Tangle With the 'Squatch

When I’m out on a “hunt” I try to take notes of things I see that strike me. I got a hot tip that back in the 70’s this one small lake up in the coastal mountains of Oregon was a hotbed of howling, footprints and other Sasquatch activity.

“Rotting coyote corpse fence. Why?” I try to scribble balancing my small black notebook on the steering wheel as I drive the winding-est road that doesn’t have a guardrail I have ever been on. Truly terrifying.

I’m a fan of retro tech. It’s the most reliable when I’m on the trail, so I also use paper maps.

As I’m rolling into this small town, I start questioning if this is the sort of place I should be visiting on a solo trip. After a run-down trailer park and the burned out hull of a house, I see a ragged VFW building and I know that I have found the information I was hoping for.

Standing alongside rough old trucks are a couple of equally rough-looking guys, each with a can of beer in hand.

The small fella doesn’t even say hello. As he’s reaching behind the seat of his truck my gaze catches on the crooked joint behind his ear and he hands me a not-cold can of Henry’s.

It doesn’t take me long to learn the big guy with the luscious beard is also into Bigfoot theories. He eagerly shares his notion that the hairy Sasquatch may be more tree-dwelling and green-tinted from living in the wet Pacific Northwest rainforests than the average Bigfoot Hunter thinks. Kind of like a sloth, good camo. He said I should head to Sru Lake. It used to be called “Squaw Lake” but they changed it.

Both guys mentioned I should go prepared because there’s no cell service or anything out there. I’m a regular backpacker, so my notes say, “Green theory. Sru Lake. No services.”

After I leave my new friends at the VFW, I pull into the kind of village store that has one or two of everything you could possibly need to get by. It’s a tiny grocery with a small fresh-meat counter. Of course they have a little liquor store, too. Never one to miss a hot tip, I ask the clerks about Bigfoot sightings as I pay for my sausage, beer and ice. It seems everyone in this place is a believer.

The older lady behind the counter was perfectly average in every way except for the offhand remark that rings in my mind in hindsight.

She laughed in that not-genuine kind of way that awkward people try to use to make you feel better and then she said, “We used to get a lot of tourists. Every year some Californian gets lost and we gotta pull their car out months later.”

I return the awkward laugh assuring her my plates are from Montana.

The scenery heading into the forest was everything the people in town said it would be. Pristine. A palette of green previously unimaginable with waterfalls and tranquil, isolated swimming holes. This is definitely a place I want to come back to.

Sru Lake was marked clearly and I found the campground without any issue. The “lake” isn’t so much a lake as a pond. The pit toilet looks like it could simultaneously grace the month of October in an outhouse calendar and be some trap where a potty-witch “gets you” during your morning routine. Birds chirped and squirrels yelled at me from the heavily leafed branches just like they have at a hundred other campgrounds. None of those wild places were as void of other people as this one.

As I enjoyed the silence I set my camp and drew some maps of the campground as far as I could see and thought about where I might set up my audio gear and trail cams in the morning. It was the perfect sort of camping evening with a fire and cold beer. I play the guitar at home but bring an Ukulele on my hunts because it’s always cheerful and smaller to pack.

“Campground empty but me. Peaceful animal and bug sounds. Excellent weather and great area. Why no other campers? Setting up gear tomorrow. Maybe explore from camp.”

It was not dark but also not light when something woke me up. I couldn’t tell you what it was. There wasn’t a sound anywhere. No morning birds, no frogs, no wind, no nothing until I heard something bounce off my car. Then something hit the cooler and the car again. Then something hit the tent and it was silent again.

I held my morning pee until I was certain it was noon and then I poked my head out of the door after carefully peeking out of the tent “windows” looking for anything amiss. It was uneventful. I found nothing to account for what I heard… experienced. I cooked lunch. Well, it should have been breakfast. The skinny guy who works the meat slicer in town makes great sausage.

I went about my day setting up gear, cooking and exploring like I had planned. Raccoons, blue jays, crows and foxes will all make a raucous around camp to try to get food. I was mocking myself in the silence of the forest when I swear I saw just a little movement up in a tree. I froze for a long time and nothing moved. I went on my way telling myself I’m silly and it’s just because I’m out here by myself.

“At least I don’t have California plates.” I say out loud. I swear to you I heard a muffled laugh. Like someone didn’t expect me to have jokes. I’m not going to lie when I tell you I got the heebie-jeebies and my spine froze up for a few seconds.

For dinner I cooked up some Chanterelle mushrooms I foraged while setting up the gear and I set out to explore around the camp and lake area. I had a pleasant walk and was able to add to my earlier maps of the camp. I hadn’t seen another person all day and here it was evening time.

Since the strange occurrences of the day got my hackles up, I made sure I was armed as I played my happy evening ukulele tunes.

Grunting. That’s the best way to tell you what woke me up. Grunting. I was half asleep and not thinking when I yelled, “Hey!” And everything went silent. Suddenly I knew things had turned dangerous. I can’t say how I knew, but I knew. Still inside the tent, I braced myself to run for the car.

I hit the “panic” button on my keys. Not even kidding! It was almost that simple! I was in my car headed out of there in the dark when I decided it would be an excellent time to record what’s happening. As I’m fumbling with my phone camera, my car goes off the edge of the road and I’m in a ravine in the dark with Sasquatch.

I hit the panic button again hoping for a diversion and run down the road. I’m not pursued nor harassed in any way. In my head, though, I was certain I was being chased.

It was around daybreak after panic run-speed walk-jogging through the forest all night when I’m able to flag down a log truck and get emergency help.

When they pulled my car with Montana plates out of the small ravine, the police said it looked like a group of guys “beat the shit out of it with baseball bats.”

They had people go with me to get my gear. I watched the footage and listened to the audio. Something knocked out any camera that could have seen anything and no strange sound but my car horn was heard the entire night. My black notebook was sitting on the front passenger seat. When I looked in it, I found the four map pages I had drawn of the camp were torn out.

Cell phone footage! That’s where I got it. My proof! I know it’s a little shaky and seems blurry if you haven’t seen one for yourself. But that thing right there. Ya see it? That’s bigfoot! I got Bigfoot on film, baby!

A Bigfoot fanclub in Washington bought the rights to my footage for $20,000 plus some legal stuff. Insurance replaced my car. Sasquatch is definitely real, but I won’t spend another night at Sru Lake. You can hear my wild story in person any night the bar is open. I can't bring myself to leave this small, Oregon town.