Bigfoot Saved Me from a Frozen Lake Disaster—Then Surprised Me with a Mysterious Act in This Incredible Sasquatch Story of Survival and Wonder
Winter’s Secret: My Life with Bigfoot
Chapter 1: The Lake and the Ice
I never thought I would owe my life to a Bigfoot. That sounds crazy when I say it out loud, but that is exactly what happened three winters ago up in northern Michigan. I was ice fishing alone on a lake that I’d been visiting since childhood, and a Bigfoot pulled me out of the water after I fell through thin ice. What happened after that was even stranger. The Bigfoot didn’t just save me and leave. The Bigfoot stayed with me for almost two full days, and what I saw during that time changed everything I thought I knew about these mysterious beings.
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It was a Friday afternoon in late January. The temperature had been below freezing for three straight weeks, and I figured the ice would be thick enough for fishing. I packed my gear—portable shelter, augur, rods, tackle box, cooler with food and drinks—into the back of my truck. I also brought my safety gear: ice picks around my neck, ice cleats on my boots. I’d learned the hard way to take safety seriously when ice fishing alone. One mistake out here, and nobody would find you until spring.
The drive up was quiet, peaceful. No phone service, no obligations, just me and the woods. I’d been planning this trip for two weeks, watching the weather reports, making sure conditions would be right. The parking area by the boat ramp was deserted, the snow plowed but drifted along the edges. I parked and stepped out into the cold, my breath forming thick clouds in the air. The temperature was maybe ten degrees.
I loaded my gear onto a sled and walked the five minutes from the parking area down to the lake, following a trail packed down by snowmobiles. The forest on both sides was thick pine, birch, and oak, everything blanketed in snow—a perfect winter scene.
Chapter 2: The Crack in the Ice
The ice looked solid, and I wore my ice picks just in case. I walked about two hundred yards from shore to a spot where I knew the fish liked to hang out. The snow on top of the ice was maybe four inches deep, and everything seemed fine. I set up my shelter and got the augur going over a deeper section of the lake, maybe twenty-five feet down. I’d caught nice pike here before, decent perch.
I drilled three holes in a triangle pattern, the augur loud in the quiet winter air. As I drilled, I noticed the ice chips were wetter than they should have been, the ice a gray tint instead of clear blue. I should have paid attention to the warning signs, but I was focused on fishing.
The augur broke through into water after about eight inches. That should have been my second warning. Eight inches of ice is not thick enough to be really safe, especially for someone my size. I should have packed up and moved to shallower water closer to shore. But I’d driven an hour to get here, and I was determined to fish. Stupid decision.
That’s when I heard the first crack. It was not loud, just a soft snap like a branch breaking somewhere in the distance. I stopped drilling and listened. The wind was blowing, making a whistling sound through the pine trees. I figured the crack was just the ice settling.
I went back to drilling. The second crack was louder and much closer. I felt the ice shift under my boots—just a tiny movement, but enough to make my stomach drop. A thin line appeared in the ice between my feet, spreading and making more cracking sounds. I knew I was in trouble. I’d drilled my hole right over a weak spot, probably where a spring was feeding into the lake from below.
I had maybe two seconds to react. I dropped the augur and tried to distribute my weight by lying down flat, but I was too slow. The ice under my left foot gave way completely, and I dropped through up to my knee. The shock of the cold water made me gasp. More ice broke, and I was waist deep, then chest deep, then I went under completely.
Chapter 3: Under the Ice
The cold was beyond anything I can describe. It was not just cold—it was a physical force that knocked all the air from my lungs. My whole body locked up instantly. My muscles seized. I could not move my arms or legs the way I wanted them to. The water was black and I was sinking because of all my heavy winter gear. My coat and boots filled with water, dragging me down.
I tried to kick toward the surface, but my legs wouldn’t cooperate. Everything was dark. I was tumbling, unable to tell up from down. My lungs screamed for air. My hand hit something solid—the underside of the ice. I was upside down or sideways, I couldn’t tell. I pushed against the ice, searching desperately for an opening. Nothing, just ice in every direction.
I was going to die. That thought came through clear, despite the panic and cold. I was going to drown under this ice and nobody would find my body until spring. My lungs were burning, black spots appearing in my vision. I had maybe ten more seconds before I would involuntarily try to breathe in water. I kept pushing against the ice, weaker now, my movements getting slower.
