Hiker’s Final Footage of BIGFOOT – BIGFOOT SIGHTINGS ON CAMERA COMPILATION
The Cave of Shadows: Ten Years Buried
Prologue: The Weight of Silence
Ten years. That’s how long I’ve kept this secret locked away—buried so deep I sometimes wondered if I’d imagined it all. But nightmares don’t lie. And the scar on my left shoulder, where claws raked across my skin, is a permanent reminder that what happened to me in the Appalachian Mountains was terrifyingly real.
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.
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My name is Kelly Denver, and I’m finally ready to tell my story.
Chapter 1: Into the Autumn Wilds
It was October 15th, 2014. I’d been planning this solo hike for months. The fall colors in the Appalachians were at their peak, and I’d chosen a moderately difficult trail in the remote Blue Ridge Mountains, about forty miles southwest of Asheville, North Carolina. The forecast was perfect: clear skies, temperatures in the low sixties.
I wasn’t completely alone. My faithful companion, Scout—a three-year-old German Shepherd mix I’d rescued from a Charlotte shelter—bounded beside me with the enthusiasm only a dog can muster for a mountain adventure. Scout had been with me on dozens of hikes. His protective instincts had gotten us out of trouble with aggressive wildlife before. He was my hiking partner, my security system, and my best friend rolled into one loyal package.
We started early, around 6:30 a.m., from a trailhead that saw maybe a dozen hikers on busy weekends. This wasn’t one of those Instagram-famous trails with wooden signs and maintained facilities. This was raw wilderness, the kind of place where cell service disappeared after the first mile and you could hike for hours without seeing another soul.
The trail wound through dense hardwood forests, massive oaks and maples forming a canopy so thick that even at midday the forest floor remained dim and cool. Ancient rhododendron bushes created natural tunnels along the path, their twisted branches forming archways that made me feel like I was walking through a forgotten cathedral.
For the first six hours, everything was perfect. Scout and I maintained a steady pace, stopping occasionally so I could photograph stunning views or interesting rock formations. The autumn air was crisp and clean, carrying the earthy scent of decomposing leaves and the distant sound of a creek tumbling over stones.
Chapter 2: Lost and Unraveling
Around 1:00 p.m., we reached what I thought was the halfway point. I pulled out my map and GPS, checking our position while Scout sniffed around a fallen log. According to my calculations, we should reach the scenic overlook within another hour, then begin the descent back toward the trailhead.
But as I studied the map, I realized I’d made a navigation error. We’d taken a fork in the trail about two miles back that led deeper into the wilderness than I’d intended. Instead of being halfway through a manageable day hike, we were now committed to a much longer route through terrain I wasn’t familiar with.
Scout seemed unbothered, tail wagging as he investigated every scent. I decided to push forward rather than backtrack. After all, I was an experienced hiker with proper gear, plenty of water, and emergency supplies. What could go wrong?
The answer came three hours later, when the perfect day turned into my worst nightmare.
Chapter 3: Predator
We’d been climbing steadily for most of the afternoon, following a ridgeline that offered occasional glimpses of the valleys below. The trail had become less defined, more like a game path marked by occasional blazes. I was beginning to think we should turn back when Scout suddenly stopped, his ears perked and his body rigid.
I’d learned to trust Scout’s instincts. When he went on alert, it meant something was wrong. I froze, scanning the forest for any sign of danger.
The afternoon had grown unusually quiet. No birds, no rustling in the underbrush. Even the wind seemed to have stilled.
That’s when I saw it—about fifty yards ahead, barely visible in the dappled shadows, a massive tawny form moved with liquid grace between the trees.
Mountain lion.
My blood turned to ice water. In all my years of hiking, I’d never encountered one of these apex predators, though I knew they lived in these mountains. The cat was enormous, easily six feet long, not counting its tail, with powerful shoulders and hindquarters that spoke of explosive strength. It moved with the confidence of a creature that had never met anything it couldn’t kill.
Scout saw it too. The hair along his spine stood up, and a low growl rumbled from his throat. I grabbed his collar, trying to keep him calm, while my mind raced through everything I’d read about mountain lion encounters: Don’t run. Make yourself appear large. Back away slowly. Never turn your back.
