distance between me and those things.

I tried to angle myself toward the opposite bank, the side I’d started on, heading toward where my camp was. The water was too strong. I went under a third time. My hand caught something—a branch or root—and I held on. My head came up and I saw I was in the middle of the river, maybe fifty yards downstream from where I jumped in. The water was chest deep here, the current strong but not as violent. I got my feet under me and pushed toward the far bank, the one I’d crossed that morning, heading toward where my camp was.

Chapter Sixteen: The Stare Across the Water

Every step was a fight. The current kept trying to push me downstream. My clothes were heavy with water. My boots were full, but I made progress. One step, another, the water got shallower. My waist, my hips, my knees. I dragged myself up onto the bank and collapsed in the mud. My whole body was shaking from cold, from exhaustion, from terror.

I coughed up water and just lay there gasping. Then I heard it—the screaming right across the river. I forced myself to lift my head to look back. All three of them were on the opposite bank, the same bank I’d just come from. They were standing at the water’s edge, maybe sixty yards upstream from where I was, and they were staring right at me.

The largest one was closest to the water. It had one foot in the shallows, water lapping around its ankle, but it wasn’t coming in any further. It just stood there, chest heaving, its eyes locked on me. The other two were behind it, slightly higher up the bank. All three were making sounds, not screaming anymore, but these low rumbling growls, frustrated, angry.

The biggest one took another step into the water, then stopped. I watched, still lying in the mud, too exhausted to move. It stepped back onto the bank, took a step forward again, putting both feet in the water, then stepped back once more. It was testing the water or testing itself, like it wanted to come after me, but something was stopping it.

Chapter Seventeen: The Boundary Holds

The smallest one, the one I’d seen the big one touching gently earlier, moved up beside the leader. It made a sound, almost questioning. The big one responded with a sharp grunt. Then it turned and made a longer, more complex series of sounds to both of the others. They were definitely communicating, having a conversation about something, about me, probably.

I pulled myself up to a sitting position. Every muscle in my body was screaming. My clothes were plastered to my skin, dripping. I was covered in mud and scratches. My knee throbbed where I’d hit it on the rocks. But I was alive.

Across the river, the three creatures were still there, still watching. The leader took one more step into the water. It went shin deep now. The creature’s massive hands clenched into fists, and it made a sound I can only describe as a frustrated roar. But it didn’t come any further. It just stood there in the shallows, water rushing around its legs, staring at me with those intelligent, furious eyes.

Minutes passed. Neither of us moved. It was like we were frozen in time, locked in this standoff. The only sound was the river rushing between us and my own ragged breathing.

I started to understand—they wouldn’t cross, or couldn’t cross. The river was some kind of boundary. I didn’t know if it was cultural, some rule they followed, or if they simply couldn’t swim. But for whatever reason, the water stopped them.

Chapter Eighteen: Homeward Bound

The smallest one moved closer to the water’s edge and made a different sound, lower, more mournful, almost sad. The big one turned its head slightly toward the smaller one and made a softer grunt in response. Then it reached out and touched the smaller one again—that same gentle gesture I’d seen in the clearing. They were communicating something. Maybe the little one was young, a child. Maybe it was asking why they weren’t following, and the big one was explaining why they couldn’t.

I sat there in the mud watching this. And despite the terror still coursing through my veins, I felt something else. Recognition. These weren’t mindless monsters. They had feelings, relationships, rules they followed.

The leader looked back at me one more time. We locked eyes again, just like we had in the ravine. For a long moment, neither of us looked away. Then it took a step back from the water and another. It turned its body away from the river, though its head stayed turned toward me for a few seconds longer. Then it made a sound to the other two and started walking along the riverbank parallel to the water, heading upstream. The other two followed. They moved at a steady pace, not running, just walking.

I watched them go, their dark shapes moving between the trees along the far bank. Every fifty feet or so, one of them would look back across the river at me, checking if I was still there, making sure I wasn’t following. After a few minutes, they disappeared into the forest.

Chapter Nineteen: The Memory Remains

I sat there for a long time after they were gone. The sun was fully up now, warming my face. My clothes were starting to steam slightly, but I was still shaking. I don’t know how long I sat on that riverbank. Maybe twenty minutes, maybe an hour. Eventually, the cold forced me to move. I had to get back to my camp, get dry, warm up before hypothermia set in.

Standing up was agony. Every joint hurt. My knee was swollen. My shoulder throbbed where I’d hit the rock. The scratches on my face and arms were starting to sting. But I got to my feet and started walking downstream along the river, back toward where I’d originally crossed that morning.

Every sound in the forest made me jump. Every shadow looked like one of them. I kept looking back over my shoulder, expecting to see them following on the other bank. But there was nothing. Just normal forest sounds, birds calling, squirrels chattering, the world going about its business like nothing had happened.