Chapter 4: The Rescue
That’s when something grabbed me—not my hand or arm, but the back of my coat. Something incredibly strong lifted me up out of the water like I weighed nothing. I broke the surface and sucked in air, coughing and choking. I still couldn’t see what had me. I was dragged across the ice, away from the hole, scraping along the frozen surface. Then I was on the snow-covered shore, lying on my side, shaking so hard my teeth rattled.
I tried to roll over, tried to get my bearings, but I couldn’t control my movements. My vision was blurry, black spots floating around. I blinked hard, trying to clear my eyes, trying to see what had pulled me out.
That’s when I looked up and saw the Bigfoot for the first time.
Chapter 5: Face to Face
The Bigfoot was standing right over me, massive and imposing. My brain could not process what I was seeing. This thing was too big to be real. It had to be at least eight feet tall, maybe taller. The body was covered in thick hair, dark reddish brown, longer and shaggier around the shoulders and arms. The legs were thick and powerful, planted wide in the snow.
But it was the face that held my attention. The face was not like any animal I had ever seen—flatter than a gorilla, more human in its proportions. The nose was broad and flat, the mouth wide but closed, the brow heavy, shading the eyes. The eyes themselves were dark brown, almost black, and they were looking directly at me with an expression I could not read.
The Bigfoot was breathing heavily, clouds of steam coming from its mouth and nose in the freezing air. The chest rose and fell, exerted from pulling me out of the water. The hands were huge with thick, powerful fingers, but also somehow dextrous. The palms were darker than the rest of the hair, almost black.
We stared at each other for what felt like a full minute, but was probably only a few seconds. I was too shocked and cold to be scared. My brain was still trying to accept that I was looking at a Bigfoot, an actual Bigfoot, standing right in front of me.
The Bigfoot tilted its head slightly, studying me, then made a low grunt—not aggressive, almost like it was checking to see if I was okay. I tried to say something, but I couldn’t get words out. I was shaking too violently, and my jaw wouldn’t work right. The Bigfoot watched me for a few seconds, then turned and walked into the trees, moving fast despite its size, disappearing into the forest in just a few steps.
Chapter 6: Survival
I needed to get out of my wet clothes immediately or I was going to die from hypothermia. My fingers were already numb. I could barely feel my hands as I tried to unzip my coat. I got it off and started working on my boots, but my fingers wouldn’t cooperate. I was fumbling with the laces, getting nowhere, when I heard something moving in the trees behind me.
The Bigfoot was coming back, carrying an armload of dead branches and pieces of bark. It approached slowly, not threatening, and dropped the wood right next to me, maybe three feet away. Then it stepped back and just stood there watching me again.
The wood was carefully selected—dead and dry branches, perfect for burning, birch bark that ignites easily. The Bigfoot had chosen materials specifically for making a fire. It made that low grunt sound again and gestured toward the wood with one massive hand, deliberate and clear. The Bigfoot was telling me to build a fire.
I nodded to show I understood. I fumbled in my coat pocket for my lighter. It was dry, thank God. It took me four tries to get my thumb to work well enough to flick the wheel and create a spark. The fifth try produced a flame. I shredded birch bark into strips, arranged them in a small pile, and held the lighter flame to them. The bark caught immediately. I added twigs, then larger sticks, building the fire up slowly.
Within five minutes, I had a decent fire going. The warmth from the fire was the most beautiful thing I had ever felt. Sensation started to come back to my fingers, painful pins and needles. My face was numb, ice crystals in my beard, my pants frozen stiff. I needed to get out of these wet clothes immediately.
I looked at the Bigfoot, feeling ridiculous about being modest in front of this thing, but not knowing what else to do. The Bigfoot just watched, not interested in what I was doing in any threatening way, just observing, making sure I was handling things.
I stripped down to my underwear, hung my wet clothes on branches near the fire, and huddled as close to the flames as I could. My whole body was shaking violently, but I could feel warmth returning. The Bigfoot watched the whole process without moving or making a sound, then turned and walked back into the forest.
Chapter 7: The Vigil
The Bigfoot was gone for maybe ten minutes. I checked myself for frostbite. My toes were worrying me the most—white and numb. I held my feet close to the fire, rotating them, trying to get circulation back. It hurt like hell as feeling returned, but that was a good sign.
The Bigfoot came back carrying more wood, bigger logs this time, stacking them near my fire—enough to last all night. Then it did something that surprised me even more. The Bigfoot sat down on the ground about fifteen feet away, cross-legged, facing me. It was settling in like it planned to stay.
