Drone Captures Footage of a Giant Sasquatch Carrying a Deer Carcass Through the Forest—An Astonishing Bigfoot Encounter Story

The Night I Encountered the Monster

I still can’t sleep right. Every time I close my eyes, I see those massive hands reaching toward my drone, and I hear that bone-chilling roar echoing through the trees. What started as a routine aerial photography session in the Oregon wilderness turned into the most terrifying 12 hours of my life.

Three weeks ago, I drove up into the Cascade Range with my new DJI drone, eager to test its capabilities in the wild. I’d been saving for months, dreaming of capturing epic footage of untouched forests and maybe catching some wildlife shots if I got lucky. My plan was simple: spend the day flying around, getting some shots, and then head back home.

I parked my truck at a trailhead about ten miles outside a small logging town. The area is remote—thick, ancient forests stretching as far as the eye can see, with hiking trails that most people avoid because they’re barely maintained. Perfect for drone photography without worrying about other people or restricted airspace.

The morning was crisp and cold, around forty degrees. I hiked about a mile in from the road to get away from any interference, then set up my equipment on a small rocky outcrop that gave me a good view of the surrounding forest. The drone launched smoothly, and I spent the first hour just getting familiar with controls and filming some standard canopy shots—dense trees, small clearings, winding streams. Nothing extraordinary, just the kind of footage I’d been dreaming of.

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By noon, I decided to push the drone further into areas inaccessible on foot. I flew it northeast along a game trail cutting through thick woods. The battery indicator showed I had plenty of time before I’d need to bring it back. That’s when I saw it.

At first, I thought my eyes were playing tricks. Through the drone’s camera, I saw movement among the trees—something big, far too big for a deer or elk. I adjusted the drone’s position, trying to get a better view through the thick canopy. The first glimpse was just a dark shape moving through the underbrush, but there was something wrong about how it moved—too upright, too purposeful.

I pushed the drone about fifty feet closer, heart pounding with anticipation. This could be the footage I’d been hoping for. Then I saw it clearly.

The Creature

It was walking upright through a small clearing, carrying what looked like a full-grown buck over its shoulder. Not dragging it, not struggling—just carrying it as if it weighed nothing. The deer’s antlers spread at least three feet across, and its body probably weighed close to 200 pounds. Yet this thing moved with effortless strength, supporting the carcass like I carry a backpack.

My hands started trembling as I zoomed in. The creature had to be at least eight feet tall—maybe nine—covered in dark brown, nearly black fur. The fur was thick, shaggy, longer on its shoulders and arms, shorter around what I could see of its face. Its shoulders were broad—probably three feet across—and tapered down to a narrower waist. Its long arms hung past its knees, swinging with each step.

What really got me was how it moved. This wasn’t some guy in a costume stumbling through the woods. The creature moved with purpose, with a fluid grace that seemed impossible for something so massive. Every step was deliberate, silent even, as if it was a dancer on a stage. Its gait was different from a human’s—longer strides, a rolling motion through the shoulders.

It paused in the center of the clearing, adjusting the deer on its shoulder with a massive hand. The hand alone looked twice the size of mine, fingers thick and strong enough to crush bone. Its head was large, with a pronounced brow ridge casting shadows over its eyes. Its scalp was covered in the same dark fur, but its face was less hairy—exposed skin around the mouth and nose.

Most unsettling was how natural it looked, as if it belonged here, in this wilderness. It wasn’t some lost, confused animal or a person in disguise. It was a creature at home in the forest, going about its business with the casual confidence of something that had lived here for centuries.

The Close-Up

I kept the drone at what I thought was a safe distance—about 300 feet up and back—yet close enough to get incredible footage. The zoom on my camera was astonishing. I could see individual hairs on its arm, the rippling muscles beneath its thick coat. It moved through the trees, heading toward a dense thicket on the far side of the clearing.

It navigated narrow spaces between trees that looked impossible for something that size. Somehow, it moved silently and deliberately, like it knew every inch of the forest intimately. For two minutes, I just watched, mesmerized, capturing footage of what I knew was no ordinary animal.

This was going to be the footage that changed everything. I was already planning how I’d share it, how I’d prove it wasn’t faked. I was careful, staying high above the canopy, hidden from view, recording every detail.

Then, suddenly, it stopped.

The Encounter

The creature froze completely. It dropped the deer carcass with a soft thud, then slowly turned its head upward—eyes locking onto my drone’s camera feed. Even through the lens, I could see its eyes—dark, intelligent, and filled with a quiet fury. It knew I was watching.

For five seconds, we just stared at each other. The creature’s mouth opened, revealing teeth that looked more human than animal, and it let out a roar—loud, primal, but filled with intelligence and rage. It was as if it knew exactly what I was doing, and it didn’t like being observed.

Then, it charged.