But this cat wasn’t behaving like the textbook said it should. Instead of avoiding us, it was moving deliberately toward us, its yellow eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my skin crawl. This wasn’t a chance encounter. This was a predator that had made a decision.
I started backing away, one slow step at a time, trying to keep Scout behind me. The mountain lion matched my movement, maintaining the distance while angling to cut off our retreat. It was hunting us, and it was doing so with terrifying intelligence.
“Easy, boy,” I whispered to Scout, who was trembling with the effort of controlling his protective instincts. “Easy.” But Scout knew what I was trying to deny. We were in serious trouble.
The attack came without warning. One moment the cat was fifty yards away, the next it was airborne, covering the distance in three massive bounds. I had time for one strangled scream before 150 pounds of muscle and claws slammed into my chest, driving me backward into a tree.
That’s when Scout made his choice. Even as I was falling, even as claws raked across my shoulder and the cat’s breath filled my nostrils, Scout launched himself at the mountain lion. Sixty pounds of protective fury crashed into the cat’s side, knocking it off me and sending both animals tumbling into the underbrush.
What followed was the most horrible sound I’ve ever heard—a combination of snarling, yelping, and the wet sounds of claws and teeth finding their mark. I scrambled to my feet, my left shoulder on fire, and looked around desperately for something to use as a weapon. The fight lasted maybe thirty seconds, but it felt like hours.
Scout was brave and strong, but he was no match for a mountain lion. I knew it, and somehow I think he knew it too. But he’d made his choice, and he was going to give me every second he could.
“Scout!” I screamed, looking for a stick or rock.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the fight was over. The mountain lion emerged from the bushes, blood on its muzzle, dragging Scout’s motionless body. My beautiful, brave dog was dead, his neck broken by a bite that had crushed his spine. The cat looked at me once more, as if considering whether I was worth the effort. Then it dragged Scout’s body into the deeper forest and vanished, leaving me alone with my grief and terror.
Chapter 4: Alone, Lost, and Hunted
I don’t remember much about the next few hours. I know I cried until I had no tears left. I know I called Scout’s name until my voice was gone, even though I’d seen his lifeless body carried away. I know I tried to follow the trail back, but shock and grief muddled my thinking.
The bleeding from my shoulder had mostly stopped, but the wound was deep and needed medical attention. More immediately, I was lost. In my emotional state, I’d left the trail without realizing it. Now, I found myself in trackless forest with no clear sense of direction. The sun was getting lower, the temperature was dropping. I had a small emergency kit in my pack, including a space blanket and energy bars, but I hadn’t prepared for an overnight stay.
Every shadow looked like a mountain lion. Every sound made me jump. I was running on pure adrenaline and the animal instinct to survive.
As darkness fell, I realized I needed to stop and find shelter. Hiking in the dark, especially in my emotional state, was a recipe for disaster. I could walk off a cliff, fall into a ravine, or get even more lost. I found a small clearing beside a rocky outcrop that offered some protection from the wind. Using my emergency supplies, I created a makeshift shelter and tried to settle in for what I knew would be the longest night of my life.
Chapter 5: The Night the Mountains Spoke
The first sounds came around 10:00 p.m. I was huddled in my space blanket, fighting off waves of grief over Scout’s death, when I heard something moving in the forest around me. Not the small sounds of nocturnal animals. This was something big, moving with purpose.
At first, I thought the mountain lion had returned. Maybe it had finished with Scout and decided I was worth pursuing after all. I grabbed the largest stick I could find and tried to make myself small against the rock face.
But as the sounds grew closer, I realized this wasn’t a cat. The movement was too heavy, too deliberate, and there was more than one of them. I could hear multiple large forms moving through the forest, seeming to circle my position.
Then I heard something that made my blood freeze—a low, guttural vocalization that sounded almost like speech. It wasn’t human, but it wasn’t entirely animal either. It was something in between, speaking of intelligence and purpose.
The sounds grew closer, and I began to make out massive shapes moving between the trees. They were huge, much larger than any person, moving upright on two legs but with a hunched, ape-like posture. In the darkness, I could barely make out their silhouettes, but what I could see defied explanation. I was about to meet creatures I’d always assumed were nothing more than folklore and hoax videos.
