Helicopter Pilot Films GIANT SASQUATCH Before Its Attack – Bigfoot Story

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In October, on one of those perfect days in the mountains, I found myself soaring above the breathtaking landscape as a helicopter pilot for mountain rescue operations. The sky was a brilliant blue, the air crisp and invigorating—a day made for flying. With the leaves turning into vibrant reds and golds, the forest below resembled a massive quilt, stretching endlessly into the horizon. Little did I know, this would be a day that changed my life forever.

Having flown hundreds of missions over my twelve-year career, I had encountered everything from bear sightings to avalanche rescues. The mountains were familiar territory, predictable in their dangers. That day, however, a routine pickup would turn into a nightmare.

We received a call around noon about two hikers who had gone missing three days earlier in a remote section of the national forest. Their families had reported them overdue, and search teams had been scouring the area without success. The rangers had finally located the hikers, but they were deep in what we referred to as the “dead zone”—an area so remote that it didn’t even appear on most maps. Access was only possible by helicopter or a grueling two-day hike through treacherous terrain.

When we reached the coordinates, I felt a sense of unease wash over me. The forest appeared older and darker, the trees towering like ancient sentinels. As we approached the area, I noticed something strange—a large, dark figure moving through the trees below. It seemed to match our speed, almost as if it were following us. I dismissed it at first, attributing it to my imagination, but the feeling of being watched lingered.

As we neared the clearing, I spotted the injured hiker lying on a makeshift stretcher, his companion beside him, wrapped in a space blanket. The rangers looked tense, constantly scanning the trees around them. The injured hiker was in shock, trying to sit up despite his broken leg. He was terrified, insisting that something was out there, watching them. The medic and I exchanged glances, unsure of how to respond.

We quickly hoisted the injured hiker into the helicopter, and as the medic began her examination, he spoke in frantic bursts about a creature that had been stalking them for days. His words were fragmented, but I caught phrases about something eight feet tall, with eyes like nothing he had ever seen. He insisted that it had been hunting them, and that they had heard it communicating with others in the woods.

The medic tried to calm him, but the fear in his eyes was palpable. Just then, the uninjured hiker was hoisted up, and he confirmed everything his friend had said. They had seen the creature standing at the edge of their camp, watching them. It had made sounds that were neither human nor animal, something deep and guttural that sent chills down my spine.

We managed to get one of the rangers up without issue, but as I prepared to pick up the last person, I caught sight of movement in the trees again. This time, I saw it clearly—a massive figure, covered in dark hair, standing just beyond the tree line, watching us. My heart raced as I pointed it out to the ranger, but by the time he looked, it had vanished.

As we hoisted the ranger into the helicopter, I felt an overwhelming sense of dread. The creature was out there, and it was watching us. Suddenly, without warning, the massive figure emerged from the trees, cocking its arm back as if to throw something. Before I could react, a boulder the size of a basketball hurtled toward us, striking the helicopter with a deafening crash.

The helicopter lurched violently, and I shouted for everyone to brace for impact. The world spun around me as we lost control, crashing through the treetops. I remember the sickening sound of metal tearing apart, and then everything went black.

When I regained consciousness, the smell of fuel and smoke filled my nostrils. The helicopter lay on its side, twisted and crushed. I looked around frantically, checking on my crew. The medic was conscious but injured. The hoist operator was slumped over, not moving. The ranger was pinned beneath debris, and the injured hiker lay motionless, his stretcher crushed.

Panic surged through me as I realized we were alone in the wilderness, surrounded by death and chaos. Our radio was smashed, and the emergency beacon was destroyed. We had no way to call for help. My leg was broken, and the medic’s arm was useless. We had to move, but where could we go?

As we struggled to salvage what we could from the wreckage, a deep roar echoed through the trees, shaking the ground beneath us. The medic looked at me, her eyes wide with terror. We knew we couldn’t stay there. We began limping away from the crash site, using whatever we could to support ourselves.

The forest felt alive with danger. Every shadow seemed to hide something, every rustle of leaves sent shivers down my spine. We stumbled through the dense underbrush, trying to put distance between ourselves and whatever had attacked us. The medic was weakening, her fever rising as I fought to keep her moving.

Eventually, we found a natural shelter formed by fallen trees. I helped her inside, trying to make her comfortable. But the silence was oppressive. It was then that I heard it—a heavy footstep, deliberate and slow, moving through the forest, keeping pace with us. My heart raced as I realized we were being hunted.

The footsteps stopped, and the forest fell silent. I could feel eyes on us, watching. A low, questioning call echoed through the trees, followed by another voice, then another. They were surrounding us, and I knew we had to escape. We began moving quietly through the undergrowth, but they were tracking us easily.

The chase continued for hours, and every time we thought we were safe, we would hear them following us once more. The medic was barely conscious, and I was losing hope. When darkness fell, we found a cluster of boulders that formed a small cave-like overhang. I helped the medic inside, trying to keep her warm.

Then, I heard them again—footsteps, more deliberate this time. They were coordinating their search, closing in on us. I held my breath, praying they wouldn’t find us. But as dawn approached, the footsteps stopped just outside our hiding place. I could hear deep breathing, and a shadow passed across the entrance.

In that moment, I made a decision that would haunt me forever. The medic was dying, and if I stayed with her, we would both be caught. I whispered my apologies, kissed her forehead, and slipped out from under the fallen tree, moving quietly away. Behind me, I heard her scream, a sound filled with terror, and I ran.

I ran through the forest, the inhuman footsteps crashing behind me. I could hear them calling to each other, their voices echoing through the trees. I knew I couldn’t outrun them, but I had to try. I stumbled through the underbrush, falling and crawling, using every trick I could think of to break their pursuit.

Hours passed, and I finally found a small stream. I followed it downhill, hoping it would lead me to safety. As I moved deeper into the forest, I began to see signs of human presence—old blaze marks on trees, rusted wire from long-abandoned fences. The forest was changing, and I felt a glimmer of hope.

Eventually, I heard the distant hum of traffic. I pushed through the last stretch of trees, emerging onto a two-lane highway. Relief washed over me as I waved down a passing truck. The driver, a local farmer, helped me into his vehicle and called for help.

In the days that followed, I was treated for my injuries, but the psychological scars ran deeper. The official investigation concluded that our helicopter had crashed due to mechanical failure, but the truth was far more sinister. I was the only survivor, and I carried the weight of my crew’s deaths with me.

Months turned into years, and the nightmares never ceased. I started drinking to cope, and my marriage fell apart. But eventually, I found others who had experienced similar encounters in the wilderness. We formed a network, sharing stories and evidence of the creatures that lurked in the deep woods.

What we discovered was chilling—something was watching us, defending its territory. The patterns of unexplained disappearances and aircraft accidents in remote areas began to emerge. The truth was too terrifying for most to accept, and the cover-ups continued.

Now, I tell my story because people need to know. If you venture into the wilderness, understand that you may not be alone. There are things out there that have been watching us for far too long—intelligent beings that consider us intruders in their territory. So remember this tale, and tread carefully in the shadows of the forest, for you may not be as fortunate as I was.