‘My Trail Camera Caught Bigfoot’ – Hunter’s Terrifying Sasquatch Encounters

The Warning in the Woods

Chapter One: The Trophy That Wasn’t

Look, I know how this sounds. I know what you’re thinking before I even get started. But hear me out, because what happened to me back in 2010 changed everything I thought I knew about those woods behind my property.

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I’ve lived on the edge of this forest my whole life. Three generations of my family have hunted these mountains, and I grew up tracking deer and bear with my old man before I could barely hold a rifle straight. By the time I was in my thirties, I’d taken just about every kind of game you can imagine from these woods. My cabin walls tell that story pretty clearly. Some of those trophies are the kind you brag about at the bar. Others, well, let’s just say game wardens wouldn’t be too happy if they came poking around.

But there was always one thing missing. One trophy I never thought I’d actually get a chance at.

Growing up, you heard the stories. Every kid around here did. Old-timers at the general store would swap tales about something big moving through the trees at night. Campers would come back saying they heard screaming that didn’t sound like any animal they knew. Loggers found footprints that made a grown man’s boot look like a child’s shoe. Most folks dismissed it as bears standing up on their hind legs or maybe too much whiskey around the campfire. But I always wondered. Wondering turned into hoping, and hoping turned into something like an obsession.

The thing about hunting is once you’ve taken everything there is to take, you start looking for the impossible. That’s how I justified it to myself. Looking back now, I can see how stupid and selfish that was. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Chapter Two: The Cameras and the Evidence

In early spring of 2010, I invested in some motion-activated trail cameras. Told my wife I was concerned about predators getting too close to the property—maybe a bear or mountain lion. That was partly true. We’d had some dogs go missing in the area and folks were nervous, but honestly, I was hoping for something else entirely.

I set up six cameras total, spread out over about five square miles of the densest forest behind my land. Placed them on game trails near water sources, anywhere I thought something big might pass through. Checked them every few days, downloading the footage onto my computer and going through it frame by frame. For months it was exactly what you’d expect. Deer at dawn, raccoons at night, a black bear sow with cubs in late May, coyotes, turkey, even caught a bobcat once, which was pretty cool, but nothing unusual. Nothing that made me sit up straight in my chair and lean closer to the screen.

I started to think maybe the old-timers really were just telling stories. Maybe I’d been chasing shadows and legends, wasting time and money on cameras that showed me exactly what I already knew was out there.

Then came September. September 17th, 2010.

I pulled the SD card from my northeast camera, the one near a creek about two miles into the woods. Brought it home, made myself dinner, settled into my usual routine of fast-forwarding through hours of nothing. At first, I almost missed it. The timestamp said 3:47 a.m. The camera’s infrared kicked on, illuminating thirty feet of forest floor in that weird greenish gray wash. Something was moving.

Chapter Three: The Encounter

There was a deer in the frame, young one, maybe eighty pounds. It was drinking from the creek, completely unaware. And then from the left side of the screen, something else entered the frame. My first thought was bear—had to be. But bears don’t move like that. This thing was walking upright, fully bipedal, with a smooth gait that looked almost human, except it was massive. Seven, maybe eight feet tall, broad shoulders, arms that hung down past where its knees would be, covered head to toe in dark hair that shimmered slightly in the infrared.

I watched as it approached the deer. The deer finally sensed something, started to bolt, but it was too late. The creature moved with a speed that seemed impossible for something that size. One moment it was ten feet away, the next it had closed the distance and grabbed the deer with both hands. The whole thing was over in seconds. The deer struggled briefly, but this thing was strong. Incredibly strong. It held the deer almost casually, like you or I might hold a house cat. Then it turned and for just a moment its face was visible in the infrared—conical head, pronounced brow ridge, flat nose, eyes that reflected the camera’s light with an eerie empty glow. Then it walked off frame, carrying the deer like it weighed nothing.

I sat there staring at the screen for I don’t know how long. My heart was hammering. My hands were shaking. I must have watched that clip fifty times that night, looking for any sign it was fake, any indication I was seeing something other than what I thought I was seeing. But there was no denying it. I’d caught one. I’d actually caught one on camera.

The smart thing would have been to call someone, show the footage to a university, or at least tell a friend. But I didn’t do that. Because the second I watched that video, all I could think about was mounting that thing’s head on my wall, having the one trophy nobody else could claim, being the guy who actually did it.

Chapter Four: The Hunt

Looking back, I hate that version of me. I really do. But that’s the truth of it.