It took me over an hour to get back to my camp. The last half mile felt like it took forever. When I finally saw my little tent through the trees, I almost cried with relief.

Chapter Twenty: The Boundary Stands

Inside the tent, I stripped off my wet clothes and changed into my only dry set. Found my emergency medical kit and did what I could for the cuts and scrapes. My knee was badly bruised but not broken. My shoulder was the same. I’d been lucky.

I built a fire with shaking hands, got it going, and sat close, trying to get warm. The heat felt incredible. I boiled water and made coffee, just focusing on normal tasks, trying not to think about what had happened, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it—about those three figures in the river, about the markers in the trees, about the way they’d coordinated during the chase, about the sounds they made to each other, about the look in the big one’s eyes when it stood at the water’s edge, wanting to come after me, but unable to cross.

As the sun got higher and I finally stopped shaking, I tried to make sense of it. I’d followed them for over a mile into their territory. I’d watched them share food. I’d seen evidence that they shaped their environment, that they made things and marked their territory. And when they’d caught me, they’d chased me out like any animal defending its territory would.

Except they weren’t any animal. They were something else, something between.

Chapter Twenty-One: The World Remains Unmapped

That night, I barely slept. Every sound outside the tent snapped me awake. I kept expecting to hear that screaming, to hear them crashing through my camp. But nothing came. The night stayed quiet.

In the morning, I packed up everything. Didn’t even bother breaking down the tent properly, just stuffed it in my pack. I started hiking back toward where I’d left my truck twelve miles away. I made it in record time, practically running the last few miles.

When I finally reached the trailhead and saw my truck sitting there, I almost kissed it. I threw my pack in the back, climbed in, and locked the doors. Sat there for a minute, just breathing, my hands on the steering wheel. Then I drove away and didn’t look back.

That was three months ago. I’m back home now. Back to my normal life. I go to work. I eat dinner. I watch TV. Everything’s the same as it was before. Except it’s not.

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Mystery Endures

I can’t stop thinking about what I saw. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, that roar echoing in my ears. I’ll be at the grocery store and I’ll see someone tall at the end of the aisle and my heart will start racing before I realize it’s just a regular person.

I haven’t told anyone the full story. What would I even say? I saw three Bigfoots fishing in a river and they chased me. Who would believe that? I told a couple friends I had a close call with a bear. They seemed to buy it.

I tried looking at maps, satellite images of the area where I was. Tried to figure out exactly where that river was, where their cave might have been, but I can’t pinpoint it. The wilderness out there is vast, and I was turned around so many times during the chase. It all looks the same on a map.

Part of me wants to go back to try to find evidence, to document what’s out there. But a bigger part of me knows that would be stupid. They let me go. They chased me to the river and then they let me go. That was their mercy. Going back would be spitting on that.

Sometimes I wonder about them, about the big one and the two smaller ones. Are they still there in those mountains, fishing in that river? Do they remember the human who stumbled into their territory? Do they tell the story to others of their kind? The stranger who watched them and then ran?

Chapter Twenty-Three: The Lesson

I think about the markers in the trees, the bent trees forming archways, the stacked rocks—evidence of intelligence, of culture, of a society we don’t know anything about, living parallel to ours in the deep wilderness.

And I think about that moment on the riverbank when the big one stood in the shallows and we stared at each other. I saw recognition in those eyes, not just awareness, but understanding. It knew what I was just as much as I knew what it was. Two different species meeting for just a moment, both of us trying to figure out what to do about the other.

I don’t know if I believe in Bigfoot. That seems like the wrong word. Too loaded with mythology and blurry photos and late-night TV shows. But I know what I saw. I know those three creatures were real. I know they had language and tools and feelings. I know they let me live when they could have killed me. And I know I’ll never forget the sight of them standing in that river, catching fish with their bare hands while the morning sun filtered through the trees.

Whatever they were, they changed my life. Changed how I see the world. There are things out there we don’t understand. Things that exist in the spaces between what we know and what we think is possible.

Chapter Twenty-Four: The Wonder Remains

I haven’t been hunting since that day. Haven’t even been camping. My friends ask me why, ask if I’m okay. I tell them I’m just taking a break. Maybe I’ll go back out there someday, but not to those mountains. Never to those mountains.

The rational part of my brain still tries to explain it away sometimes. Maybe they were people in costumes, some kind of elaborate hoax. But that doesn’t explain the way they moved, the strength it took to fish like that, to chase me through the forest, to bend living trees into archways. No person could do those things. And it doesn’t explain the markers, the territory signs that looked old, weathered by years of exposure, or the stripped bark high on the trees, or the intelligence in their eyes.

No, what I saw was real. As real as the scars on my arms, the lingering pain in my knee, the nightmares that still wake me up three times a week.

