BIGFOOT Attack: Rock Fractured My Skull, Creature Destroyed All Evidence After
The Secrets of Dark Meadow
Chapter 1: Into the Wilderness
It was a crisp morning in late September when I set out on my annual hunting trip into Gford Pincho National Forest. With my pack slung over my shoulders and headlamp illuminating the path, I felt a familiar sense of excitement mixed with unease. The towering Douglas firs and western hemlocks surrounded me, their ancient presence both comforting and foreboding. As I hiked deeper into the forest, I paused often to scan the surroundings with my binoculars, hoping to catch a glimpse of wildlife.
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By the time I reached mile marker four, I felt good. The sun had risen, warming the air, and the forest was alive with the sounds of chirping birds and rustling leaves. I stopped at a small creek to refill my water bottles and enjoy an energy bar, feeling strong and confident about the trip ahead. As I approached Dark Meadow, however, my heart sank. What had once been a lush meadow was now a charred landscape, ravaged by a wildfire that swept through in 2018.
I set up camp near the small pond at the north end, following bear protocol by hanging my food bag from a high branch. As I spent the next hour setting up my trail cameras, I felt a sense of satisfaction, convinced that this trip would yield success. I had three high-quality Bushnell cameras with infrared night vision, strategically placed to capture any movement. Everything seemed normal, just as it should be.
Chapter 2: Signs of Life
The first day unfolded like a textbook hunting trip. I had several hours of daylight left, so I took a wide loop around the meadow, moving slowly and quietly. I found bear scat, fresh and full of berry seeds, claw marks on trees where a bear had stood on its hind legs, and tracks near the pond unmistakably from a black bear. Each discovery fueled my excitement and confidence as I began planning my hunt for the next morning.
As evening fell, I started a fire and prepared my freeze-dried dinner, feeling content for the first time in months. I received a text from Sarah before I lost cell service: “Be safe. Love you.” I replied, “Love you too,” unaware that this would be the last normal exchange we would ever have. That night, as I crawled into my tent, I set my alarm for 4:30 a.m., planning to be in position before dawn. But my peace was shattered when I woke suddenly, my heart racing at the sound of something moving through the forest.
Chapter 3: The Encounter
Day two dawned cold and clear, and I quickly made my way to the northeast ridge where I believed the bear would come from. I settled into a good spot behind a fallen log, waiting for signs of life. The forest came alive slowly, but by 8:00 a.m., I hadn’t seen anything except a couple of does. I decided to scout for fresher signs, circling around the north side of the meadow when I stumbled upon something that should have sent me running back to my truck.
A Douglas fir, broken off about eight feet up—not sawed, not cut, but broken. The top section lay on the ground, and I stood there, unable to comprehend what I was seeing. Storm damage? No storms had occurred recently, and the break was fresh. I took photos with my phone, desperate to document what I could not understand. As I kept hiking, I noticed more oddities: branches torn from trees ten to twelve feet up, bark scraped off as if something had gripped the tree and pushed hard.
Then, around 10:30 a.m., I found the footprint—sixteen inches long, five toes arranged humanlike but impossibly large. A chill ran down my spine, something primal, but I pushed it away. There had to be an explanation. I returned to camp, tried to distract myself with thoughts of the hunt, but the weight of what I had discovered hung heavily on my mind.
Chapter 4: The First Attack
As evening fell, I started another fire, heating up more food while watching the sun paint the mountains orange and purple. I was looking forward to getting into my sleeping bag when I heard the first rock hit, landing maybe forty feet from my tent. I scanned the area, saw nothing, and assumed it was just a rock falling. But then another rock landed closer, and I realized someone was throwing rocks at my camp.
I yelled out, “Hey, that’s not funny! Show yourself!” My voice echoed across the meadow, but nothing answered. I waited, hand on my holstered pistol, when I heard something in the tree line—heavy footfalls, branches snapping. Then I heard it—wood knocking, methodical and deliberate, coming from multiple directions. They were here—surrounding me again.
I got into my tent, fully clothed, rifle beside me, flashlight ready. I lay there, listening to the knocking continue, the rock throwing starting again. I was terrified but knew I couldn’t let fear control me. I decided I wasn’t leaving until I had proof or until something killed me trying to get it.
Chapter 5: The Reckoning
Dawn came slowly, and I was exhausted but determined to leave. I packed everything quickly, but then I remembered the trail cameras—evidence of something, even if it wasn’t proof. I raced to the nearest camera overlooking the pond, only to find it smashed and the SD card gone. The second camera was the same, and the third was missing entirely. Whatever had been in my camp last night had systematically destroyed every camera, eliminating any evidence of its presence.
I ran back to camp and started hiking toward the trailhead at a jog, heart racing, head swiveling constantly. I was pushing hard, breathing heavy, but I could feel something following me. I reached mile marker four and stopped to catch my breath when I saw the footprint again—sixteen inches long, fresh, right next to the trail. I was being herded.
When I finally made it to my truck, I felt a wave of relief wash over me. But as I sat there, hands shaking on the steering wheel, I saw movement at the tree line. Something tall stepped out from behind a cedar, and I froze, heart pounding in my chest. Eight feet tall, covered in dark hair, it looked at me for a few seconds before disappearing back into the shadows. I was driving before I even registered the decision.
Chapter 6: The Hospital
I should have driven straight home, but instead, I went to Dale’s house, desperate for someone to believe me. When I arrived, I tried to explain everything, but my words came out jumbled. Dale’s concern turned to confusion, and he suggested maybe I should see a doctor. I drove home, feeling more alone than ever, and that night, I started researching Bigfoot sightings in Gford Pincho National Forest.
I found hundreds of reports, many from the same area where I had been hunting. I realized I wasn’t alone, but I also discovered that none of the reports had proof. The next few weeks were a nightmare. Sarah moved into the spare bedroom, and my clients canceled hunts. By October, I had lost eighty percent of my bookings, and Sarah asked for a separation. I stayed in the house alone, consumed by my obsession and haunted by the memories of what I had encountered.
Finally, after a few weeks, I went back to the forest, determined to find evidence. I returned to Dark Meadow with new trail cameras, ready to document what I had seen. But as I set up the cameras, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. I spent hours waiting, but the afternoon was quiet, almost peaceful.
Chapter 7: The Final Confrontation
Just when I thought I might have escaped their attention, I heard the familiar sound of rocks hitting the ground outside my tent. My heart raced as I grabbed my rifle and flashlight. They were back, surrounding me again. I fired into the darkness, desperate for proof, but the creatures were too fast, too intelligent.
As I backed toward my tent, I saw one of them—massive and powerful—standing just outside the firelight. I aimed my rifle, but before I could pull the trigger, something hit me from behind, knocking me to the ground. I scrambled backward, drawing my pistol and firing blindly. The creature looked at me, then turned and walked away, leaving me alone in my destroyed campsite.
My body ached, and I knew I had to get out of there. I crawled to my tent, triggered my SOS beacon, and waited for rescue. Hours later, search and rescue found me, but they didn’t believe my story. My cameras were gone, my evidence destroyed. I was left with nothing but the memory of that terrifying encounter and the knowledge that I had survived something unimaginable.
Now, as I sit in my apartment writing this down, I realize the truth: some secrets are too dangerous to uncover. The creatures of Dark Meadow are real, and they know how to stay hidden. I survived, but at what cost? My life, my marriage, my sanity—all sacrificed for a truth no one would believe. And as I finish this account, I hope that others will heed my warning: don’t go to Dark Meadow. Don’t seek the truth if it means risking everything.