I went back out the next morning to check if the camera had captured anything else. It had. This one was from the same night, about two hours after the first clip. 4:52 a.m. The creature was back, but this time it wasn’t hunting. It was just standing there, fifteen feet from the camera, completely motionless, staring directly at the lens. This wasn’t accidental. This wasn’t an animal that happened to wander past a motion sensor. This was deliberate. It knew the camera was there and it wanted to be seen.

The footage ran for almost three full minutes. Just this massive hair-covered figure standing absolutely still, its eyes reflecting back at the camera like two coins catching light. Then slowly it turned and walked away, disappearing into the darkness.

That second clip should have scared me, should have made me rethink everything, but instead it just made me more determined. Because if it knew the camera was there, that meant it was intelligent. Really intelligent. And that made it even more of a prize.

God, I was stupid.

I made my decision that same day. I was going back out there the following night and I was going to track it down. The problem was this had to stay quiet. Hunting something like this was definitely not legal. Hell, it probably wasn’t even safe. But more than that, if word got out that I’d seen one, there’d be people crawling all over these woods. Tourists with cameras, cryptozoology types, maybe even federal agents. And then my chance would be gone.

So, I didn’t tell anyone. Not my wife, not my hunting buddies, nobody. Just went about my day like normal, all while planning out how I’d approach this.

Chapter Five: Into the Old Growth

September 19th, I headed out around 4:00 p.m., giving myself plenty of time to get into position before sunset. Carried my rifle, a good knife, some rope, water, and not much else. Wanted to travel light. The hike in took about an hour and a half. I knew exactly where I was going. Found the spot where I’d mounted the camera and set up about forty yards away downwind with a good view of the creek and the surrounding area. Then I waited.

If you’ve never hunted before, you don’t know what that waiting is like. You have to stay perfectly still, perfectly quiet, every sense on high alert, listening for the snap of a twig, watching for movement in the corner of your vision, controlling your breathing so the steam doesn’t give you away in the cold air.

Hours passed. The sun went down. The temperature dropped. My legs cramped from staying in one position. I started to wonder if maybe it was too smart for this. If showing itself to the camera was a way of saying it knew I’d come looking and it had no intention of being found.

Then around 11 p.m. I heard something. Not close, maybe a hundred yards off to my left. Something big moving through the brush. I turned my head slowly trying to pinpoint the direction. The sound stopped. Started again. Closer now. Stopped. It was moving in a pattern, circling almost like it was checking the area before committing to coming out into the open.

Chapter Six: The Ritual and the Warning

My heart rate picked up. I eased the rifle into position, finger resting outside the trigger guard, safety still on, waited, and then I saw it. It emerged from the treeline about sixty yards away. Even in the darkness with just moonlight filtering through the canopy, I could tell it was the same one from the footage. Same size, same build, same way of moving that was almost human but not quite. It walked to the creek, knelt down, cupped water in its hands, and drank. The whole time its head was turning, scanning the forest around it, listening, watching.

I had a shot. Not a great one, but decent. Center mass, maybe slightly quartering away. But I held off. Something told me to wait. Maybe it was hunter’s instinct. Maybe it was just curiosity. But I wanted to see more.

It finished drinking and stood up, started walking along the creek bank, moving parallel to my position. And that’s when I made my first mistake. I tried to adjust my position to follow it, and my boot scraped against a rock. The thing froze, turned its head directly toward where I was hiding. We stayed like that for what felt like an hour, but was probably only thirty seconds. Me not breathing, it not moving, just staring in my direction like it could see through the darkness and the brush and the trees right to where I was crouched.

Then it did something I wasn’t expecting. It started moving again, but not away. It was heading deeper into the forest. And from my angle, I could see it wasn’t running. It was just walking. Casual, almost like it wanted me to follow.

I gave it a minute, then started moving as quietly as I could. This was dangerous, and I knew it. Following something into dark woods when you’re not sure what it’s capable of is how people get hurt. But I’d come this far. I wasn’t turning back now.

Chapter Seven: The Clearing of Signs

I tracked it by sound mostly. Every few minutes, I’d hear branches moving or leaves rustling, always about fifty yards ahead of me. Never so far that I lost it completely, but never close enough that I could get another clear look.

After about twenty minutes, I came into a small clearing, stopped to catch my breath, and get my bearings. That’s when I noticed the trees. There were marks on them, long, deep scratches running vertically down the bark—fresh ones. Judging by the sap, I approached one of the trees and put my hand up to the marks. They were high, higher than I could reach even on my toes. And they were made by something with claws or nails strong enough to gouge into living wood.

This was territory marking. Had to be, like a bear rubbing on a tree or a big cat scratching to sharpen its claws. Except the scale was all wrong. These marks started eight feet up and ran down to about chest height.