We stayed like that as the sun went down. The sky turned orange and pink, then deep purple, then black. Stars came out, more than you ever see in the city. The temperature dropped even more. I could hear the ice on the lake cracking and groaning as it contracted in the cold, wind moving through the pines.
And through it all, the Bigfoot sat there motionless, watching.
Chapter 8: Night Watch
I tried talking to the Bigfoot several times. I told it thank you over and over. I asked its name, told it about myself, how I came here to fish, how I almost died. The Bigfoot never responded with anything more than an occasional grunt, but it was listening. Its eyes tracked me, its head tilted when I spoke. The Bigfoot was paying attention to every word.
My clothes dried slowly. My boots were the worst, heavy leather holding water like sponges. I set them close to the coals, careful not to burn them. Around eight o’clock, I put my clothes back on. They weren’t completely dry, but dry enough. Once dressed, I felt a little more human, a little less vulnerable.
The Bigfoot hadn’t moved in over two hours, just sitting, breathing calmly, watching me. Every now and then, it shifted position or turned to look at something in the forest behind it, but mostly it just watched. It should have been creepy, but it wasn’t. It felt protective. The Bigfoot was guarding me.
I ate soggy granola bars from my coat pocket, wondering if the Bigfoot was hungry. I thought about sharing, but I needed the energy. As the night wore on, exhaustion hit me. The adrenaline from nearly drowning had worn off, the warmth from the fire making me drowsy. My body wanted to shut down and rest, but I was afraid to sleep—the fire might go out, something else might come out of the woods, the Bigfoot might leave.
The Bigfoot seemed to sense my fear. Around midnight, it stood up and walked over to the wood pile, placed several large logs on my fire, then went back to its sitting spot. That simple act told me everything. The Bigfoot was not going anywhere. The Bigfoot would make sure I made it through the night.
Chapter 9: Shelter
I dozed off around one in the morning, my head nodding forward, jerking back up, nodding forward again. The fire was a blur of orange light, the Bigfoot a dark shape against the trees. Then I was asleep.
I woke up to something shaking my shoulder. The Bigfoot was crouched right next to me, closer than it had been all night. The fire had burned down to just coals. The Bigfoot made that grunting sound again and stood up, gesturing for me to follow. It started walking into the forest, stopped after a few steps, looking back at me. The Bigfoot clearly wanted me to come along.
Every rational part of my brain said this was a terrible idea. But the Bigfoot had saved my life and kept me alive through the night. I trusted this thing for reasons I could not explain. I got up and followed the Bigfoot into the trees.
It was still dark, probably around four in the morning. The Bigfoot moved slowly, making sure I could keep up. We walked for maybe twenty minutes, going uphill through thick forest, to a clearing I’d never seen before, even though I’d been coming to these woods for years.
Chapter 10: Bigfoot’s Home
The clearing was on top of a small hill, half an acre in size. The Bigfoot stopped at the edge and pointed toward the center. There were structures in that clearing—not natural formations, but things that had been built deliberately. Three low, dome-shaped shelters made from branches and bark and leaves woven together like giant baskets, each big enough for something the size of a Bigfoot to sleep in. These were homes.
The shelters were positioned in a triangle pattern, spaced twenty feet apart, built under large overhanging pine branches for protection. The craftsmanship was incredible—branches woven in overlapping patterns to shed water, bark layered like shingles. The Bigfoot walked over to the nearest shelter and gestured for me to look inside.
I knelt in the snow and peered in. The inside was lined with dried grass and moss, arranged into a thick mat, woven together for insulation. The moss was positioned for extra padding, dried leaves arranged in a pattern around the edges. The Bigfoot had created a comfortable bed, something soft and warm to sleep in.
The Bigfoot watched my reaction, proud. I nodded and said it was beautiful, impressive. The Bigfoot made a pleased purring sound, then gestured toward the other shelters. The second shelter was larger, with a different design. The entrance faced east. The grass inside was arranged like a nest. The Bigfoot pointed to details—a piece of bark blocking drafts, stones arranged to hold heat if you brought in hot coals.
The third shelter was the smallest, used for storage. Inside were bundles of dried grass, animal hides, bark, moss—everything organized and protected from the weather.
Chapter 11: Tools and Art
There was a pile of rocks, different sizes and shapes stacked in a specific way. Next to the rocks were deer bones, arranged by size. The Bigfoot picked up a flat granite stone and showed me how it worked as a tool for scraping hides. Another rock was a hammer stone. A deer leg bone had been sharpened to a point for digging or prying. Another bone was cracked open for cutting. Sticks were processed—bark stripped, ends charred, notches carved.
