Ex-CIA Agent Reveals Decades of Secret Bigfoot Surveillance: The 1962 Sasquatch Conspiracy That Shook Folklore and Government History 

I. The Whispered Assignment

In the twilight years of the Cold War, when shadows stretched long across the world, a strange tale began in the forests of the Pacific Northwest. The people of the valleys spoke of giants—hair-covered beings who walked upright, leaving prints too vast for men. Hunters laughed, scholars scoffed, but the whispers endured.

And in the year 1980, the Watchers of the Nation—the guardians of secrets—turned their gaze upon the forests. They called their task Silverback, though in folklore it is remembered as The Watch of the Hidden Ones.

II. The First Signs

It began with a ranger, a man of the woods, who told of food stolen from camps and shadows moving with cunning. His words carried weight, for he was no teller of tall tales. Soon, eyes in the sky saw heat where no humans walked: great shapes striding through wilderness.

The Watchers feared foreign spies, for the Cold War was fierce. But when they followed the signs, they found not men, nor Soviets, but something older.

III. The First Encounter

In the summer of 1980, deep in the Olympic National Forest, the Watchers beheld one of the Hidden Ones. Eight feet tall, covered in hair like the bark of trees, it moved with purpose. It was no beast, for it knew it was hunted. It laid false trails, doubled back, and tricked its pursuers.

Thus the Watchers learned: the Hidden Ones were cunning, with minds as sharp as men’s.

IV. The Secret Kept

The Watchers wrote reports, stamped with seals of secrecy. They measured footprints, gathered hair, and studied blood. The blood sang a song close to humanity’s, yet different, as though kin parted long ago.

Some whispered that these were the children of Homo erectus, or of other forgotten branches of mankind. Others said they were the forest’s own people, born of shadow and silence.

But the Watchers agreed on one thing: the world must not know. For if the truth were told, hunters would flood the woods, scientists would demand specimens, and the forests would be torn apart.

V. The Seventeen Tribes

Through years of watching, the guardians counted seventeen tribes of the Hidden Ones across the land.

In the misty Cascades and the Olympic Mountains.
In the Rockies, where snow never melts.
In the Appalachians, where old songs echo.
In the northern woods of Minnesota and Michigan.
And across the border, in Canada’s endless forests.

They numbered only a few hundred souls, scattered like stars across the wilderness.

VI. The Family of Seven

In 1983, the Watchers followed a family near Ross Lake. They called them Group Seven. For eleven days they watched: a great male, two females, and young ones. They saw them climb trees, move through brush, and call to one another with voices that carried meaning.

The Watchers knew then: these were not beasts, but families, bound by love and survival.

VII. The Push

When the family wandered too near the roads of men, the Watchers drove them back—not with bullets, but with tricks. They filled the air with human voices, scattered scents, and sent machines to thunder overhead. The family moved deeper into the forest, away from danger.

Thus the Watchers became shepherds of a hidden flock, guiding them away from men’s encroachment.

VIII. The Night of the Offering

But the tale most remembered is from 1986, in the Olympic Forest. A team of three kept watch: Derek, Frank, and Patricia.

One night, a great male approached their camp. It circled, then stood still, gazing upon them with eyes that pierced the dark. It raised its hand, palm forward, as though in greeting. Then it gestured: Leave. This is my land.

The Watchers held their ground. The giant came closer, then knelt, lowering itself, showing peace. Patricia, breaking all rules, stepped forward. She sat upon the ground, mirroring its posture.

The giant reached into the brush and placed berries upon the earth. Patricia answered with bread of men—a granola bar. They exchanged gifts, each tasting the other’s offering.

For twenty minutes they sat together, two beings from different worlds, sharing food beneath the stars.

IX. The Stones of Memory

When dawn came, the Watchers found a cairn of stones, stacked with care. It was a marker, a sign: I was here.

Such cairns were found in other places, symbols of presence, perhaps of territory, perhaps of art. The Hidden Ones were not only walkers of the forest, but makers of meaning.

X. The Blood of Kinship

The scholars of the Watchers studied the blood and found it close to human. Chromosomes fused as in mankind, genes of speech and thought alive within them. They were not beasts, but kin—another branch of humanity, diverged tens of thousands of years ago.

Some said they were the children of Neanderthals, others of Denisovans, others of forgotten tribes. But all agreed: they were human enough to raise questions of rights, of dignity, of murder if slain.

XI. The Decline

The Hidden Ones were few, and their numbers dwindled. The forests shrank, the machines of men cut deeper, and the climate shifted. The Watchers knew: within fifty years, they might vanish.

Yet the government chose silence. To reveal them would mean laws, protections, and the halting of industry. And so the Watchers kept their vigil, even as the tribes faded.

XII. The Folklore’s Lesson

In the telling of this tale, the Watchers are remembered not as agents of secrecy, but as unwilling keepers of a truth too heavy to bear. They saw the kinship of the Hidden Ones, their families, their offerings, their cairns of stone.

They knew the creatures feared men, for men had hunted them, captured them, and killed them. And yet, in the night of the offering, one giant knelt in peace, and one woman answered with trust.

XIII. The Enduring Echo

Today, the forests still whisper. Hunters speak of footprints too vast for men. Campers hear voices in the night. Rangers find cairns of stone where no human hand has stacked them.

And in folklore, the tale endures:

Of the seventeen tribes scattered across the land.
Of the berries and the bread shared beneath the stars.
Of the cairns that mark presence.
Of the kinship hidden in blood.

The Hidden Ones walk still, fading but not gone, remembered in story if not in sight.

XIV. The Moral of the Watch

The folklore teaches:

That humanity is not alone in its lineage.
That secrecy can be both protection and betrayal.
That kindness, even in defiance of rules, can bridge worlds.
That legends may be truths too dangerous for governments, but too sacred to forget.

And so the Watchers of the Hidden Ones are remembered—not for their silence, but for the story that slipped through, carried by whispers, retold by firesides, woven into the fabric of myth.

XV. The Hidden Ones

The Hidden Ones are kin. They are families. They are makers of meaning. They are the forest’s memory.

And though their numbers dwindle, their story endures. For in the night of the offering, when berries met bread, the boundary between legend and truth dissolved.