But that wasn’t all. As I looked around the clearing more carefully, I started noticing other things. Strange things that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. There were objects hanging from the lower branches—debris at first glance, but as I got closer, I realized they’d been placed there deliberately, woven together almost. One was made from deer antlers, lashed together with strips of bark to form a kind of cross shape. Another was a collection of bird skulls, strung together on a vine and draped over a branch. There were arrangements of pine cones stacked in pyramids, a circle of white stones laid out in a perfect ring around the base of a massive oak, and in the center, a pile of feathers arranged in a pattern I couldn’t make sense of.

This wasn’t random. This wasn’t an animal collecting shiny objects or building a nest. This was intentional, purposeful, almost like decorations or offerings.

Chapter Eight: The Ritual

I stood there trying to process what I was seeing. In all my years hunting these woods, I’d never come across anything like this. The placement was too deliberate to be anything but intelligent design. These things had meaning. I just had no idea what.

I heard movement again and dropped low, moving as quietly as I could toward the sound. The creature was forty yards ahead now in another small clearing between the trees. What I saw next, I still have trouble believing.

It was kneeling on the ground, or the closest thing to kneeling given its body structure. Its long arms were extended out to its sides, palms up, and its head was tilted back, facing the sky through the canopy above. It stayed like that for maybe thirty seconds, completely still, silent. Then it lowered its head and began making sounds—not grunts or howls, but rhythmic, almost musical low tones that seemed to come from deep in its chest, rising and falling in a pattern that repeated itself. It wasn’t random vocalization. It was structured, deliberate, like it was chanting.

The sound went on for several minutes. Sometimes it would pause, stay silent for a moment, then start again. The pattern changed slightly each time, but there was a consistency to it, a cadence that felt ceremonial.

I watched through my scope, not even thinking about taking a shot, just trying to understand what I was seeing. This thing was performing some kind of ritual—prayer maybe, or meditation, or something I didn’t have words for.

Chapter Nine: The Ambush

After the vocalization stopped, it reached down and picked up something from the ground in front of it—more feathers, maybe. It held them up toward the sky, stayed like that for another moment, then carefully placed them back down. Then it stood, turned, and continued walking deeper into the forest.

I followed, but something had shifted in my head. I’d gone into this hunt thinking I was tracking an animal—a big, rare, intelligent animal, sure, but still fundamentally just a beast. What I was watching now was something else entirely. This thing had culture, traditions, beliefs, maybe. It created art. It performed rituals that suggested some kind of spiritual awareness.

That’s when the full weight of what I was planning really hit me. I wasn’t just hunting an animal. I was hunting something that might be closer to a person than I wanted to admit.

But even then, even with that realization, I didn’t turn back. The selfish part of me, the part that wanted that trophy more than anything, pushed those thoughts aside. Now looking back, I can’t believe how twisted my thinking was, how I justified it all to myself.

I kept following. The creature led me through areas I’d never been before, deeper into old growth forest. Every so often, I’d spot more of those markers, more antlers tied together, more arrangements of stones and bones. At one point, I passed a tree that had symbols carved into it—not random scratches, but actual shapes and patterns.

How long had these things been out here? How many of them were there? And how had they managed to stay hidden for so long when they were clearly building some kind of culture right under our noses?

Chapter Ten: The Reckoning

Then I heard it again, off to my right—footsteps and leaves. I turned toward the sound, squinting into the shadows. That’s when I saw it moving between the trees. Not walking now, playing almost. It would grab a fallen branch and swing it around like a club, then throw it with incredible force. Each throw was aimed at a different target, a different tree trunk, and each time it would pause afterward like it was evaluating its accuracy.

This wasn’t play. This was practice. This thing was training itself.

Tool use isn’t rare in the animal kingdom, but this was different. This was weaponization. The deliberate practice of using an object as a projectile, developing accuracy and power. That’s how humans became apex predators. And here was this creature doing the same thing, which meant it wasn’t just intelligent, it was strategic.

I wish I could say that realization made me stop. But it didn’t. If anything, it made me want it more.

Eventually, we came to another clearing, bigger than the first, ringed by massive pines. The creature walked to the center and stopped, back to me, completely still. This was it. My shot. Clear line of sight, good distance, solid rest.

My hand moved to the safety, clicked it off, raised the rifle, found the scope, put the crosshair center mass, started applying pressure to the trigger—and then something hit me from behind like a freight train.