They surrounded me with a coordination that suggested they’d done this before. One moment I was alone in my makeshift shelter; the next, I was surrounded by four massive forms that blocked out the stars.
Up close, they were even more terrifying than I’d imagined. They stood between seven and eight feet tall, covered in coarse, dark hair that seemed to absorb what little moonlight filtered through the canopy. Their faces were a nightmare blend of human and ape, with pronounced brow ridges, deep-set eyes, and powerful jaws.
But it was their eyes that truly frightened me. They held an intelligence that was unmistakably aware, unmistakably conscious.
I screamed and tried to run, but there was nowhere to go. When I bolted to my left, one of them simply stepped into my path, its massive form blocking my escape. When I spun right, another was there, watching me with those disturbingly intelligent eyes.
The largest of the group—the one I would later think of as the leader—made a sound that might have been communication to the others. Before I could react, massive hands grabbed me, lifting me off the ground as easily as I might lift a small child.
I fought with everything I had, but it was useless. These creatures possessed a strength beyond human comprehension. The one carrying me might as well have been carrying a struggling kitten for all the effect my resistance had.
Chapter 6: The Hidden World
As they began to move through the forest, carrying me between them, I heard something that made me stop fighting and start paying attention. The sound of wolves howling in the distance—not just one or two, but a whole pack. And they were getting closer. Then I heard something else—a low, coughing roar that I recognized from nature documentaries. Black bear. And it sounded very close.
Suddenly, I began to understand what was happening. These creatures weren’t kidnapping me. They were rescuing me. The forest that had seemed merely dark and scary was apparently full of predators converging on my position. The mountain lion that killed Scout might have been just the beginning of my troubles.
As if to confirm my realization, one of the creatures made a sound almost like speech—a series of low grunts and growls that somehow conveyed reassurance. The message was clear: They weren’t going to hurt me. They were taking me somewhere safe.
The journey through the forest seemed to last forever. My captors—or rescuers, I was no longer sure which—moved with surprising stealth for their size, following paths invisible to me through terrain impossible for a human to navigate in the dark.
We climbed steadily upward, sometimes along what felt like established trails, other times scrambling over rocky terrain that required all four creatures to work together to navigate safely while carrying me. I could hear water in the distance—not the small creek I’d heard earlier, but something much larger, possibly a river or waterfall.
After what felt like hours, but was probably closer to forty-five minutes, we emerged from the dense forest into a more open area. By the moonlight, I could see we were on a rocky slope near the top of a ridge. Above us, a cliff face rose into the darkness, and it was toward this cliff that my captors were heading.
At first, I couldn’t see where they were taking me. The rock face appeared solid, unbroken by any opening large enough for creatures of their size to enter. But as we got closer, I realized that what looked like a shadow on the rock was actually the entrance to a cave—massive, hidden by an overhang and partially concealed by vegetation.
As we entered the cave, the temperature dropped, and the air took on the distinctive mineral smell of underground spaces. But this wasn’t just any cave. It was enormous. The entrance chamber stretched away into darkness with passages branching off in multiple directions. The ceiling was high enough that I couldn’t see it, and the space felt vast and ancient.
The creatures moved through the cave system with the confidence of long familiarity. They knew exactly where they were going, navigating by touch and sound through passages that branched and split in ways that would have left me hopelessly lost in minutes.
Chapter 7: The Chamber of Secrets
Eventually, we reached what appeared to be a central chamber, much larger than the passages we’d traveled through. The creature carrying me set me down gently. The chamber was huge, easily the size of a large church with a high ceiling that disappeared into darkness above. The floor was mostly flat, covered with what felt like sand or fine gravel. Along the walls, I could see more mysterious symbols, and in several places, there were areas that looked like they’d been deliberately shaped or carved.
But what struck me most was how lived-in the space felt. This wasn’t just a cave. It was a home. There were areas that clearly served different purposes—sleeping spaces lined with animal furs, areas where fires had been built repeatedly, and spaces that seemed to be used for food preparation.
One of the creatures, not the leader, approached me carrying something. In the flickering torchlight, I could see it was food—a collection of berries, some kind of nuts, and what looked like strips of meat. The meat was raw, and I had no idea what animal it had come from.
