Police Officer During Distress Call: “I Had To Shoot Bigfoot”

One of the most common misconceptions about Bigfoot is that it is a solitary creature. But the truth, whispered in the forests and carved in the dirt, is far stranger. They reproduce as any animal would. And sometimes, if you’re unlucky or chosen, you find the proof staring back at you from the darkness.

This is the story of two lives—one marked by terror, the other by wonder—each forever changed by encounters with the unknown.

The Officer’s Vigil

On November 13th, 1983, the forests of Northern Michigan were soaked in cold rain and silence. Shawn Ritz, a young police officer with five years on the force, arrived at his family’s cabin in Glenny—a place built by his father and uncle after World War II. The cabin was a sanctuary, a place where generations had hunted and fished, where the woods themselves seemed to hold memory in their roots.

Shawn arrived early that year, alone. He cut wood, cleared the grounds, prepared for the others. The forest pressed in, thick with pine and spruce, swallowing the wind and muting every sound. At first, nothing felt unusual. The air was sharp with pine, the ground slick with leaves. But slowly, a change crept over the woods. It was not a sound or a smell, but something deeper—a biological warning, a shift in the sense of being watched.

Shawn trusted his instincts. He’d faced predators before, both animal and human. He knew the silent chemical warnings the body gave when danger was near. For three days, the presence lingered—always just beyond sight, never breaking cover, never leaving tracks. The forest seemed to hold its breath, and Shawn found himself searching for movement, listening for branches snapping. But there was only silence, and the suffocating sense that something immense and hidden was nearby, observing him with a patience that felt deliberate.

The cabin sat four and a half miles off the main road, down an old fire lane swallowed by woods. Only a handful of other cabins existed between his and the town. The clearing felt like an island in a sea of trees. People in the area whispered of large, scary monsters. One family claimed a Sasquatch had killed their German Shepherd, snapping its neck. The police found the report credible, but the woods kept their secrets.

Each night, the isolation pressed harder. Shawn could not see more than a few feet past the first line of trunks. The knowledge that something was there, refusing to show itself, filled his gut with unease. By the third day, he turned to chores—cutting firewood, checking the cabin, firing his rifle and pistol at the range. Each gunshot echoed through the trees, a declaration that he was not defenseless. Yet with every shot, the feeling of being observed grew sharper, as though the noise had stirred whatever was hidden, calling it closer.

Suddenly, the air itself felt charged, heavy. Even as he steadied his rifle for another shot, Shawn could not shake the sense that he was no longer alone in the clearing. Something big and dark stood cloaked by the trees, watching him with eyes that carried neither fear nor curiosity, but something far more ancient and deliberate.

The Face-Off

Shawn always kept a Glock 20, a 10mm pistol ready. He remembered firing a full magazine into the dense trees, his shots cutting through the stillness. He was only about 25 yards out, not far compared to the long shots he’d taken on deer before. But this wasn’t hunting. It was survival.

As the shots rang out, he expected the sound of retreat, the brush cracking, anything to show that something had moved. But there was nothing—only silence. When he stopped and began to pack up his things, the silence broke with a sound that froze him where he stood. It was not the cry of an animal. It was a long, breathy moan, drawn out as if from deep within a chest, ending with a sharp “f” sound that echoed unnaturally through the trees.

Shawn had shot at black bears in those woods. He’d seen their tracks, their scat, but rarely the animals themselves. His first thought was bear, but no bear made sounds like that—not with the kind of shape at the end that required lips. He told himself to focus, to keep moving, but his body was tense, every nerve alert.

Halfway back to the cabin, just 40 or 50 feet away, the sound returned. This time it came from another side, as if something had circled him in the woods. Knowing he was in danger, his mind switched into investigative mode. Maybe it was someone messing with him, teenagers sneaking around. He yelled out, voice sharp with anger, warning whoever was there that things would not end well if they didn’t show themselves.

Then the footsteps began—heavy, deliberate, crashing through the brush in a way no deer or bear ever moved. Animals moved with balance, with rhythm, almost gliding through the woods. These steps were uneven, heavy, human-like. Hunting boots, he thought. It had to be people. Yet the sound grew fainter, drifting away into silence, leaving him more unsettled than before.