The Bigfoot picked up one with deep grooves and ran a thumb along them, looking at me as if asking if I understood. I didn’t. The Bigfoot set it down carefully.
At a large oak tree, seven feet off the ground, were marks carved into the trunk—deliberate symbols, some lines, some circles, some patterns I didn’t recognize. The Bigfoot touched them in sequence, making different sounds. I wished desperately that I could understand.
The Bigfoot showed me a small stream running along the edge of the clearing, water not frozen. Smooth stones arranged for kneeling. The Bigfoot cupped water in its hands to drink, then gestured for me to try. I knelt and drank, cold and clean.
We returned to the center of the clearing. There was a fire pit, rocks blackened from many fires, a stack of firewood protected by bark. The Bigfoot had used fire here before.
Inside one shelter was a collection of objects—blue glass bottle, shiny rocks, bird’s skull, feathers tied with plant fibers. The bottle was worn smooth, glowing blue in the light. The Bigfoot admired it, then set it back. A quartz crystal, a chunk of mica, a river rock, a piece of obsidian, a rock with fossil imprints—each arranged in a pleasing pattern. The bird’s skull was delicate, perfect, touched gently.
The feathers were the most elaborate—seven large hawk or eagle feathers, bound together with twisted, dyed plant fiber in decorative knots. The Bigfoot handed them to me, folding my fingers around them gently. The Bigfoot wanted me to keep them—a gesture of trust and respect, maybe even friendship. I tucked them into my coat pocket.
Chapter 12: Connection
The Bigfoot showed me a strip of leather with small objects tied to it—a claw, a piece of amber, a round stone. The Bigfoot wore this as jewelry, showed it to me but didn’t offer it. We stayed in the clearing for hours, the sun coming up, everything clearer. The shelters were even more impressive in daylight, each unique but all showing skill and planning. Paths worn into the ground, trees stripped of bark, scratches at various heights.
The Bigfoot demonstrated how to close shelters in bad weather by weaving branches into gaps, showing off clever solutions. The clearing felt like a seasonal home, well-maintained, a place the Bigfoot returned to regularly.
Midmorning, the Bigfoot made louder calls—calling to others. I heard answering calls from different directions. There were more Bigfoots out there, a family or clan, staying hidden but aware. The Bigfoot gestured toward the edge of the clearing. It was time to go. I understood.
Before leaving, I wanted to leave something as thanks. I pulled out my pocketknife, a Swiss Army model I’d owned for fifteen years, and offered it. The Bigfoot examined it, figured out how to open the blade, tested the edge, made an approving sound. The Bigfoot understood each tool, closed everything, and held the knife carefully.
Chapter 13: Farewell
The Bigfoot led me back through the forest, taking a different route. We walked for thirty minutes and came out on a logging road. The Bigfoot stopped at the edge and turned to face me. I wanted to thank the Bigfoot properly, but didn’t know how.
I pulled out my grandfather’s pocket watch, an old windup silver watch with Roman numerals, my most valuable possession in meaning. I showed the Bigfoot the inside, the tiny gears moving, the second hand sweeping. I held it up to the Bigfoot’s ear so it could hear it ticking. The Bigfoot’s eyes widened, studied the movement, listened to it tick, examined the engraving. The Bigfoot tucked the watch carefully into the thick hair on its chest.
Then the Bigfoot pulled me forward gently into something like a hug. I reached up and put my arms around the Bigfoot as much as I could. We stood like that for ten seconds, an impossible embrace. The Bigfoot’s hair was coarse but soft, smelling like pine and earth and animal musk. Then the Bigfoot released me, placed a massive hand on my head gently, and left it there for a few seconds—a blessing, a benediction.
Then the Bigfoot turned and walked back into the forest. I watched until it disappeared into the trees.
Chapter 14: The Markers
I walked down the logging road in a daze. My truck was where I’d left it. I sat for a while, trying to process what had happened. I’d spent almost two days with a Bigfoot. The Bigfoot had saved my life, shown me where it lived, shared its possessions, given me a gift. And I had given the Bigfoot something in return. I felt like I’d made a connection with something most people don’t believe exists.
I drove home and didn’t tell anyone. Who would believe me? I had no proof except for the feathers in my pocket. People would think I hallucinated the whole thing. But I knew what I’d seen.