The creature set the food down in front of me and backed away, watching me with those intelligent eyes. The message was clear: Eat.
I was hungry. I hadn’t eaten since my energy bar earlier in the day, but the raw meat made my stomach turn. The berries looked safe enough. I was afraid to refuse. These creatures had saved me from whatever dangers lurked outside, but I had no idea what their intentions were.
So, I ate. The berries were tart and slightly sweet, not unpleasant. The nuts were harder to chew, but had a rich, earthy flavor. The meat, I tried not to think about. It was tough and had a strong game taste, but I forced myself to swallow it. I needed the protein and needed to show these creatures that I appreciated their offering.
As I ate, they watched me with what seemed like approval. The leader made more of those low grunting sounds that might have been communication, and the others responded in kind. I had the distinct impression they were talking about me, making decisions about what to do with me.
When I finished eating, they seemed satisfied. The leader gestured toward a corner of the chamber where animal furs had been arranged into what looked like a sleeping area. The message was clear: Rest.
I was exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and the adrenaline that had been keeping me going was finally wearing off. I curled up in the furs, which were surprisingly warm and soft, and tried to process everything that had happened. My shoulder throbbed where the mountain lion had clawed me, and my heart ached for Scout. But I was alive. These creatures, whatever they were, had saved my life.
Chapter 8: The Gallery
As I drifted toward sleep, I could hear them moving around the chamber, settling in for the night. But I didn’t sleep deeply. Every sound made me alert. Every movement in the shadows sent spikes of adrenaline through my system. I was safe, but I was also a prisoner in a cave system inhabited by creatures that shouldn’t exist.
I must have dozed fitfully for several hours, but I was awake long before dawn. The cave was dark except for the faint glow of embers from a fire. The creatures seemed to be sleeping, and I could hear the slow, deep breathing of large animals at rest.
This was my chance to explore, to try to understand where I was and what I was dealing with. Moving as quietly as possible, I got up from my makeshift bed and began to explore the chamber by the dim light of the dying fire.
The cave system was even more extensive than I’d realized. From the main chamber, passages led off in at least six directions, disappearing into darkness. Some were large enough for the creatures to move through easily, others were smaller, more suited to humans. The walls were covered with symbols everywhere I looked—some carved deep into the stone, others painted with what looked like natural pigments. The older ones were weathered, but the newer ones were crisp and clear. Someone or something had been creating these markings for a very long time.
But it was what I found in one of the side passages that truly amazed me. Following a narrow corridor, I discovered what could only be described as a gallery. The walls were covered with images, not just abstract symbols, but actual pictures. There were drawings of animals I recognized—deer, bears, mountain lions, wolves. But there were also images of the creatures themselves, depicted in various activities: hunting, social groups, families. Most remarkably, there were images of humans. Some human figures appeared to be running away, others seemed to be interacting peacefully. One image showed a human and one of the creatures working together to move a large rock.
The implications were staggering. This wasn’t just a cave where some unknown species took shelter. This was a record of their existence, their culture, their history.
Chapter 9: The Family
My exploration eventually led me to another chamber, smaller than the main one, but still quite large. What I found made me freeze in terror and fascination. Four massive forms were sleeping together in the corner, curled in what appeared to be a family group. Two were enormous, easily eight feet tall even lying down, while the other two were smaller but still much larger than any human. A family of Bigfoot parents and their grown children, or perhaps siblings who had chosen to stay together.
In sleep, they looked less threatening. Their features were more relaxed, more humanlike. I could see the family resemblance in their faces, the way they had arranged themselves to share warmth and comfort. It was remarkably human behavior, and it made me see these creatures in a completely different light. They weren’t monsters. They were people—different from humans, but people nonetheless. They had families, emotions, a society.
The one who had carried me through the forest hadn’t been kidnapping me. He had been rescuing me, bringing me to safety, just as any human might do for someone in trouble.