I keep the maps I looked at in a drawer in my desk. Sometimes late at night, I’ll pull them out and stare at them, trying to remember exactly where I was, trying to find that river on the satellite images. But it’s impossible. The forest is too dense, the terrain too complex. And maybe that’s for the best.

They have their world and we have ours. For a few terrifying hours, those worlds overlapped. I stumbled into their territory and paid the price. They could have killed me easily. I was completely at their mercy once they decided to chase me down. But they stopped at the river. They had a boundary and they respected it even in their rage.

Chapter Twenty-Five: The Boundary Between Worlds

That tells me something. It tells me they have rules, customs, maybe even laws. Things that govern their behavior beyond simple animal instinct. The river meant something to them. Maybe it was always a boundary between their world and ours. Maybe it was sacred. Maybe crossing it was forbidden. I’ll never know.

And that’s the hardest part, living with these questions that can never be answered. What were they? Where did they come from? How many of them were out there? Do they have families, communities, history?

All I know for certain is what I saw. Three massive, intelligent creatures living in the deep wilderness, fishing in a river, sharing their catch, protecting their territory, living their lives completely apart from human civilization.

And I know they let me go. They chased me to the edge of their world. And then they stopped. They let me cross back into mine.

Sometimes I think about the big one standing in those shallows, water rushing around its legs, its eyes locked on mine. That moment of mutual understanding, two intelligent beings recognizing each other across a divide we could never truly bridge.

I wonder if it thinks about that moment, too. If somewhere up in those mountains, it’s standing by that same river, remembering the human who came into its territory and got away. Maybe it tells the story to the younger one, teaches it about boundaries and strangers and mercy. Or maybe it’s forgotten all about me. Maybe I was just another intruder dealt with and dismissed. Just another animal that strayed too far and had to be chased away.

Chapter Twenty-Six: The Last Lesson

I don’t know. I’ll never know. But I know I survived. I know I saw something that most people never will. And I know that somewhere out there in the vast wilderness, there are things living alongside us that we can’t explain. Things that fish in rivers at dawn, that make markers in trees, that communicate in ways we don’t understand.

And maybe that’s how it should be. Maybe some mysteries are meant to stay mysteries. Some territories are meant to stay uncharted. Some boundaries are meant to stay uncrossed.

I learned that lesson the hard way, running for my life through those mountains with three massive creatures screaming behind me. But I learned it, and I’m grateful I lived long enough to remember it.

These days, I stick to shorter hikes closer to civilization. I tell myself it’s just temporary, that eventually I’ll work up the courage to go deep into the wilderness again, but I’m not sure I will. Some part of me is still standing on that riverbank, watching those three figures disappear into the forest, knowing how close I came to never making it home.

That fear probably saved my life. It made me drop my rifle and run faster. It made me jump into freezing water without hesitation. It gave me strength I didn’t know I had. And now it keeps me out of their territory. Keeps me from making the same mistake twice.

Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Wonder of the Unknown

Maybe someday I’ll tell the full story. Maybe when I’m old, sitting by a fire, I’ll tell my grandkids about the time I saw three Sasquatches fishing in a river, about how I followed them into the mountains and barely made it out alive.

But they probably won’t believe me. I barely believe it myself. And I was there. I felt the cold of that river. I heard those screams echoing through the forest. I saw the intelligence in those eyes. Without proof, it’s just another story. Another tale about mysterious creatures in the woods. Another person claiming to have seen Bigfoot.

And maybe that’s okay, too. Maybe the world needs these stories, these mysteries. Maybe we need to know there are still places we haven’t mapped, things we haven’t catalogued, creatures we haven’t explained. Because if everything can be explained, if every mystery can be solved, if every creature can be captured and studied and dissected, what’s left? Where’s the wonder? Where’s the sense that the world is bigger than we are? That nature still holds secrets we can’t unlock?

I found that wonder in the worst possible way. I found it in terror, running for my life. But I found it. And now I carry it with me every day.

Sometimes late at night when I can’t sleep, I’ll close my eyes and I’m back there, standing behind that cedar tree, watching three massive creatures fish in the dawn light—before the chase, before the terror, before everything went wrong. Just watching in awe as they stood perfectly still in the rushing water, then struck with impossible speed, catching fish with their bare hands.

That’s the image I try to hold on to. Not the screaming, not the chase, not the fear. Just that moment of pure wonder before everything changed. Three creatures that shouldn’t exist doing something as simple and timeless as fishing in a river.

That’s what I saw. That’s what I’ll carry with me for the rest of my life.

And if I ever doubt it, if I ever start to think maybe it was all a dream or a hallucination, I just have to touch the scar on my knee. Feel the ache in my shoulder on cold mornings. Remember the exact sound of that branch snapping under my boot.

It was real. All of it was real.

And somewhere up in those mountains, I think they remember it, too.

End.