Over the next few months, I thought about that Bigfoot constantly. I wanted to go back to that clearing, but I was afraid of leading others to it, afraid my curiosity would put the Bigfoot in danger. So I stayed away. I kept the feathers in a special box.
About six months later, hiking in a different part of the state, I came across rocks stacked in a specific pattern—three flat rocks balanced with a round rock on top, just like in the clearing. I heard a sound in the trees, that same low grunt. I caught a glimpse of something large and brown moving through the forest. The Bigfoot had found me. Or maybe left that marker, knowing I would find it.
Chapter 15: The Watch
I found two more rock markers over the next mile, sensed something watching me but never saw the Bigfoot clearly again. Finally, at a trail split, a marker pointed to the left fork. I followed it and found an overlook with a view of a valley—untouched forest for miles.
Sitting on a rock next to the trail was my grandfather’s watch. The Bigfoot had left it for me, kept it wound all those months. The watch looked cleaner than when I’d given it, polished. I wound it, feeling the familiar resistance, held it to my ear. The ticking was steady and strong. I called out a thank you to the trees, feeling foolish but needing to say it. No response, just the wind, but I felt like the Bigfoot heard me.
I sat on that overlook for a long time, holding the watch. The Bigfoot had led me here for a reason—wanted me to see this untouched wilderness that needed protecting. The Bigfoot was showing me what was at stake.
Chapter 16: The Secret
That was two years ago. I haven’t seen the Bigfoot since, but I still find those rock markers sometimes when I’m hiking. They show up in places I go regularly, places I’ve been dozens of times before without seeing anything. The Bigfoot is still out there, watching, leaving signs. I keep the watch running and carry those feathers with me whenever I go into the woods.
What I learned from the Bigfoot changed how I see the world. There are things living in these forests that are not dumb animals. The Bigfoot has intelligence, culture, emotions. The Bigfoot makes art and uses tools and feels gratitude. The Bigfoot can form connections across species, can choose to trust and help someone different from itself. That is more human than a lot of humans I know.
The Bigfoot has reasons for staying hidden. If people knew about that clearing, scientists and tourists would flood the area, and the Bigfoot’s life would be destroyed. The Bigfoot would have to move, abandoning a home used for generations. The Bigfoot saved my life and trusted me with that secret. The least I can do is keep it.
Chapter 17: Responsibility
I think about what would happen if the wrong people found that clearing. Researchers would want to study it, set up cameras, maybe try to capture a Bigfoot. Trophy hunters would want to shoot one. The media would turn it into a circus. Even well-meaning people would cause harm. The Bigfoot chose to share that clearing with me as an act of trust. Violating that trust would be unforgivable.
So I keep the secret. When people ask about my time in the woods, I tell them about ice fishing and getting caught in a storm. I do not mention falling through the ice, because that would lead to questions about how I survived. I do not mention the Bigfoot.
Sometimes I wonder if the Bigfoot tells others about what happened. When the Bigfoot makes those calls in the forest, is it talking about the human who fell through the ice? About the human who saw the clearing and kept the secret? Do other Bigfoots know about me the way I know about them? I like to think so.
I wish I could see the Bigfoot again, go back to that clearing, see what has changed, see if the Bigfoot added anything new. But I know that is not going to happen. The Bigfoot gave me a gift that day on the overlook, returning my watch and then disappearing. The Bigfoot was saying goodbye. Our time together was over, but the connection we made would last.
Chapter 18: The Legacy
I respect the Bigfoot’s need for distance and privacy. I respect the choice the Bigfoot made to help me and to show me its home. Those were gifts I did not earn and did not deserve, but the Bigfoot gave them to me anyway. The Bigfoot saw something in me that made it willing to take that risk. I hope I have lived up to that trust.
What happened to me is impossible to prove. I have the feathers and the watch and the memories, but none of that would convince a skeptic. I do not need to convince anyone, though. I know what I saw. I know what the Bigfoot did. I know that somewhere in those forests, there is a clearing with shelters and tools and carefully arranged collections. I know that the Bigfoot is out there, living a life that is rich and complex and meaningful.
If you are respectful, quiet, and pay attention to the signs, you might catch a glimpse of something moving between the trees. You might hear a call echoing through the forest that does not sound like any animal. You might find rocks stacked in impossible balance or branches woven into patterns that nature could not make alone. Those are the Bigfoot’s markers. Those are the signs that you are not alone in those woods.
