Man Records 3 Bigfoot Infants on His Property Begging for Help – Sasquatch Encounter Story

The Orphans of the Cascades: An Unthinkable Adoption

Picture the scene: deep in the dense, isolated wilderness of the Pacific Northwest, far from any rational civilization, a retired man checked his trail camera feed and was confronted with a reality that science vehemently denies. Not the shadowy outline of a cryptid, but three small, utterly vulnerable figures huddled against the cold—three young Bigfoot infants, barely four feet tall, their wide, dark eyes reflecting the infrared light like frightened animals. They were alone, shivering, and starving.

This is the account of a man who chose not to flee, not to report, but to save what he believed were three lost children of the forest.

The Reckless Decision

The narrator, who prefers to remain anonymous, lives forty miles from the nearest town in the thick woodland of the Cascade foothills. The figures he saw that late October evening were between three and a half and four feet tall, covered in matted, dirty dark fur. Their faces were visibly flat with prominent brow ridges. They made plaintive, soft hooting and chirping sounds, a heartbreaking symphony of loneliness. Crucially, they were completely abandoned; no protective adult figure emerged from the dense growth.

Every rational instinct screamed danger. Approaching unknown wild animals, especially ones rumored to be large and aggressive, was foolish. But the smallest of the three was visibly weeping, its shoulders shaking with what looked like sobs. The sight broke the narrator’s resolve. Whatever they were, they were suffering, and the dropping temperature—dipping towards freezing—meant they wouldn’t survive the night alone.

Armed with a rifle for protection and guided only by a flashlight, the narrator made the fifteen-minute trek to the creek bank. After an hour and a half of silent observation, confirming that no adult Bigfoot was present, he knew he had to act. The young ones were listless, their ribs visible beneath their fur.

Approaching slowly, he finally stopped twenty feet away and cleared his throat softly. The three creatures instantly jerked awake, their eyes wide with fear, letting out deep, guttural warning sounds. The narrator crouched down, speaking softly, attempting to convey peace. He used the only universal language he had: food.

The First Touch

The ice was broken with a granola bar. Unwrapping the crinkling plastic was loud in the silent woods. The largest of the three (later nicknamed Big) cautiously approached, snatched the piece of food, and retreated to share it with its siblings. The touch was quick: “Rough, warm, and surprisingly gentle.”

The middle one (later Mid) approached next, taking the food with more confidence. Up close, the narrator saw the truth in its eyes: “Its eyes were large and dark with an intelligence behind them… something that looked almost human.”

But it was the smallest one (later Little) that sealed their fate. Hesitantly, it crawled toward the narrator, not immediately taking the food, but looking up into his face. Then, it reached out and touched his hand with a feather-like, tentative small finger, as if testing whether he was real. After taking the food, Little stayed put, leaning against the narrator’s side, seeking warmth.

That moment provided the horrifying certainty: “No adult with even minimal protective instincts would have allowed their offspring to approach a human like this… These three had been abandoned or orphaned, and they were desperate enough to accept help from anyone, even someone like me.”

The narrator finished feeding them the last of his granola bar, then slowly led the three ravenous, desperate younglings back to the warmth and safety of his cabin. Midway back, Little collapsed from exhaustion. The narrator knelt and, despite the warning sounds from Big and Mid, lifted the small creature. Little immediately wrapped its arms around his neck, clinging to him like a child. Its heart beat rapidly against his chest; its fur, beneath the matted outer layer, was surprisingly soft.

An Impossible Coexistence

The next morning, the narrator woke to the sound of his pantry being raided. The three Bigfoot, momentarily startled, looked up at him with expressions of pure, childish guilt, cereal stuck to their fur. The routine that followed over the next few days was extraordinary, revealing the surprising complexity and humanity of the creatures science claimed were mythical:

🐻 Individual Personalities and Social Dynamics

Big: The serious and protective leader. Always on alert, watching the windows and doors. He would follow the narrator anxiously to the door whenever he left, acting as a quiet guardian. He was the most thorough groomer and the first to respond to any perceived threat.

Mid: The curious and intelligent explorer. Fascinated by objects, Mid loved examining and figuring out how things worked. He was observed attempting to use a can opener and solved a taped-up cardboard box puzzle by simply tearing it apart—demonstrating pragmatic problem-solving over brute force.

Little: The affectionate and clingy baby. Little sought constant physical contact, often sitting pressed against the narrator or its siblings. It would hold his hand while walking and even tried to “groom” his hair, making soft, contented cooing sounds.

🧠 Intelligence and Learning

Their capacity for learning was remarkable:

Problem-Solving: Within days, they learned how to open the refrigerator (necessitating a childproof lock) and recognized the danger of the hot wood stove (a lesson Little learned the hard way).

Communication: They communicated constantly, using chirps, hoots, and grunts that established a clear social hierarchy. Big made decisions the others followed, and they possessed recognizable games with rules, including a form of tag and hide-and-seek using objects around the cabin.

Observation: They watched the narrator cook with fascination, particularly when he cracked eggs. Big even attempted to “help” by bringing him random objects from the table.

Rhythm: Their daily rhythm mirrored human children: high-energy play and exploration in the morning, a collective nap during the warm midday, and quieter activities like grooming in the afternoon.

💖 Bonding and Affection

Grooming was a central social activity, serving both hygiene and bonding. They also attempted to groom the narrator, a slightly painful but deeply touching gesture of acceptance. Little’s insistence on running its fingers through the narrator’s hair, combined with the way they slept—curled up in a tight, physically contiguous bundle—showed a deep, almost human need for affection and security.

They devoured food with desperate hunger, consuming “two or three thousand calories each” before they were satisfied. They loved the peanut butter, eating it straight from the jar with their fingers, but inexplicably ignored the bread.

The narrator, sitting in his armchair and watching the three small cryptids sleep peacefully in his living room, knew he had crossed a line that science and sanity claimed did not exist. He had taken responsibility for three beings who possessed intelligence, complex social bonds, and an emotional capacity that was terrifyingly close to human.