Chapter Eleven: The Judgment

One second I was aiming, the next I was face down in the dirt with the wind knocked out of me. Something huge was on top of me. I felt hands, massive hands, grabbing my arms and wrenching them behind my back. My rifle clattered away into the leaves. I tried to fight, tried to get up, but whatever had me was incredibly strong.

I managed to turn my head enough to see it—another one, bigger than the first, darker fur, even more massive through the shoulders. It had come up behind me while I was focused on the one in the clearing. I’d been set up. They’d worked together to position me exactly where they wanted me.

The second creature grabbed the back of my head and slammed it into the ground. Not hard enough to kill me, but hard enough that everything went black for a second.

When my vision came back, all I could see was stars and shadows. I felt myself being dragged, tried to stay conscious, tried to see where I was being taken, but I kept fading in and out.

The first thing I became aware of was the pain. My shoulders felt like they were being pulled from their sockets as something hauled me across the forest floor. My shirt had ridden up and I could feel every rock, every root, every piece of broken branch scraping across my skin.

Chapter Twelve: The Tribunal

That’s when I heard them talking. It wasn’t English, obviously, wasn’t any human language. But it wasn’t just animal sounds, either. These were vocalizations with structure, patterns, back and forth communication. The one dragging me made a series of low grunts, deep rumbling sounds. Another voice answered from somewhere to my left, higher pitched, faster. The sounds overlapped, interrupted each other. There was urgency in it. Then a third voice joined in—slower, more measured, a long drawn out huff followed by clicks and short barks. They were arguing. I couldn’t understand the words, but the tone was unmistakable.

The dragging stopped. I was dropped onto the ground. Through blurred vision, I could see them—three of them now, standing in a rough circle around me. The big one that had taken me down was in the center. The one I’d been stalking was to its left. And a third, slightly smaller but still massive, was on the right.

The argument continued. The big one made a sharp barking sound and gestured toward me, aggressive, threatening. The smaller one responded with rapid fire vocalizations, higher pitched, almost questioning. It moved closer to me, leaned down to look at my face.

Then the one I’d been tracking stepped forward. It made a long, low tone that rose and fell like a wave. The other two stopped, turned to look at it. It spoke again—same pattern, same tone, but shorter, more emphatic. The big one didn’t like that. It made a deep growling sound and moved toward the one from the clearing. They squared off, posturing, beating chests, echoing through the forest.

They stared at each other for what felt like forever. The smaller one moved between them, not touching, but positioning itself as a barrier. It vocalized again, and this time both of the others turned to look at it. Whatever it said must have worked. The big one huffed, frustration clear, and stepped back.

Chapter Thirteen: Mercy

The one from the clearing nodded, bent down, and started dragging me again. I slipped back into darkness. Time fragmented. I drifted in and out of consciousness, caught glimpses of the sky, stars through branches. The moon was lower now. I heard water, felt something cold on my face. One of them was washing the blood off, almost gentle.

More vocalizations, quieter now. The argument seemed over—discussion, calmer, collaborative. I felt hands on my shoulders, my legs being lifted, carried, not dragged. The motion was smoother now, more careful.

At one point, I became aware that we were moving downhill. The trees were different, younger, closer together. We were heading out of the old growth. I heard a car driving on pavement. We were near the road.

That’s when reality started to sink in. They were taking me back. Back to civilization.

Why? After what I’d tried to do, why not just leave me in the forest or worse? I didn’t understand. Couldn’t understand.

Chapter Fourteen: The Warning

When I came to again, I was on my back, staring up at the sky. It took me a minute to remember where I was, what had happened. My head was throbbing. My arms ached. I tasted blood in my mouth. I tried to sit up and realized I was at the edge of the forest. I could see the road about two hundred yards away, the same road I’d parked my truck on.

Something was next to me. I turned my head slowly and saw my trail cameras—all six of them torn from their mounts and piled up next to where I’d been laid out. Some were smashed beyond recognition. Others looked intact, just covered in dirt and scratches. They’d gathered them, knew what they were, knew I’d put them there, and they’d brought them back to me. My rifle was gone. So was my knife. Just me, my cameras, and the forest’s edge.

That’s when I heard them. I looked up and they were there—five of them, standing in a rough semicircle about fifteen feet away, just inside the treeline where the shadows were thick. The one I’d been tracking was in the center. The big one that had ambushed me was to its right. The other three I hadn’t seen before, but they were all huge, all watching me with those dark eyes that seemed to reflect too much light.

A couple of them were making sounds—not quite growls, but guttural rumbling noises. Body language that didn’t need translation. They were angry. Really angry.

I tried to push myself back away, but my arms weren’t working right. Everything hurt. So, I just lay there waiting for what I knew was coming.