Most people walk right past them without noticing. They are too busy, too skeptical, too focused on their phones to see what is right in front of them. But if you are looking, really looking, you will see the evidence. You will know that something is out there, something intelligent and aware, something that chooses to remain hidden for very good reasons.
Chapter 19: Gratitude
I am grateful for what the Bigfoot showed me. I am grateful to be alive because of what the Bigfoot did. I am grateful for the trust the Bigfoot placed in me and for the brief window I got into a world that most people will never see. It changed me in ways I am still understanding. It made me more careful with the natural world, more aware of what we stand to lose when we destroy wild places.
Every time I hear about a new development or a forest being cleared, I think about that clearing, those shelters and collections. I think about the Bigfoot and others like it, losing their homes because humans need more strip malls and parking lots. It makes me angry in a way I never was before. The Bigfoot deserves better. The Bigfoot deserves to exist without fear.
So I do what I can. I support conservation efforts. I speak up against developments that would destroy habitat. I hike to leave no trace, respect the spaces I move through. These are small things, probably not enough, but they are what I can do.
Chapter 20: The Promise
I keep the secret. That is the promise I made to the Bigfoot, and I will keep it for as long as I live. If you ever fall through ice on a remote lake, if you ever find yourself in trouble in the deep woods, pay attention to your surroundings. The Bigfoot might be watching. The Bigfoot might choose to help. And if that happens, if you get that lucky, remember what you saw. Remember what the Bigfoot did and keep the secret. The Bigfoot’s survival depends on staying hidden. Do not be the person who destroys that for the sake of proof or fame or money.
I think about that Bigfoot every single day. I wonder if the Bigfoot thinks about me. I hope so. I hope the Bigfoot remembers pulling me out of that water, remembers showing me the clearing, remembers the watch I gave as thanks. I hope when the Bigfoot looks at that watch, if it still has it, it feels the same connection, the same gratitude and respect.
Three winters have passed since that day. Three winters of wondering and remembering and looking for signs. I have seen things that might be evidence and things that might be coincidence. I have heard sounds that might be the Bigfoot and sounds that might be just the wind. I do not know for certain, but I choose to believe. I choose to think that the Bigfoot is still out there, still watching over those woods, still leaving markers for me to find.
The watch sits on my desk now in a place of honor. I wind it every morning the way my grandfather did, the way the Bigfoot must have done during those months. Every time I hear it tick, I think about that clearing, about the Bigfoot examining it with intelligent eyes, understanding it was special because I had given it willingly.
The feathers are in a shadow box on my wall. I look at them every day. They remind me that beauty and art are not exclusive to humans. They remind me that there are other forms of intelligence, other ways of seeing the world. The Bigfoot created those feathers not because it had to, but because it wanted something beautiful. That says more about the Bigfoot’s nature than any scientific study ever could.
I wonder sometimes what the Bigfoot did with the knife. Is it using it to process food or materials? Has it figured out all the different tools? Does it show it to other Bigfoots? I like to imagine the Bigfoot teaching younger ones how to use the various blades and tools, passing on the knowledge of this gift from a human.
And on cold winter nights, I sometimes stand at my window and look toward the north, toward those forests where it all happened. I think about the Bigfoot sitting in that clearing, surrounded by carefully arranged possessions, listening to my grandfather’s watch tick. I think about the connection we made, human and Bigfoot, separated by so much, but joined by one moment of crisis and compassion.
I think about that night by the fire with the Bigfoot watching over me as I nearly froze to death. I think about the gentleness in those massive hands as they pulled me from the water. I think about the intelligence in those dark eyes as the Bigfoot showed me the clearing. I think about the trust it took for the Bigfoot to reveal that home, to share those treasures, to make itself vulnerable to a human.
That trust is sacred to me. That is why I will never reveal the location. That is why I will never try to profit from this story or seek fame from it. The Bigfoot gave me my life back and asked for nothing in return except respect. The Bigfoot showed me a world that exists parallel to ours, hidden and precious. I owe the Bigfoot everything.
That is my story. That is what happened to me. The Bigfoot saved me from falling into a frozen lake. And then the Bigfoot did something strange. The Bigfoot showed me its world. The Bigfoot trusted me with a secret that could destroy everything it values. And I have kept that secret. And I will continue to keep it because that is what the Bigfoot deserves. That is what all of them deserve—the right to exist in peace, hidden from the world that would not understand.