Back at the cabin, he tried to shake it off. He made lunch, sat down, even dozed off for a moment, only to be awakened by a sudden boom that shook the walls. It wasn’t a gunshot, wasn’t thunder. For a moment, he thought of jets flying low, breaking through the valley, but something in his gut told him this was different.

Later, needing the restroom, he stepped outside to the outhouse. The sun was sinking, the clearing falling into gray November light. As he finished, the sound came again—that same deep, breathy “hoof,” rolling through the woods with an edge of human tone no wild animal could make.

It felt like he was being toyed with, stalked by something just outside the edges of sight. He went back inside, patience gone, pouring coffee while his mind spun in circles. Nothing fit. He was rattled, not just by the sound, but by the certainty that whatever it was, it was intelligent enough to move with him, to stalk him, to stay just out of reach.

With darkness coming, Shawn knew deep down that whatever was out there wasn’t finished yet.

The Encounter

Nature called again, forcing him to cross the short stretch between the back porch and the outhouse that faced the low wetland behind the property. The land was always damp, the kind that pulled at your boots and swallowed them in black mud if you went too deep. It was the kind of place you avoided unless absolutely necessary, especially after sunset.

On this walk, somewhere between 40 and 50 feet from the cabin, the air shifted. From the hidden side of the outhouse, close to a tree near the wet ground, something massive stepped into view. Every sound of the forest seemed to vanish.

The figure was taller than him by at least a foot, maybe more—a looming presence only 30 feet away. Shawn stared in disbelief, unable to make sense of what had just entered his world. Then it let out a sound, a low, forceful blast that struck him like a wave—something not just heard, but felt deep inside the body.

He was frozen with the realization that he was completely vulnerable. Every instinct screamed at him to run, but the calm voice inside reminded him that running meant death. The creature could close the distance in seconds. So he stood there, locked in a silent stare with eyes that carried no whites, only deep dark sockets that seemed bottomless.

Its body was huge, like a giant wrestler made even larger. No neck, shoulders bulging, arms long and heavy, legs like tree trunks. Its entire form covered in dark hair that glistened faintly in the fading light. The sheer size pressed into Shawn’s mind with the weight of something impossible yet undeniable.

Its face was wet with a strange sheen. Cheekbones sharp as stone, nose flat and wide, brows heavy and pressing down like a shadow. The eyes sunk deep as if hiding something that should not be seen. Yet in those eyes was awareness—a sense that this was not an animal, but something that studied, something that understood.

It lifted its head, sniffed the night with slow intent, every detail burning into Shawn’s memory. Then it shifted, hardly more than a twitch, but enough for Shawn’s hand to slide to his pistol. The instant he touched it, the creature made a sound—a vibration starting with an “M” pressed through lips that did not belong to man.

It seemed to grow taller, stretching itself with a tense pole, standing erect as if preparing for something. Shawn was filled with terror, his thoughts telling him he would have to empty the weapon into its body to survive. But the thing looked away, turning its massive frame with a swing, shoulders blocking its jaw as it twisted. Then it was gone, charging into the trees with a violent crack of branches, leaving only the shaking of the undergrowth.

Shawn ran for the cabin, panicking, snatching a shotgun off the wall and loading the rifle, every nerve alive in that mad minute. The kind of fear no training could quiet. The kind of memory that never leaves.

Barb’s Awakening

Across the continent, another life was being shaped by the mystery. Ever since she was a child, Barb Shupe was fascinated with Sasquatch. The first time she heard about the creature was an evening in the 1970s at Spirit Lake Campground near Mount St. Helens. Rangers gathered the kids around a bonfire, telling scary tales about Ape Canyon and strange ape men. Barb was hooked, unlike her younger brother, who found the story too terrifying.

Growing up without the internet, Barb caught bits and pieces from TV specials. The desire to encounter one stayed with her. As she got older, curiosity became more than a passing interest. She found herself drawn to the woods, seeking solitude and maybe a chance to uncover the truth behind the legends. But with no direct contact, she grew frustrated, believing Sasquatch was just folklore.