Chapter 10: Escape and Aftermath
But as I watched them sleep, I also felt a growing sense of urgency. Dawn was coming. I could see the faintest hint of light beginning to filter into the cave. And I knew this was my chance to leave. I didn’t know what their intentions were for me in the long term, and I wasn’t prepared to find out. I needed to get back to civilization, to medical attention for my shoulder, to a world that made sense. I needed to grieve for Scout properly, to process what had happened, and to decide what to do with the knowledge I’d gained.
Moving as quietly as possible, I made my way back to the main chamber. The creatures who had brought me here were still sleeping, and I could see the passage that led to the entrance. If I was careful, if I was quiet, I might be able to slip away before they woke up.
Getting out of the cave system was harder than I’d expected. The passages that had seemed straightforward when I was being carried now seemed like a maze. I took several wrong turns, ending up in chambers I hadn’t seen before, having to backtrack and try different routes. But eventually, I found my way back to the entrance. The morning light filtering into the cave was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Freedom was just a few hundred yards away.
As I made my way toward the entrance, I heard sounds behind me. The creatures were waking up. I heard voices—those low, grunting sounds that I now recognized as their form of communication. They were probably discovering that I was gone, trying to decide what to do.
I reached the entrance just as the sun was rising over the ridge. The forest looked completely different in daylight—less threatening, more familiar. I could see the slope we’d climbed the night before, and beyond that, the forest I’d been lost in. But I was no longer lost. From the elevated position of the cave entrance, I could see landmarks I recognized. In the distance, I could make out what looked like a trail—not the one I’d been on when Scout was killed, but a different one that seemed to run along the ridgeline.
I didn’t look back as I began my descent. I was afraid that if I did, I might see the creatures following me, and I wasn’t ready for another encounter. I needed time to process what had happened, to figure out how to return to normal life with the knowledge I now carried.
Chapter 11: The World Returns
The descent was treacherous. The slope was steep and rocky, and my shoulder was stiff and painful. But adrenaline and the promise of safety kept me going. I slipped and stumbled several times, but I kept moving, driven by the need to put distance between myself and the cave.
It took me six hours to reach the trail I’d seen from the cave entrance. By then, I was exhausted, dehydrated, and in pain. But I was also elated. I’d made it back to marked trails, back to a world I understood.
Two hours later, I encountered the most welcome sight of my life—a group of three hikers coming up the trail toward me. When they saw me—dirty, bloodied, and obviously in distress—they immediately offered help.
“Are you okay?” the first one asked, a woman with graying hair and kind eyes.
I almost broke down right there. These were the first normal people I’d seen since the nightmare began, and they represented everything I’d feared I might never experience again: human kindness, civilization, rationality.
“I need help,” I managed to say. “I was attacked by a mountain lion. My dog… my dog is dead.”
They didn’t hesitate. One began examining my shoulder wound. Another called for emergency services on a satellite phone. The third, the woman who’d spoken first, just sat with me and let me talk. I told them about the mountain lion attack, about Scout’s heroic sacrifice, about getting lost in the forest, but I didn’t tell them about the creatures. I couldn’t. How could I explain that I’d spent the night in a cave system with a family of Bigfoot? How could I describe the symbols on the walls, the intelligence in their eyes, the way they’d saved my life? They would think I was suffering from shock, from hallucinations brought on by trauma and exposure. They would be kind about it, but they wouldn’t believe me.
And maybe that was for the best. Maybe some secrets are meant to be kept.
Epilogue: The Secret Kept
The rescue team found us on the trail three hours later. I was taken to a hospital in Asheville, where doctors cleaned and stitched my shoulder wound and treated me for dehydration and exposure. The wound was deep but clean, and it would heal without permanent damage.
The hardest part was calling my family to tell them what had happened. My parents were devastated about Scout. My sister cried when I told her how he’d died saving my life. They all wanted to know how I’d survived the night alone in the forest, and I gave them a carefully edited version of the truth. I told them I’d found a cave to shelter in, that I’d had some emergency food in my pack, that I’d been lucky to find the trail the next morning. It wasn’t entirely a lie. I had found shelter. I had been fed. I had been lucky. I just left out the part about who had provided the shelter and the food.
