‘I SHOT SASQUATCH’ | Navy Veteran’s Bone-Chilling Encounter in the Woods – BIGFOOT STORY COMPILATION

The Veteran and the Watchers: An Encounter in Northern Michigan

My name doesn’t matter, but the terror I witnessed in the backwoods of northern Michigan last October demands telling. I’m a retired Navy veteran, a man who survived Vietnam and the loss of his wife, finding solace only in the silence of the forest. But that silence was a lie.

I had paddled fifteen miles into the remote Upper Peninsula for a peaceful week of camping and fishing. The first few days were perfect—just me, my gear, and my rifle, my constant companion.

The First Sighting

On the fourth day, everything changed. Heading to the river for water, I saw it: a massive dark shape by the water’s edge. At first, I thought bear, but then it straightened up and stood like a person. It was huge, seven, maybe eight feet tall, covered head to toe in dark brown fur, with massive shoulders and arms longer than they should be.

Then it saw me.

Our eyes met, and I felt pure, animal fear—a dread I hadn’t known since Vietnam. It stared at me, deciding if I was threat or prey. In a second, the massive thing crashed through the underbrush and vanished. Complete silence followed. Back at camp, I tried to rationalize it, but I knew what I saw: a creature walking upright like a man, but no man.

That night, the forest was consumed by an unnatural silence, a dead calm where the forest seemed to hold its breath. I lay in my sleeping bag, rifle near, feeling the cold dread of being watched, the same dread from enemy territory where a sniper is hidden.

The Family at the River

Curiosity—or maybe something deeper, a desire to feel alive again—kept me from leaving. I returned to the river, rifle ready, and found a hiding spot. A few hours later, I heard them: heavy, deliberate footsteps. Not one, but at least two, maybe three.

Two massive figures appeared: one dark brown, the other lighter, almost reddish. They moved with purpose, like they owned this stretch of river. I watched them for an hour.

Incredible Reflexes: They caught fish just by reaching into the water and grabbing them with their bare hands, never missing.

Intelligence and Communication: They used low grunts and hand gestures, a rhythm that suggested language. They shared a piece of metal—a lure—turning it over in their hands like they were examining every detail, before the darker one threw it far downstream, rejecting the trace of human presence.

Organization: They had what looked like a conversation, back and forth, with disagreement and eventual consensus, proving they were thinking, planning, communicating.

Concealment: After fishing, they cleaned up after themselves, picking up fish bones and smoothing out the mud, trying to hide any evidence of their presence.

The chilling confirmation came when the darker one looked directly at my hiding spot. They knew I was there. Had probably known the whole time. They simply gathered their fish and walked away, deciding I was not worth worrying about.

I checked the riverbank. The prints were enormous, eighteen to twenty inches long, wider than any human foot, with what looked like claw marks. My size 11 boot was a child’s shoe next to them. There were broken branches at eight feet high and that musky, wild smell.

The Hunt and the Warning

I fled, hearing their heavy, long-strided footsteps keeping pace behind me. They weren’t running; they were escorting me. Back at camp, that feeling of being watched never left. Around midnight, I heard them calling to each other—low, haunting sounds echoing across the forest from different directions. They were communicating, surrounding me.

Despite the terror, I stayed one more day. I found their trail—undergrowth trampled down, branches broken at shoulder height—leading deeper into what felt like their territory, their home ground. My curiosity had turned to stupidity.

That evening, heading back, they began to flank me. Branches broke to my right, then my left, then ahead. I was being herded, pushed away from my route.

Then I saw the eyes: two points of light reflecting my flashlight beam. Soon, eyes surrounded me. I backed up against a large oak.

I called out, “I know you’re there! I’m not here to hurt anybody!”

The eyes stopped. The forest went still. Then the lighter creature from the river stepped into the beam. Its face was more human than ape, but wrong—eyes too deep, jaw too wide. Its teeth were too sharp, too many of them.

It made a sound, not a growl, not a word, but something in between, and pointed behind me, back the way I’d come. It was asking why I’d been following their trail.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I was just curious.”

The creature studied me, made a long, complex sound that brought answering calls from the darkness. Then, with a final, urgent sound—a warning—it stepped back. They were escorting me, making sure I went where they wanted.

The Climax and the Canoe Escape

Near my camp, a massive figure stood in my path—the dark brown one. I raised my rifle. It tilted its head, curious. Then it let out a deep rumbling growl—a warning.

It walked toward me, deliberate, confident. When it was twenty yards away, it stepped behind an oak. Then, a rock the size of a bowling ball came flying straight at my head. I threw myself aside as the rock crashed into the tree behind me.

I rolled up and fired without thinking. The muzzle flash revealed the creature stumbling backward, clutching its right arm. Dark blood flowed between its fingers. It let out a howl of pure pain and rage.

I didn’t wait. I scrambled back to camp, threw my gear into my pack, and grabbed my canoe. I dragged the canoe to the river, the sounds of heavy footsteps, branches snapping, low grunts all around me.

As I pushed off, they appeared along the bank—at least six, maybe eight—a whole family or tribe. Some held big rocks. I was a sitting duck, but they didn’t throw them. They just watched me paddle downstream, their eyes reflecting the moonlight. Even after I shot one, they let me go.

I paddled for two hours until I reached the village.

The Unsolved Mystery

I never went back to that spot. I try to convince myself it was a delusion, but I know what I saw. These creatures were real and intelligent. They had families, territory, and a method of communication.

The strangest part is that I don’t think they wanted to hurt me. They could have killed me easily after I shot one, but they let me leave.

I regret shooting it. My Vietnam training—shoot first, ask questions later—kept me alive in the war, but it was the wrong response here. Maybe they weren’t a threat at all, just a family trying to live their lives in peace.

I learned that we are not alone on this planet. There are other intelligent beings sharing this world with us. I looked into their eyes and saw intelligence staring back at me. I only hope someone else, if they encounter them, will have the courage to lower their rifle and reach out their hand instead.