The Chase

It was fast—faster than I could have imagined. Not running, but moving with a deliberate, predatory speed that defied its size. I yanked the controls, spinning the drone around and flying it back toward me at maximum speed. The display showed I was reaching nearly 30 miles per hour, but the creature kept pace beneath, crashing through the forest like a freight train.

Its intelligence was what terrified me most. It wasn’t just chasing blindly. It cut corners, predicted obstacles, and followed my route with uncanny precision. Branches that would stop a bear didn’t slow it down. It leaped over fallen logs that had to be four feet high, never losing sight of the drone’s path.

My battery indicator flashed—fifteen minutes of flight left. I was over a mile away from my position, and this thing was keeping pace, locked onto me like a predator tracking prey.

The Decision

Time was running out. I knew I had to do something drastic. I threw the controller down and took off running. I didn’t wait to see what happened to the drone. I grabbed my backpack, crashed through underbrush, leaped over logs, and sprinted toward the trees.

Behind me, I could hear the drone’s motors dying as the battery finally gave out. I looked back once—just in time to see the creature emerge from the woods, maybe two hundred yards behind me, moving with that same terrifying speed. It reached the drone, bending down to examine it with a strange, almost curious intensity.

Even from that distance, I could see its hands—massive, powerful, capable of crushing steel. It picked up the drone controller carefully, turned it over in its enormous hands, and looked at me. Its eyes—those dark, intelligent eyes—locked onto mine across the clearing.

For a moment, we just stared. Then, it did something I will never forget.

It crushed the controller in one hand.

I heard the plastic crack, loud and final. The creature dropped the pieces and started walking toward me.

The Pursuit

It was calm now, deliberate. Not rushing, not angry—just walking like it knew I couldn’t escape. I pushed through the thick forest, branches tearing at my clothes, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst. The forest was dense, the ground uneven, and every step felt like a fight for survival.

I could hear its heavy footsteps behind me, each one pounding like a sledgehammer. I knew I couldn’t outrun it, not like this. I was exhausted, soaked in sweat, and the night was closing in.

Suddenly, I tripped over a fallen log and went down hard. Blood streamed from a gash on my hand, but I didn’t have time to stop. I scrambled back to my feet, blood dripping onto the dirt, and kept running.

The Final Moments

The creature was close—so close I could smell its musky, wet-fur scent. Its breathing was loud and heavy, matching the pounding of its footsteps. I felt its presence behind me, the ground vibrating with every step.

Then, just as I thought I’d be caught, I saw my truck—my salvation—through the trees, about three hundred yards away. I pushed harder, every muscle screaming, lungs burning.

But it was gaining. I could hear it—those heavy, deliberate strides closing the distance.

And then, I heard it.

A massive, guttural roar—something primal and terrifying—echoed through the woods. The creature was right behind me, and I knew I couldn’t outrun it.

The Escape

Just as I reached the truck, I grabbed the keys, fumbling in my trembling hands. The engine roared to life, and I threw it into gear. I didn’t look back. I just drove. Fast.

Through the rearview mirror, I saw the creature emerge from the shadows—massive, dark, and looming. It stood there, watching me leave, arms hanging at its sides, as if it was simply observing a curious creature passing through.

Even as I sped away, I felt its gaze in my bones. It hadn’t attacked. It had let me go. But I knew—deep down—that I’d been lucky. Too lucky.

The Aftermath

I made it home, shaken but alive. I told my wife I’d fallen and hurt myself on a hike, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell her what I’d really seen. The footage from my drone was gone—crashed somewhere in the woods. My hands still bear faint scars from the night, and I wake up sometimes, haunted by the image of those massive hands reaching out toward me.

I’ve tried to forget, tried to convince myself it was all a hallucination, a nightmare caused by exhaustion and stress. But I know better. I know what I saw.

The Unseen Watcher

Since that night, I’ve studied everything I can find about Bigfoot and similar reports. I’ve heard stories from others—of creatures helping lost hikers, guiding animals, or simply watching from the shadows. Most dismiss these stories as folklore, misidentifications, or hoaxes. But I know the truth.

There’s something out there—something large, intelligent, and aware. Something that has been living in our forests for centuries, hiding in plain sight.

And it let me go.

The Reflection

Sometimes, I go into the woods and stand quietly, listening. I speak softly to the trees, whispering words of peace, of friendship. I swear I can feel it—the presence of something watching, something understanding.

I hope it’s still out there. I hope it’s safe. And I hope it remembers that night when I saw it—when I saw the monster that was more human than beast, more wise than primitive.

Because that night changed me forever. It proved that the world is far stranger than we think. That in the deep forests of Oregon, there are beings we’ve dismissed as myths—guardians, watchers, and perhaps, in some way, friends.

And I am forever grateful I saw it.