That changed in April 1992. Walking along a logging road near her cabin, Barb noticed broken trees lining the path. The snapped-off tops caught her attention. Stepping deeper into the woods, she discovered a perfect footprint—crystal clear, pressed deeply into the dirt. She could see how it had stepped between two trees, snapping their tops off as if in frustration or warning.

For years, Barb occasionally stumbled across odd signs and wondered if they were linked to Sasquatch. She always brushed these thoughts away, reasoning, “If there were Sasquatches around here, I’d know about it. People would talk.” Then in 2006, Barb experienced something stranger. While searching for her missing cat, a big black furry object suddenly dropped from the top of a tree, bounced off, hit the roof of her cabin, then disappeared. She found nothing but a stunned chicken on the porch. She couldn’t shake the feeling it had been a young Sasquatch.

It wasn’t until 2012 that her suspicions were confirmed. Watching a herd of elk near her cabin, Barb saw a large dark figure trailing behind them. She knew then what she’d seen years ago had indeed been a baby Sasquatch.

The Family in the Woods

The more time Barb spent in the woods, the more strange occurrences piled up. Rocks thrown near her, trees and branches arranged in odd ways, piles of sticks appearing as if intentionally placed. She witnessed glowing orbs darting among the trees—yellow lights that bounced around like playful spirits. At first, she dismissed these as forest animal spirits, but later connected them to Sasquatch activity.

Things became more real. Barb soon came face to face with what she later called the Cloaker event—a moment that forever changed her beliefs. During a campout for Sasquatch enthusiasts, Barb and her friend Sandy led a group hike near her cabin. As they studied a fallen tree, Barb spotted something about 80 feet away—a black, triangular-shaped head above the undergrowth, then running off, all arms and legs covered in hair.

Other hikers saw what looked like a small black monkey coming down a tree headfirst before disappearing. The sight confirmed Barb’s suspicion: there were indeed multiple Sasquatches in the area, possibly a family.

Later that evening, reviewing her camera footage, Barb saw a figure barely visible, shifting in and out as if cloaked. The realization was stunning. She’d seen Sasquatches vanish before, but always rationalized it. This time, she had proof on camera. Sharing the footage, others confirmed it was beyond normal explanation. From that moment, Barb accepted the paranormal side of Sasquatch as real.

The Mystery Deepens

Whenever Barb had an experience, she realized it was never just that experience. There was always more to it—lessons, revelations, questions. Sasquatch could do things she couldn’t explain.

Not long after, Barb joined a campout in the Blue Mountains, an area known for mysterious happenings. During her stay, she saw eyes glowing in the darkness, felt strange energy—a sensation she called being “zapped” or “sizzled.” Others had felt it, but experiencing it firsthand was different and scary.

Returning from the Blue Mountains, Barb felt a mix of excitement and dread. She could no longer deny the creatures were aware of her, capable of things that seemed supernatural. Despite her logical mind, she could no longer ignore the reality. The woods had changed for her; she began seeing her surroundings with new eyes.

Today, Barb regularly encounters signs of Sasquatch near her cabin. Rarely does a month go by without some indication—the knocks echoing through the trees, vocalizations responding to her voice, small trinkets and stones left as gifts. Reflecting on these years, Barb feels as if she’s been taken down a path she never could have expected. The mystery and wonder continue to unfold, as if she’s only scratching the surface of something much larger than herself.

The Watchers Remain

For Shawn, the terror of that November night never left. For Barb, the wonder of discovery changed her life. Both know, in their own way, that the woods are alive with secrets, and that the watchers in the shadows are not just solitary beasts, but families—creatures older than legend, capable of things we can barely imagine.

The world is vast, and its mysteries are deeper than we know. Sometimes, if you listen closely, you’ll hear them moving in the trees, speaking in voices not meant for human ears, watching from the darkness as you pass by.

And sometimes, if you’re chosen, you’ll see them face to face.

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