The authorities were sympathetic but thorough. They wanted to know exactly where the mountain lion attack had occurred, whether I thought the animal might still be in the area, whether they needed to close any trails or post warnings. I gave them the best approximation I could, but I was vague about the exact location of the cave. A search team went out to look for Scout’s body, but they never found it. The mountain lion had apparently dragged it far enough away that it was lost in the vastness of the forest.
I held a small memorial service for Scout in my backyard with just my family and a few close friends. I told them stories about all the adventures we’d had together, about what a brave and loyal companion he’d been. But I didn’t tell them about his final act of heroism. That was too painful, too personal, and it was connected to secrets I wasn’t ready to share.
For ten years, I’ve carried the knowledge of what happened to me in that cave. I’ve returned to hiking, though never alone, and never in that area. I’ve read everything I could find about Bigfoot sightings, cryptozoology, the legends and stories that have persisted for generations. Some are clearly hoaxes or misidentifications. Others are harder to dismiss. There are patterns in the reports, consistent details that suggest some witnesses might have encountered something real. The descriptions of intelligence, of deliberate avoidance of humans, of protective behavior toward those they perceive as harmless—these match my own experience.
I’ve thought about coming forward before, about sharing my story with researchers. But I’ve also thought about the creatures who saved my life, about the family I saw sleeping peacefully in their hidden cave. They’ve survived by remaining hidden, by avoiding contact with the modern world. Do I have the right to expose them? The symbols on the cave walls suggested a culture that goes back centuries, maybe millennia. These creatures have been living in the mountains longer than humans have been keeping written records. They’ve developed their own society, their own way of life, their own relationship with the natural world.
What would happen if the world knew they existed? Would they be protected, studied, respected, or would they be hunted, captured, exploited? Would tourists overrun their territory? Would scientists want to study them? Would governments want to control them?
I think about the intelligence I saw in their eyes, the way they communicated, the care they showed in feeding me and providing shelter. These weren’t animals. They were people, just different from us. They deserve the same consideration, the same right to privacy and self-determination that we would want for ourselves.
So why am I finally breaking my silence? Why am I sharing the story after ten years? Partly, it’s because I’m tired of carrying the burden alone. The experience changed me in ways I’m still discovering. I see the natural world differently now, with a deeper appreciation for its mysteries and a greater respect for the unknown. I’ve become more cautious about human arrogance, about our assumption that we understand everything about the world around us.
But mostly, it’s because I think the story needs to be told, even if people don’t believe it. There are things in this world we don’t understand—creatures that exist beyond our current knowledge. The mountains are full of secrets, and some of those secrets might be important.
I’m not asking anyone to believe me. I’m not providing evidence or demanding investigation. I’m simply sharing what happened to me, what I experienced, what I learned. Take from it what you will.
The creatures who saved my life that night showed me kindness and compassion when I was at my most vulnerable. They could have left me to die. Could have let the wolves and bears find me. Instead, they chose to help, to protect, to care for someone who wasn’t even their own species. That’s a lesson worth remembering, regardless of whether you believe the source.
I still miss Scout every day. His death was the price of my survival, and I carry that weight with me always. But I also carry the memory of his courage, his loyalty, his willingness to sacrifice himself for someone he loved. The creatures in the cave showed me a different kind of courage—the courage to help a stranger, to share their resources, to act with compassion even when it meant revealing their existence to an outsider. They took a risk in helping me. And I’ve tried to honor that risk by keeping their secret. But secrets have a way of demanding to be told. And this one has weighed on me for too long.
I don’t know if I’ll ever return to those mountains, if I’ll ever see the cave entrance again. Part of me hopes I will, that I’ll have a chance to thank the creatures who saved my life. Part of me hopes I won’t, that they’ll remain safe and hidden in their ancient home.
Either way, I’ll never forget what I learned in that cave system. There are more things in this world than we can imagine. More intelligence than we recognize, more kindness than we expect. Sometimes the monsters in the shadows turn out to be the ones who save us. And sometimes the most terrifying experience of your life can also be the most profound.
That’s the story I’ve carried for ten years. That’s the secret I finally decided to share. Believe it or don’t, that’s your choice. But remember, the next time you’re alone in the wilderness, the next time you hear strange sounds in the forest, the next time you feel like you’re being watched, you might not be as alone as you think. And that might not be a bad thing.
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