The one from the clearing stepped forward. The others stayed back but kept making those rumbling sounds, kept staring. This one walked right up to me, close enough that I could smell it—earth and rain and the forest itself. It looked down at me for a long moment.

I looked back because what else was I going to do? Couldn’t run, couldn’t fight, just had to face whatever came next. Then it spoke one word, clear as day. Just: “No.”

It pointed at me, then at itself, then back at me. “No.” Then it pointed at the forest behind it. Same gesture, same word. “No.”

I understood. It was telling me I couldn’t hunt it. Couldn’t hunt them. And it was telling me to stay out of their woods. A warning.

Chapter Fifteen: Aftermath

Then it turned and walked back into the forest. The others followed, though a couple kept looking back over their shoulders, those low rumbling sounds still coming from their throats. In less than a minute, they disappeared completely, like they’d never been there at all.

I lay there for probably another hour before I could stand up. When I finally made it to my feet, I gathered up what was left of my cameras and started the walk back to my truck. Every step hurt. I was pretty sure I’d cracked a rib or two. Had a lump on the back of my head the size of a golf ball. Bruises everywhere, but I was alive.

They could have killed me easily. That big one could have crushed my skull when it slammed me down, could have broken my neck when it dragged me through the forest. Instead, they just knocked me out and brought me back, given me a warning and let me go.

Chapter Sixteen: The Lesson Learned

Got back to my truck just as the sun was coming up. I can’t tell you how superhuman it was to be moving with broken ribs. Every single step felt like hell. I managed to get back in the truck, though, and drove back home. Threw the broken cameras in the trash and drove home.

Back home, my wife went crazy when she spotted me. You know how a woman would scream when you do something stupid? Well, it was ten times worse than that. I don’t think I got a scolding like that since I was a little boy. Told my wife I’d slipped on some wet rocks and taken a fall. She took me straight to the hospital. I couldn’t really say anything to that. Just took some painkillers and slept while she was driving me to the nearest hospital. They held me there for one week until I demanded to be back home.

Few days later, when I could move without wanting to scream, I looked through the cameras that were still intact. Two of them had survived and their SD cards were readable. There was footage, mostly the usual stuff, deer and small game, but there were clips that stood out—walking past the camera, then stopping and staring directly at it for several minutes. They knew. They’d known all along that I was watching.

Maybe they were the ones luring and hunting me.

Chapter Seventeen: The New Peace

I can’t understand their behavior. If they were this smart to know where these cameras were, why would they let themselves be filmed in the first place? I have no idea. I threw away these cameras, the ones that survived their attacks and still had the new footage.

My mind was changed now. I no longer wanted any trophies for my living room. I always thought of deleting the first images I got back then, too—the ones that made me go into the forest—but I’m still clinging to them for now. A reminder of my stupidity.

But I never did set up any more cameras in the forest. I know it is their home. I wouldn’t want someone to set cameras in my own home. So, I will grant them this courtesy.

That was fourteen years ago now. I still live in the same place on the edge of the same forest, but I don’t hunt there anymore. Actually, I don’t really hunt at all these days. Took down most of the trophies in my cabin, donated them or threw them out. Can’t look at them the same way anymore. Can’t see them as achievements. Just see them as things I killed because I wanted to prove I could.

Sometimes at night, I’ll hear sounds in the woods behind my property—trees falling that shouldn’t fall, calls that don’t match any animal I know—and I’ll wonder if they’re still out there watching, making sure I’m keeping my end of the deal.

Chapter Eighteen: The Woods Belong to Them

I think about that night a lot, about what would have happened if they decided I wasn’t worth the warning. If they just ended it right there in that clearing, no one would have ever known what really happened to me. I’d have just been another hunter who went into the woods and never came back.

But they didn’t. They chose to let me live. Chose to teach me a lesson instead of making me pay the full price for my stupidity.

I’ve never told this story before. My wife still thinks I just fell on some rocks. My friends think I lost my taste for hunting because I’m getting old. And maybe that’s better. Maybe some things are meant to stay in the woods where they happened.

But I needed to write it down. Needed to admit what I almost did and what stopped me. Not to warn other people—because anyone with sense knows better than to go after something like that. More to remind myself how close I came to making the worst mistake of my life.

They’re out there. I know they are. And they’re smarter than we give them credit for. Smart enough to avoid us when they want to. Smart enough to defend themselves when they need to. Smart enough to show mercy when we don’t deserve it.

I got lucky. Got a second chance I absolutely did not earn. And I’m not stupid enough to waste it. Those woods belong to them. They always have. And I’m content to leave it that way.

End.